.png)
Ann Patchett writes “By the time I was in middle school I’d figured out that a low overhead and few dependents would increase my time to work”. By work, she means writing, as she self-identified as a writer by the time she was in the first grade.
What changed my trajectory?
I too, envisioned a life of writing, one in which I lived in Paris, comfortably assimilated into a European lifestyle, never looking back. I would be single, perpetually gamine. My writing would tackle philosophical questions that had stumped humanity. My life would be simple but rich in intellectual pursuits.
Newsflash. This did not happen. Or to more accurately reflect my belief system, this did not occur in this plane of consciousness in the multiverse.
Last month, I noticed an old boyfriend, one I have not seen for over 30 years, had reviewed my profile on LinkedIn, a profile which shows a professional headshot and lists my curriculum vitae, none of which points to a thwarted career as the next Simone De Beauvoir. The boyfriend, at the time of our relationship, was a sweet Midwestern kid who studied philosophy and seemed unable to balance a checkbook. When we lived together briefly, post college, I remember him as innocent, dreamlike and charming. As I recall, he was interested in social work and philanthropy.
I Googled him now, to find is the CFO of a company, which presumably entails financial acumen, and most likely a regular schedule.
What changed his trajectory?
How do we amalgamate all of our “selves” into the people we become? How much of our ego is attached to our outer vs. our inner world; the visions we had in younger years vs. the roles we have taken on?
In my adolescent “future self” vision I did not have children, never married or was not tied to anything that would require me being responsible for others. Now looking back, as the mother of 3 sons and half of a long-married couple, that “self” has lost its appeal.
Even returning to Paris a few years ago, my impression was of grime, debris, the detritus of a crumbling civilization. I was no longer fascinated by its history. Paris had lost its glow for me.
Having moved to the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. when I met my husband, I was transported to the New World- a place on earth that had been untouched by Europeans for far longer, where the ocean, forests and mountains were preserved. I was not entering 400 year old building, but rather ancient rain forests. This natural space allowed me to turn down the intellectual voice and tune in to sensory perceptions.
Turning off the voice-of regret, of nostalgia, of the internal critic, has been the greatest gift I have received these past 30 years.
And ironically, all the “doing” (the raising of children, travel, gardening, remodeling, working, loving animals, sports, social groups, school auctions, tennis tournaments, hours of yoga teacher training, leading retreats) has given me the stories that I now have time to write.
Fine tuning our channel, the processor that is the human body, is made possible through the yoga practice. We develop our true voice-our vocation- by turning of the “noise” of both the inner and external critics.
In reflecting, meditation and silence, when we allow change, accept change and learn to enjoy change, we recognize our true purpose, our life path.
Is my purpose to live a once-held dream? To express? To teach? To influence? To connect? Perhaps it is a magnetic pull to quiet the mind.
I see myself in a dream as a servant holding a door open, a threshold.
I invite you to discover the yoga practice for yourself.
Commenti