I am grateful.
I am grateful right now for my friends. The ones who call to catch up and the ones who catch up via Snapchat. The ones in far places and the ones with family, a quick drive away.
Today I am grateful. I am grateful for the things I miss the most. The ones I love the most. Today I am grateful.
Hey readers. I’m working on like 8 different posts but none of them are done and honestly, likely won’t be done this week. Here’s why:
So basically, stay tuned, probably until my stupid face clears up.
Seriously though who turns 28 and contracts an infection that LITERALLY ONLY AFFECTS PRESCHOOL CHILDREN.
Oh right. Me.
Perfect is a relative term. Nothing is ever perfect, but sometimes there’s a simple perfection to the imperfect nature of things, and perfect becomes exactly what’s happening in those moments.
It’s not perfect when it’s a million degrees outside plus humidity, and I forget all my good makeup in NYC for a wedding in Connecticut, and we leave for Norway in less than a week and I have to teach two classes and there is no time for anything. It’s not perfect when A is in pain because of his back and I’m not going to see him till we’re at the airport on Friday and I forgot my work laptop at home this morning and my 6:30am Uber driver won’t stop talking on the ride from Forest Hills to Washington Heights and all I want to do is sleep. It’s not perfect when I’m about to leave my cat and my new job and my everything except for A for 11 days and I’m so terrified and anxious about it.
But it’s all perfect. It was perfect to watch my oldest friend marry his soul mate, even in the million degree heat, even without my good makeup. It’s perfect that after two months of barely seeing each other because life is so busy that A and I get almost two full weeks with just each other. It’s perfect that I’m teaching classes this week before I leave because that’s something that makes me happier than just about everything, and it’s perfect.
It’s perfect. It’s perfect just because it is. Because we are. Because you are. It’s all relative. But it’s all perfect too.
Things that are happening this week:
Things that are not happening this week:
Things on hold till next week, hopefully:
Till next week, everyone!
LB
Sorry y’all. I’ve been really ambitious thinking I had enough energy to write something beautiful and wonderful and spacey and nice about the end of yoga teacher training and all the goings-on of the past few weeks, but lately I’m mostly just really freaking tired and without a lot of inspiration.
Fingers crossed for next week! It’s a new moon, after all, and that usually sparks something inspiring, in one sense of the word or the other. Plus, I suppose I need to explain that bold part in Monday’s entry a bit further….
Until then! Sending lots of weekend love to you all.
xo,
LB
Remember the feeling when you were about to graduate high school? There was this nervous anticipation for the future but an easy knowledge that life was moving forward the way it was supposed to. College was this vast, unknown, wonderful world that promised everything from an extra fifteen pounds to some of the best memories of your life; you cried and told all your friends you’d keep in touch forever before walking across the stage to start a new chapter. It was scary and weird and different and new, but it was also right, and in that, it was wonderful.
Remember the feeling when you accepted your first job? There was this “holy crap” moment when they told you the salary and the hours, there was an even bigger “holy crap” moment when you thought about living on your own, new roommates, maybe I’ll get a new TV, maybe I’ll get a pet. The real world looms largely over your head through most of your adolescent life and with a single phone call or email, you’re now a part of it, you’re in it. You cried with your family from excitement and promised to stick it out, even if your whole job description involved coffee runs and catering to a crazy boss. It was scary and weird and different and new, but it was also right, and in that, it was wonderful.
Today. Today starts the last weekend in a journey where I was once again a student, and I graduate this weekend with the intent to make this a career. Today starts the beginning of the end of the most incredible six weeks of my life. I’ve laughed and cried and learned more about myself physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, than I even knew there was to learn. I’ve completely reshaped how I view the world and the people in it; I’ve completely reshaped my entire world and the people I want in it. My practice as a yogi has transformed so deeply that I’m terrified at the thought that I’m somehow qualified to do the same thing for other people, and yet I can’t wait to share every piece of this with anyone who wants to learn. This journey was scary and weird and different and new, but it was also so, so right, and in that, it has been wonderful.
I am not my ego, I am not a yogi, a New Yorker, a girlfriend, a friend or even LB. As I end one journey to begin another, I am only one thing:
I am.
Remember the feeling before the first day of school? It’s a rush of anxiety and eager anticipation; it’s seeing all your friends and making new ones but it’s also hard work for the next few months. Part of you wants to throw up while the other part of you can’t wait to get started. It’s the fear of the unknown: what will my schedule be like? Will I have classes with friends? Will the teacher like me? Will I be enough?
Remember the feeling before your first day at a real job? It’s elation that you’re joining the real world and a terrified anxiety that this is it; you’ve entered the adult world and the rest of your life is the 9-5 that you’ve been training your whole life to enter. There’s a sense of wonder in finding a way to take care of yourself as an adult and a sense of dread that afternoon naps are a thing of the past, maybe forever. It’s the fear of the future: did I choose the right path? Did I choose the right place to grow? Will my coworkers like me? Will I be enough?
Today. Today is the day where I’m going back to school and I’m taking that step to start a real job all over again. I’m reverting back to the five-year-old LB, who ascended the bus to kindergarten holding tight to her twinster’s hand, lest she fall down the stairs or worse, cry. I’m reverting back to the 22-year-old LB, who descended the subway steps to her first job, holding tightly to her purse and her emotions, lest she lose the subway pass that was about to become a lifeline, or worse, cry. I’m reverting, in a sense, back to 25-year-old LB, who rolled out a yoga mat she purchased at Walmart over Easter weekend and flipped to a random YouTube video thinking she’d give this yoga a try.
But I’m also not reverting to any of those things, at all. Because in reliving all of the emotions before I take the first step into my yoga teacher training program tonight and watching as the cogs of change I’ve set in motion begin the slow turn to the rest of the year, I’ve felt a sense of calm and purpose. This is what I’m meant to be doing; this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. I am ready enough. I am studied enough. I am determined enough.
I am enough.
I am.
Chronicle of a 20-whatever 