When I was 18, I fell in love with a guy who was 21. We spent a wonderful summer together and it was brilliant. Things happened that summer, however, that changed who we both were. Towards the end of that “committed relationship,” he wrote me a letter as I was visiting my father out of state. The end of the letter said, “If you ever wonder how I feel about you, listen to Edie. She says it all.” (sidebar: it’s been nearly 20 years since that summer and he and I are still friends.)
Ahhhh, the Circle. Nothing’s good enough for anybody else, it seems. We notice you don’t come around.
To say that my life has changed in the past year is a wild understatement. EVERYTHING has changed. Recently, my older brother came to visit and he was here for a couple of weeks. He told me (and others) that he had to get to know his new sister. I had to chew on that awhile. Am I a new person? Or is it possible that I am the same person I have always been, but *I* am now visible again after all these years because, well, because “BrianandSarah” is no more?
I have discovered that I am either one of two things to almost everyone I know: I am either exactly the same as I have always been, or I am totally different. The fact of the matter is that neither of those statements are true. There was a time in my life where I only listened to punk music. There was a time in my life where I only listened to country. Okay, that’s a total lie – I have never ONLY listened to country, but certainly listened mainly to country (always classic stuff or underground stuff – never radio stuff.) There was also a time in which I wouldn’t do anything if it wasn’t totally organic, natural, hippie-dippie stuff. And, yes, there was a time when I disavowed television and all screen time. All of those times were just that: times. Times pass.
The truth of the matter is that, in the wee dark hours of the morning, I would occasionally find myself missing the gal who didn’t go fishing, who would have rather blasted death metal than listen to crickets, who took care of her business and, once that was taken care of, took a ride. I have always wanted adventure and excitement and to live out loud. Now that I’m doing it, however, I’m seeing that some folks don’t recognize me. I get it. I am just learning to recognize myself again. It’s a process. It’s a circle. And, honestly, there was a part of me that didn’t come around anymore. She’s starting to show up again. She has to. SHE HAS TO. And she’d like to be welcomed back by someone other than herself.
I think this is the part of yoga that is so wonderful and so difficult. When you’re on your mat, there is NO WHERE TO HIDE. All of you comes up and slaps you right in the face. You have to see it. You have to acknowledge it. You might be sweating because you’ve done 17 Surya Namaskar B’s in a row, but what you’re sweating out isn’t just salt water – it’s the salty truth. We can either choose to notice our circle and spin around and around, or …. well, we’re going to spin whether we acknowledge it or not, but it’s our choice to take the ride with eyes open or eyes closed, and it’s our choice to step off the ride and not come around here anymore.
I’m still here. I might be on a different arc of the circle than you’re used to seeing, but I promise you – it’s my circle, and I’m coming back around again.