“May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing, and no holding back, the way it is with children.” -Rilke
Once I thought I’d be a nun. As a child, I dreamt many times of walking silently with hands tucked into my robes through hallowed, grand halls, echoes of my robes behind me, all flowing fabric and diligence.
Once I thought I’d be a veterinarian. Seeing animals suffer as a child made me weep with my entire being. Daddy, there’s an animal there without an owner, there’s a bird there I must take care of, that dog needs us, that duck needs crusts. Can we?
Once I thought I’d be a textile designer, in a corporate setting, in a job commencing three days after college graduation. My mom gifted me two suits, new shoes, new hair, who is this? Found dear friends there, momentarily lost my mind smoking behind the building every chance I had, and moved on after a handful of years even though I’d found facility in the work.
Once I thought I’d be a clothing designer. Coming up in the late eighties and nineties, print magazines were our bibles back then—remember juicy September issues? Christy Turlington was my lighthouse, Jil Sander my hero. Through two jobs, in New York and then Italy, I kept asking if I was being called to be part of the process of fashion; what I discovered was a deep, cyclical dread, a realization that although I loved the beauty and the mystery, I just couldn’t hang with the excess.
Once I thought I’d be an art teacher. Accepted to the New School, between classes I taught in two different New York City Schools: Half a year with six- to ten-year-olds, other half with ten- to fifteen-year-olds; directly reflecting back to me my current level of attention. They’d show me who I was then, enlivening my desire to teach, something. It felt natural, important, frustrating some days and many magical others, but not exactly it.
Once I thought I’d be a yoga teacher. How I’d offer the movement practice, the one that had finally connected me to my body, thank you India (Alanis!), thank you Cyndi Lee, thank you every colleague, yoga friend, teacher, teaching and opportunity since. Some of whom held strong ground in my consciousness then disappointed, some who remain so near, all of whom contributed to my formation.
Once I thought I’d be a Rabbi. In my late twenties, the synagogue on the corner of 20th and 3rd magnetized me every time I walked my dog Sofie by the entrance. One day, I saw and talked to the Rabbi in residence, learned it’d be several years of serious studentship, complete change of life as I knew it. Aforementioned Sofie, her giant eyes and big smile, the tiny studio apartment with a window on 20th Street and a pretty formidable tobacco and marijuana habit took precedence over rabbinical study.
Once I thought I’d be a yoga studio owner, back when yoga was everything. Somehow gathered a crew who loved practicing together, a hero boyfriend with a business mind who’d written a plan in his sleep; within a year I had a hero partner standing with me, handling the business by my side. Made a fair number of messes amidst the learnings there, really. Following my heart, together we built a beautiful community, still living and breathing within me.
Once I thought I’d be a business owner, even after resisting it for a number of years. Shining examples invited me in, thoroughly love it. Supporting many families, surrounded with healing plant compounds, still a yes. With study my primary personal priority, focusing on intimate, personal one-to-one education now feels most true to me.
Once I thought I’d be an artist. Painted my heart out for three years, pulled together a tiny local show, sold a couple to friends, donated the proceeds, still going. Currently working on commission for friends, planning on keeping this up for life.
Once I thought I’d be a mother. Strangely, a vision of this human came the moment I laid eyes on his father; raising him with our village has been the most radically humbling privilege of my life. It’s a few months until his departure (more on that below); focusing on calming my system, calibrating my attention, practicing easing into the increasing quiet of this house with a sense of gratitude, welcoming trust in the tears.
And once, I thought I’d be a Buddhist Chaplain. After spending four years in deep, quiet steeping in the teachings of Soto Zen, taking vows, receiving Precepts and entering the stream, I commenced two-year Chaplaincy training last week. Seeing my resistance, my wide open heart, ready to sit, serve, write, listen, learn and dissolve completely into this work.
Tangent and not: When the lovely elder woman on the checkout line yesterday gave me a once-over then asked if I’m a Buddhist, I realized: I’m basically bald, in a black dress, black sneakers, giggling, humbly, “Yes.” I’m all in.
I wonder what my Mom would say about all this. I’ll share initial reflections and a question for you below, but first, two invitations for you.
Softening Time is a weekly newsletter, mostly about learning, listening and our subtle transformations. If you have financial restriction, scholarships are absolutely available, just respond to this email or reach out via my site. To practice asana with me, here is your link to enjoy two months free on Glo. And feel free to explore my other books, courses and artwork.
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This week, March 19th, 11.30am ET.
Nourish your yearning to write, bring ease to your work and tap into your innate wisdom with us. In this one-hour free offering, Nadia and I will share current practices and ways in which we integrate writing with other practices, how we’ve personally come into greater voice, vision, healing and freedom through writing—and how you can, too. Click to register, free.
Parents: If you’re registered for the Perceptive Parenting Course, this week is our Quarterly Live Session with esteemed author Amy Morin. Join us as we explore what mentally strong parents don’t do; her book landed when my son was eleven and has had a tremendously positive impact. Click to register for audio parenting course.
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