It's so humorous that ever since I wrote the blog post about Yoga Home & Life, my mind, home and body have been the opposite of balanced, calm and synergized. I have felt physically and emotionally crappy. I've been angry, irritable, frustrated, and yearning for quiet and escape. I've been crabby to children and have felt utterly crushed by the weight of responsibility and Things To Do.
I haven't exercised in weeks. That might account for 80% of the problem. I should stop writing mid-sentence and go do that, but I want to write these thoughts before the feel-good endorphins kick in and alter my entire outlook and energy level. (Why am I still sitting here when I could be altering?!)
Life will never (ever) be the neatly packaged thing I want it to be. I like my towels folded and stacked perfectly. My husband just very helpfully folded a load of towels and they weren't the precise packages I need. I will refold them. I can't let it go. I have a compulsion to have control over at least the towels in my life. I should do something else with the 5 minutes he saved me, but I will be happier with towels that live up to my precision specs.
I will never fit into each day the things I want to, need to or should fit in. I will encounter daily snafus in multiple areas. I will not become as knowledgeable on a wide variety of topics as I want to be. I will not see all the films or read all the books or listen to all the music or travel to all the destinations I want to explore. I will not write all the letters or send all the gifts I want to. I will not have the taut, toned body I dream of. My house will not look like I want it to. I will not suddenly become a prolific writer or quilter or gardener or actress or do-gooder. I will not be the epitome of anything. I will be like every other person on the planet, strutting and fretting his hour upon the stage, or traversing the "vicissitudes of life," as my dad always says.
My husband and child are about to burst in the door with their noise and needs and commotion. I am not ready to receive them. I want hours upon hours of quiet and time alone, but that's not the life I have. I need to accept that life will almost never feel just exactly how I want it to. If I could just get that through to my feeble, wish-deluded brain, then maybe I could really enjoy the messy, imperfect, incomplete thing this life is--it's like trying to sit and enjoy dinner and a sunset over glistening water with a hemorrhoid, mosquitos and severe food allergies.
While writing this post, I burned the dish I was making to bring to our church group tonight. I will now have to go to the store and start over.
And I will feel so infinitely, temporarily better about all of this in 40 minutes after I oxygenate my cells and flood my body with endorphins from exercise!
(My laptop is broken and I'm unable to access my photos just now, so I'm going imageless, except for my mental image of sitting in the perfect spot and trying to enjoy it while dealing with hemorrhoids, mosquitos and an allergic reaction to the meal.)