It was raining today. Big fat drops of rain. Windy too. Yes, I realize that I live in Seattle. And yeah, I did grow up here—rain should be my best friend. Here is the thing, we have had this surprisingly dry fall and winter. Pleasant, lots of my favorite days where the sky was clear but it was chilly. Perfect weather for down coats and wool scarves. Perfect weather for owning a dog and long ambling walks.

We all knew the rain would return. Like a habit, it came knocking on my window this morning. This wasn’t the kind of weather I wanted to face. But my dog is persistent. He just stares at me, incessantly, and wags his tail. You try and sleep with an 80 pound stinky hound dog smiling at you with adorable “walk me” eyes.

So I dressed myself from head to toe in rain gear—I’m PRETTY sure I become androgenous with my rain gear, but whatevs… that shit is practical. And like the good dog owner that I am, we did our usual hour walk. He was soaked, I was soaked—but we were both happy. Enjoying the fresh air, the lack of squirrels and the time to be with my thoughts. I think that I am a better person because of my daily morning walks. It gives me time to mull over whatever is going on in my life—and usually allows the rational part to overcome the cray cray part… which is a REAL good thing, let me tell you.

I have recently enrolled in a 6 week small group yoga class with my dream teacher. Her voice is ethereal  (I LOVE FINDING A REASON TO USE THIS WORD), her teaching style is soothing, yet difficult… she is a dream. The first session was today. It is held in this tiny little space a few minutes from my house. With paper thin windows, the sounds of rain and traffic permeated the practice.

During our introductions, Maria asked what we all wanted to work on. This is where I usually tell my sob story of throwing out my back (truth… I’m an old lady), and how I need to work on my core. Imagine my own surprise when I opened my mouth and admitted to being too critical of myself. As the words tumbled out of me, I realized how much truth is behind that. I always think that the way I’m holding the pose isn’t good enough… that the teacher MUST be thinking, “shoot, this girl SUCKS at yoga.” I am constantly berating myself.

Where in the hell did this come from? I suppose I could sit and psychoanalyze the shit out of myself—but that would lead to more break downs as I began to peel back the layers.

All I know is that I have now acknowledged it. I have sent it out to the world—I have exposed the vulnerability to my teacher. With all of those first steps, I will begin to heal. Hopefully, these six weeks I will stop pushing, trying, aching to be better and something other then myself.

It is amazing how many self discoveries you make, especially when you think you have your shit figured out.

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