Update

I haven't blogged in a good two weeks and figured people might be wondering if I had abandoned the Year of Authenticity, leaving it to languish among the many other forgotten blogs in cyber land, existing with no life force or purpose, like outgrown toys in an unlabeled cardboard box in the attic, until some system administrator eventually deletes them out of their misery.

No! I have not forgotten you, blog of mine. But I will not fret about you, and you will not become another obligation. If I am only writing because I feel that I must, then this ceases to be an authentic expression of anything, except maybe the things I am trying to overcome.

As a follow up to my last two posts, "All or Nothing" and "Decaffeinating," I would like to report that my attempt at moderation and decaffeination translated into a new habit of drinking one cup of "1/2 caffeinated" coffee every morning. Yes, it's a thing, and I found it at Whole Foods (it's still not the Honest Weight Food Co-Op, but I have to admit I love Whole Foods. Not sure I can ever go back to living in an area that doesn't have one.) The "1/2 caff" coffee has made a dramatic difference on my level of caffeination, in a good way. I no longer feel jittery or anxious--at least not chemically induced. (I also feel kind of sleepy all the time, but I think getting more sleep could probably help remedy that.)

So even though I am far from overcoming my "all or nothing" ways, I feel like the coffee is a good, symbolic step in the right direction. And it still tastes oh so good. Looking forward to drinking some...in about six hours...sigh. Someday I might start getting enough sleep. But there are so many things to do. Who has time to sleep, really?

All or Nothing

I am an all or nothing person. I have a hard time finding the in between. Yoga is a great example. Since joining Yoga District in mid-April of last year, I have logged 129 classes. This isn't the full extent of the yoga I have done in the past year. Add the 200-hour teacher training, completed July through October, classes I took at other studios (shout out to Down Dog and Hot Yoga Saratoga), and home practice, and...well...bask in the insanity of how much time I have spent in the past year practicing yoga.

Then there is teaching. Since beginning my teaching journey in September (it began as practice teaching, part of the teacher training) I have taught approximately 60 classes. It started with teaching practice classes for friends and coworkers. Now, I have a regular class on Sunday mornings at Yoga District in Dupont, and I generally teach at the office for my coworkers on lunch break mid-week. I teach a community class for kids on Wednesday evenings. In addition to these regular classes, I sub at almost every opportunity, because I want to get as much experience as possible. I wind up teaching between three and five classes on a given week, between my regular classes and subbing opportunities.

Then there was last week.

Beginning Sunday, FRAC, my non-yoga place of employment, had its annual conference, with more than 700 attendees this year. From dawn to dusk, it seemed, I was engaged with conference activities. Immediately following, I began dog-sitting at my friend's apartment (I love her dog, and she lives above ground, so it works out well for me). Work was still particularly intense for the rest of the week, and I had something to do every night until Friday, when I collapsed in a puddle of exhaustion, and slept well after the sun came up on Saturday.

It was the first week since my yoga journey began that I did not practice yoga. Not even once. For a whole week. I cringe to think about it.

I did teach once, my community class. But that was it.

I felt so weird about it...going from all to nothing. I felt guilty, like I was neglecting my child. But I guess when you have to go to "all" of something else (like, your "real" job), something else has to give.

The amazing thing was that when I went back to yoga class yesterday, for the first time in a week, I felt great. I noticed that my pulled hamstrings, which I have had for so long I almost forget are an injury, feel significantly better. I found myself being in the class differently than maybe I am on my fifth class of the week. I was fresh. I appreciated being there, in a more noticeable way. Maybe I was more present.

I'm not sure that all or nothing is the best way to be. But it's the way I've always been, with everything in my life, from love to work to raw vegan diets to singing in a rock band to running marathons. I'm either going full throttle, or I'm not going at all.

The problem is, getting down on myself when I go from the all to the nothing. I just want to keep being all, always, with everything.

But that's not possible. If you're going to do something all, then you're going to have to do other things nothing.

And every once in a while, maybe the nothing is more helpful than the all.

Decaffeinating

I think it might be time, once again, for a pilgrimage to that promised land of decaffeination.

Let me start by saying that drinking coffee in the morning is, like, one of the dearest pleasures of my existence. The brewing experience. The smell. The delicious French vanilla soy creamer. The taste. The drinking experience. Yum. Mmmmm. The magically awake feeling that ensues.

But I know it's no good for me. Especially since getting deeper into my yoga practice and more in tune with my body and the way it's feeling, I know this to be true. Drinking coffee increases my anxiety throughout the day, and causes me to stay up later at night. Which causes me to not get enough sleep, and wake up tired, thereby deeply in need of that next cup of coffee.

I have an inkling, as of yet untested, that drinking coffee actually makes me eat more, too, since I have a tendency to stress eat.

Since I started drinking coffee in high school, maybe 15 years ago, I have given it up for periods of time. Once a few years ago, and once this past summer, as part of this raw vegan diet I was trying out (which didn't last, but it was a great experience. There's a lot more you can eat than you might think. I felt really good, too. But I just love bread too much to swing something like that long term.)

Giving up coffee was good. I remember the first few days of my vegan diet and not drinking coffee, I was so tired. This made me realize how authentically tired I actually was. And I slept, which I obviously really needed, a lot more than I usually did. After four days of caffeine withdrawal, which was pretty wretched, I felt good. My existence seemed much more genuine, in a way. I wasn't dependent on a chemical to feel functional.

That might be the greatest irony of it all. Drinking coffee increases my functionality, when I am in the habit of drinking coffee, but I think I might be more functional overall if I gave it up.

But it's hard to give up something you love sooooooooo much. And even harder to stay away, as evidenced by the fact that each time I've let it go, I've wound up right back in its warm, flavorful, buzz-inducing arms.

So we'll see if I can jump off the coffee wagon again, maybe as part of an internal Spring cleaning, but definitely not this weekend. Filter is having its one-year anniversary celebration with lovely caffeinated specials throughout the day, and I have to go show my love...

The Big Next

Each of us has an inner voice that lets us know what we are supposed to do next. An inner wisdom that guides us.

I don’t mean, like, moment by moment, although maybe that too. Eat something. Go to work. Take some deep breaths. Go to the bathroom. These aren’t big decisions, they are mostly the things we need to do to survive each day, and we are guided through these activities by the natural rhythms of our human needs.

What I am talking about is the bigger next. This is the voice that tells you what college to go to. It tells you when to pursue a relationship, and when to end it. It tells you when to take a job, when to turn down a job, and when it’s time to move on. It tells you when it’s time to look for a new apartment, or a new city. To have a baby. To start a business.

Some people attribute this inner voice, this inner guidance, to God. I won't attempt to define or attribute or categorize except to say, I think this voice exists. I call it a voice only in name, because it doesn’t always speak in words. Sometimes it’s a vision. Many times, a feeling. Or something even less identifiable than that. A thought that pops into your head one day and fits in so well it's almost like it has been there all along, like the friend you just met but can't imagine your life without. Somehow, your inner voice communicates what you need to do. Not always very specifically. Or even with a well-defined timeline. It just points you in a certain direction.

Now I know there are very logical people out there who will argue that this inner voice is actually a reflection of basic facts, simple realities. You choose your college based on what school did effective recruitment, that you applied and were accepted to, could afford, and had parental or other support for your attending.

I would argue that, while there is some truth to this, and that the inner voice and the basic facts often point in similar directions, or toward similar nexts, the inner guide is not always tied to what might seem to make the most logical sense. In fact, quite the reverse. What our inner voice tells us to do frequently seems to make no sense at all. It is only after we listen and follow and see where we are being led, that the pieces fall into better place and we gain the understanding of  why we had to go there.

The voice doesn’t always guarantee a certain outcome. Sometimes you are led somewhere to fail miserably, or what we would typically consider failure. I would say, that failure was what you were supposed to experience. Or maybe you are told to go one place, start putting the wheels in motion, and wind up someplace completely different. It wasn’t that you were guided incorrectly. There was just a road closing with a detour and alternate route, so you had to start off going in a less obvious direction, before winding up in the correct place, even though you didn’t know in the beginning of the trip that there was where you were ultimately going.

I'm going to New York City.

I'm not exactly how, or exactly when, or to do what, specifically, but I'm going. It's something I have been told for a long time by my inner voice, by my inner guidance. It's always seemed to be somewhat of a far off inclination, but it's feeling more and more like a reality in the short term. I have spoken to a few people about it, and they have reminded me that it's not a new concept. It's something I have been talking about for a long time.

If I think far enough back, I have been thinking about moving to New York City since I was a little girl and auditioned for Little Cosette on Broadway, which, had I gotten the role, would have landed me there. But I didn't. And then when I was applying to college I wanted to go to New York City, but I didn't, and then after college I planned to move to New York City with a few of my theater friends, but I didn't, and then years after that I revisited the option of moving to New York City for grad school, but I didn't. There were good reasons each time I didn't, of course, and I don't regret anything.

When I finally left Albany, as I always believed I would, I came to DC instead. DC presented itself in a glorious burst of opportunity, and for a while I believed that perhaps the inclination towards New York City was just the road to DC. Now I realize that DC has been the preparation and the confirmation. I've learned more, perhaps even lived more, in a year of being here than I have in many previous years combined. But being here has not satiated my heart's longing for New York, as I thought it might. It has strengthened it, left me in a place where I have no other choice but to acknowledge it, and follow where I am being guided.

And now that I am blogging it, it must be so!