Sometimes when I’m almost home, like a couple of stops on the train away, I get anxious.
I get anxious and think: “I hope my cat is okay.” (There’s no reason she should not be.) “I hope the train doesn’t break down. What if it does?” (If it does, I could walk I’m so close.) “It’s so hot out. I really hope I don’t have to walk home if the train breaks down.” (Shut up.)
And on, and on, and on.
I’ve never gotten anxious when I’m far away from home. Maybe that’s because I’m nowhere near it and so worrying is futile. Or I know someone is with Playbill, so no need to worry. I don’t know. I don’t know why I get so anxious when I’m so close to home I could (if I really wanted to) walk rest of the and it would take 20 minutes, max.
But yesterday, around 79th Street, I noticed it and instead of stewing in the anxiety and feeding it, I began to breathe into it and ask why I was feeling this way. I felt it and let it go. I told myself I’d be home soon.
And it worked. It was nice. I got home and Playbill was fine. I was fine. My night was relaxed because I didn’t let the anxiety of my subway ride take over.
I hesitated before purchasing a $50 ticket to Gabrielle Bernstein’s YogaJournal Conference talk last Friday night, but I’m glad I did buy the ticket eventually. I needed it. I’d been having a heavy week and all of the yoga classes in the world weren’t helping, so this was just the thing recenter myself. I’m glad I forked over $50 + fees to Ms. Bernstein for two hours of meditations and good times.
She said this was a sort-of new talk for her so she was nervous but as always, she was uplifting and her presence was powerful. (Hence the talk’s name, “True Power.”) A few very intense guided meditations to some incredible music later and I think it was safe to say that everyone in that room (750 of us, apparently) were feeling a lot better. She even insisted on us turning to our neighbor and telling them, with no sugar coating, what was on our minds at that moment. It took a lot of courage but hey, we were probably never going to see that person again, so why not?
I picked up a deck of “Miracles Now” cards before the talk started, too. My dude, the patient person he is, even obliged in picking out a card with me each morning on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday mornings. He’s not really into the spiritual, granola-y stuff, but he’s humoring me. I’ll get him to start meditating someday.
Anytime I think I’ve had my fill of Gabby’s talks, I’m always wrong and I’m always glad I went. If you haven’t seen her before, go. If you’re, like, sort-of curious, go. If you want to start out slowly, read Spirit Junkie (not her first book, but the first one I read). You (probably) won’t be sorry.
I made the (what I now realize may have been a) mistake of sending my ex a photocopied chapter of the book I’m currently reading that I thought he could really relate to.
Well, he emailed me today and rehashed again how he thinks he needs to be single now and how things never would’ve worked anyway, and blah, blah, blah. It took every bit of restraint I could muster up not to tell him to go fuck himself. And it’s not because I hate him, because I don’t. He just does this all the time and I’m over it. If he wants to play the victim and to get validation that how he acted was OK and that I forgive him, well, he’s not going to get it. Not yet, at least.
But I didn’t say that. I didn’t tell him to go fuck himself. Instead I wrote back asking him to stop replaying the past to me every time we communicate (which has been few and far between in the weeks since things ended). The past is in the past. And I’m still processing my hurt and, to be blunt, pissed off feelings about the whole thing, but I’ll be OK. I’m working on it in therapy and in my meditation practice (which is, I can almost say this for sure, more than he’s doing).
I just keep telling him to be well, because, well, that’s all I really can do.