Pushing. Pulling. (The Story So Far, Part 2)

It’s Thursday and YTT is approaching again. Two full days over the weekend this time rather than the four days that marked our second weekend together. I should write my last catchup post before the weekend comes. The week was a tough one. I was tired, that kind of tired where even washing your face before going to bed seems like climbing mount everest.  And I wonder if some of that was prompted by those four days and if some of it is just that general existential angst the past few years has inspired now and then. 

In the days following our immersion, I felt something I had a hard time describing. An impatience with the ridiculous, disgruntledness and detachment. I returned to my job overcome by just how silly so much of it really is. Drama surrounding the creation of holiday cards, for example. A stagnant traditional leadership with a culture reflecting 20 years ago. But mostly, I think, it had less to do with the work or the culture – which also has very good points – and more to do with a sense of restlessness deep within. 

The immersion itself was long and intense. We started on a Thursday and I remember pulling into the lot, parking my green Kia Soul next to the other green Kia Soul and thinking maybe my car would have a friend. Groups of new people scare me. I didn’t fit in growing up and I don’t fit in easily now. I’m the awkward one, I don’t flow well. I know that’s not necessarily how others see me, in fact, it’s possible I could be from the outside viewed as standoffish, but that’s not it at all. I’m simply a fish out of water. Especially in large groups of women. Sometimes I watch these TV dating shows just to study their behavior. Women on those shows are a mystery to me. Are they the norm or something outside. Who knows. But I digress.

That car belonged to A, who, at this point is the person I think I feel most drawn to although it took until Sunday before we has a real conversation. In the four days cliques formed, loose and friendly, people bonded to each each other, drawn by some sort of natural magnetism. The Kid found a class mom, and I think Mom is the perfect name for the woman. Mom is short haired, energetic, wide-eyed, middle-aged, efficient and friendly. She takes notes studiously in all classes and remains engaged. A is earnest and a little edgy somehow all at once. Clearly younger than me, by how much is unclear, but probably a lot. But somewhere in my heart I’m pretty young. Or maybe it’s in my mind. I don’t mean this to flatter myself, I mean I didn’t marry, I don’t own a house, I’m still trying to figure out who the heck I am and how to make it in this world while those in my cohort have houses and children almost or fully grown and are looking retirement in the eye if they’ve done particularly well. Which I haven’t. 

In day one we all put objects on an altar and talk about what they mean to us and why this is the energy we are bringing to our training. The objects are random and we were only told late the night before this would be a thing.

The object I chose was an old, hole-punched diplomatic passport, the one I received when I started working for the government over 15 years ago now. I haven’t worked for the government in a long time. In fact, the entire time I worked in in DC I was sure I didn’t belong, I felt like an imposter, living in a world where I had to fake that I belonged. Fake that I cared about the topic I was assigned to (I cared, but not the way I needed to), fake that I was smart enough to be there, fake that my mental health was what it needed to be to continuously be cleared and pass polygraphs (it actually was good enough, I realize now). 

But when I got that passport, I was so excited. The world felt open and full of possibilities. And I’d like to feel that way again. Minus the imposter syndrome and crippling self-doubt that has led me to change jobs and gradually unbuild my career brick by brick with each disruption I cause for myself.

But I digress again.  That first day we did two hours of poses at the end of the day. There are two instructors. The woman who is the flowy one full of empathy and chakra talk.  I can tell the ladies love her. I like her, I just don’t know how to relate to her. The man who is an established teacher nationally, an interfaith minister, incredibly quick, a sanskrit expert, an opera singer, etc etc etc. Less warm, more quirky, a sense of humor that requires those around him pay attention. I think he scares them a little. I relate to him more. 

We focused on what they call ground poses, tadasana, warrior poses, etc. I have never thought so much about my feet in my life. Feet. Pelvis. Pushing and pulling.  We did warrior two using a blanket to slide our back foot and then hold it stable. Pushing. Pulling. Life. 

To cover the entire weekend is too much. But it was a mix of poses and yoga classes, the beginning of dissecting how a class is constructed, a bit of symbology, a bit (too much) of chakras, not enough of the Sutras and philosophy, although I suppose we had that in the first week and a culmination on Sunday in a long astrology session where we walked away really with very little information. I already knew what a water moon sign was. And that I had one. And that I feel things. 

In the breaks and at lunch we chatted, initial loose connections formed. In class we sat on bolsters in a half circle. We are still feeling each other out. We are still feeling this out. Pushing. Pulling. Finding our balance. More to come.