Today the pen (urm...keyboard) is for me and my personal reflections. And so, it's also for you...because we never really get to get away from sharing the experience with one another.
Today I want to write about two things:
That there are billions of humans and only one human experience.
Why my mom coming to my first yoga retreat made me cry a few times.
She didn't want to come at first.
My mom, that is.
She didn't want to come at all. Any time that I would talk about the upcoming retreat that took place last June, there would be silence on the phone. There were no questions asked, no "how's that all going?" or seeking updates on progress.
Family is wonderful, because at the end of the day, every single one of us are simply people navigating our own personal brand of triggers, fears, frustrations, celebrations and triumphs. We just happen to share blood with the ones who we also share a great deal amount of time an honesty with. So...its easier to not hide...or, haha, maybe it's actually that it is harder to hide from family.
I watched her as we arrived together at the retreat. I was frustrated and trying to not be. It blows my mind the way that family can pull you from your space of balance. I sometimes feel like I can witness almost anything, experience essentially any piece of life -- but then my mom says something that gives life to a tornado in my heart -- or at least funnel clouds.
I was frustrated at how nervous she was.
As I sit here now, it chokes me up. Because I can see it. I can see how my frustration stems from a space of expecting her to be like me.
Because I cannot escape being so much like her.
"Why aren't you coming to the retreat?" I finally asked her in May. "Chloe's mom is coming, Sabrina's mom is coming -- I'm sitting here saving you a spot and I don't even know if you want to...I don't even know if you care if this works or not."
As I watched her carry her bags to the little log cabin she would be staying in, it hit me for the first time, how small she was trying to make herself. My mom. The woman who had always been larger than life in my eyes, she was curling her chest into her spine and trying to hide.
I had to go...the other guests were coming and I had to make an offering to the river.
But I stood and watched her, as I had through all of my years, and then I walked where I needed to go, as I had through all of our years.
With literally billions of humans, and billions of mother daughter, son and father (and vice versa) relationships -- it is reasonable, to apply the lessons of the global pandemic now.