Ahh, 6:30 AM on a Sunday. The kids sleep. Chris sleeps. I sit with a steaming cup of coffee flavored this morning with a coconut milk creamer. The coffee and the somewhat processed creamer are an indulgence I partake in consciously and with pleasure. I drink it from a dollar store snowman mug my oldest daughter gave me for Christmas last year. Christmas. Now there's a thought. I'm not usually a big celebrant of the traditional winter holidays, but this year I feel some anticipation in my secular, buddhish, yogini kind of way. In fact, lovely readers (I say that tongue in cheek, I know there are a few of you out there, but it's hardly a following, right? And don't we like it that way?), I'm planning a sort of musical goody fest for this blog. Beginning the day after Thanksgiving, I intend to post a holiday tune du jour with a twist. If you like dark chocolate and a little irreverence from time to time, you'll want to check in. At least I hope you will. We can all three or four of us have a sweet virtual chuckle then be on our way through the hustle and bustle of the holidaze.
But I do feel positive anticipation for the days to come. It's a dark and cold time of year, why not string up some LED lights, sing songs, imbibe (responsibly, of course) and get each other through wintertide with gifts and good will? So the season begins with Thanksgiving, which gets so shortchanged. I'm not talking about celebrating the irony of Native Americans breaking bread with Pilgrims before the rest of history unfolded, but the idea of taking pause to experience and express gratitude can't be too harmful, I imagine. My life has been blessed by my connections to others. I'll begin with my family for being adaptable, for our ability to support each other in our singular endeavors, and for coming together when the shift hits the fan. Of course, I must thank every yoga teacher who took the time to care enough to see the students, me included, who showed up on their mats. One particular instance changed the trajectory of my life. I was attempting vasistasana with a slightly overweight body at the time. It was hard, and I was unplugged energetically. The teacher came, held on to the wrist that was lifted toward the ceiling, gave a gentle tug that instantly connected the loose electrical currents in my body. It was my first experiential understanding of what yoga is about. Bear in mind these acknowledgements come in no particular hierarchical order. Friends of all sorts have passed through my world, some staying a short time, others hanging around. Shpongle's album title says it all: Nothing lasts, but nothing is lost. The YaYas saw me as beautiful when I hardly saw much of myself at all. My mom gave me a sense of the value of art and an appreciation for solitude. My dad showed me that behind the wizard's curtain was this little man trying to act big. I cannot forget to mention my sister, Denise, whose irreverent humor and crazy collages saw me through a time when it would have been easy to grow over-pious and take myself too seriously. She might not know the impact her letters had when I naively acted as an LDS missionary many, many moons ago, but I looked forward to them and savored the laughter. And that's just it, we never fully know the effect our simple gestures and everyday actions have on the world at large. So you see, my life is full. What is there to do but pay it forward? I hope I can. I'll give it my best shot.
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