On missing someone…

I saw a friend today that I have not seen in almost six years.  We met, together with my family and another friend, for lunch.  The instant I saw him, it was as if I had just seen him last week.  We embraced and it was like no time had ever passed.  He found me a few months ago online and finally seeing him in person again after all this time was incredible.  He has and has not changed, not unlike myself.  It’s interesting to me how we can yearn for a friend, miss someone deeply; then in one instant see them and feel that surge of joy and excitement.  It’s a lovely fulfillment of a longing for the warmth of caring for someone.  I’ve been chatting with him online, even talking over Skype.  But nothing compares to the embrace, the tangible, the touch of a face-to-face interaction.

As I look forward to leaving soon for Acapulco, now less than five weeks, I reflect on what it means to miss someone.  I miss a lot of people.  I miss friends who I’ve not seen in far too long.  I miss friendships and interactions I have had.  But I feel a deep ache in my heart for how deeply I am going to miss my family when I leave.  This is part of the journey of going to Teacher Training, the missing.  It’s part of what will form me during those 9 weeks away.  But it still hurts.  During our year of engagement Dave and I were separated for six weeks.  I went away to (ironically) Mexico with YWAM to staff an outreach team.  I missed him the moment I got into the van.  I missed him all the way through Utah, Nevada, California, and into the Baja peninsula.  I missed him back into Arizona, New Mexico, and all the way back to Denver.  I missed him.  Badly.

I think we throw this term around a lot, I miss you.  I say it a lot.  I think I am saying it more now than I have in a long while.  But it means different things every time we say it.  What do we miss?  Why do we miss it?  It’s not just about missing the person, it’s about us.  It’s about our needs, our wants, our emotions that are somehow left unattended in the absence of the person or persons we are without for the time.  Missing is about not having the hug, not feeling the warmth of the other person beside you.  Missing is about not having the listening ear, the comforting buzz of a text message that reminds you they’re still…  there.  Missing is about me.

When I saw my friend, we both said the same thing.  Man, I have missed you! We both said it, and we both meant it.  I surely did miss him.  And even now, not five hours after saying goodbye to him, I miss him all over again.

In five weeks, I’ll be in Acapulco.  I’ll be preparing for my first full week of Teacher Training.  I will surely miss my husband, my beautiful sons, and my amazing friends.  I will miss my sister and my mom. I will miss so many people.  But if I am able to remember that they will eventually return to me, it makes the ache a little easier.  I will see my friend again.  And in November I will return to my family after Training.  I will see my friends and family again.  And I am sure, that by that time, I will have new people in my life to miss.  And so the cycle goes.

Where I am, where I’ve been, where I’m going…

I haven’t forgotten you blog.  It must seem that way.  The truth is my life has changed 100 percent in the past month and I’ve been so busy holding on for dear life that I haven’t had as much time to write for writing’s sake as I used to.  I am not complaining, of course, just sharing.

I’m sitting here, my entire house silent.  My guys are all asleep.  It’s not even that late, barely 10 pm.  But it’s been the kind of week that makes this day (Wednesday) feel like it should surely already be Friday.  It’s not, by the way.  Here we are mid-week, all of the life lived already in the past three days seem enough to fill several weeks for certain.

I’m on the eve of a massive life journey.  Really, if you get right to it, the journey began years ago.  Ten years ago, to be exact.  I always wanted to be a yoga teacher.  Now it’s finally happening.  I’m learning the Dialog, really, and it’s happening.  I’m going to class SO MUCH.  I’m preparing, thinking, planning, and praying.. a LOT.  This is who I am now.  Karen, the future Bikram Yoga teacher.  It doesn’t even feel strange.  It feels like the next place I put my foot on the road, the next rung on the ladder.  This is all part of who I am, and who I am meant to be.  My body is stronger, healthier, leaner than ever.  I am a yoga machine, and I like it.  In about six weeks I will board a plane and (eventually) arrive in Acapulco, Mexico.  I will then spend nine weeks immersed in this yoga that has saved my lfie.  I will sweat and sweat and sweat and sweat and sweat.  I will cry, and miss my family.  I will work, and learn, and hope, and think, and imagine life from a new perspecitve.  I will change whether I desire it or not.  I will allow the miracle of my God-given blessings to wash over me.  I will be thankful.

But this is all in the future.  And I am forced now, six weeks out from my departure, to remain present in this life.  I am mom, wife, friend, confidant.  I am who I will always be, and not  yet who I will become.  I have inside of me all the potential, and none of the experience.  It’s a strange station, but also a relief.  One day at a time, I am still here.

I am asked often if I miss my normal life.  I’m still not sure what this means.  The only thing I can surmise is that maybe people wonder if I miss the old life, before I leapt off the cliff and went for my dreams.  I can’t figure out why I would miss that, but I suppose it’s something to ask.  The answer is no, I miss nothing.  I don’t miss the old person.  I don’t miss having “more time to myself when I wasn’t going to yoga all the time.”  Nope, I don’t miss that at all.  This is normal to me now, whatever ‘normal’ is anyway.  Normal always sounds a little bit like a cop-out or an excuse people offer themselves for the doubts and fear they carry over living life just underneath their true potential.  But I might just be projecting…

So Where am I?  Right where I’m meant to be.  Where have I been?  I’ve been here all along, but in a coccoon of sorts.  Changing, going through my metamorphosis.  Where am I going?  In the literal, I am going to Mexico soon for 9 weeks.

I will always be here.  I will always be.  But I hope that when I look back, I see new scenery each time.

The Perfect Lover

He’s not who you might think. He’s not who I would have ever thought. But he’s mine. He holds me closer than anyone else. I know him, in every way. I love his smell, his eyes. I love the way his hands reach my lower back. I love touching his face, the smoothness of his skin against mine.

When we make love, the world disappears. He fits me, and I him. I am forever his.

I believe the world gives us one perfect lover. If we are lucky enough to find them, we can never be free. It’s an eternal, perfect, sacred union. The yin and the yang of all of our sexuality. Hot and cold, night and day, together, perfect.

I reach into my soul to find the ways I want to love him back. He pursues me, hungry for me. I speak words into his ear that nobody else hears. Our hands, our arms, our legs, our bodies tangle, touching, moving, loving. Forever this cycle moves us. The tides pull and push our desires. But they never dry up.

I can offer him my entire self. All of my body and my heart. He is inside of me, and all around me. I live to feel his body against mine.

My perfect lover.. Forever.

If I could…

If I could only do this one thing
I would find within myself the strength
to let all the things that used to be
all of the things that don’t matter
I would let them fall
Let it go

If I could only say this one thing
I would find within myself the courage
to say, “I forgive you..”
a thousand times over
even when it doesn’t make sense
and let it fall
Let it go

If I could only give this one gift
I would find within myself all of the will
to offer up my heart and soul
to those who keep me alive
Keep me breathing with their love
and let everything else fall
Let it go

If I could only allow this one wish
I would find within myself
The hope alive
the dream that doesn’t surrender to time
And everything else – I would let it fall
Let it go

If I could only be this one person
I would find within myself the heart
to become the truest version of me
Happy, whole, alive, full of light.
And let the old me fall
Let it go.

If I could only have this one day
this one hour
this moment, right now..
I would find within myself the fervor of unwavering joy.
Unbendable will, insatiable dreams.
I would gather them all up in my arms, and let them fall
Let it go..
Knowing they would return to me.

Feet in the sand.

Days move with incessant motion. Time brands me with its relentless change. I struggle to hold tight to the tiniest lip of the door frame into my life. Some days I wander about, functioning on the most minimal resources. And even in this chaos I am peaceful.

Time, life, change, days, sunshine, tides, rain, laughter, anger, heat, wind, fear, anxiety, moon, motion, hope, pulling, stretching, giving, crying, watching, running, music, home, partnership, mother, birth, death love, passion, sex, words, thoughts, dreams, life.. life..

I stand firm on the oceanside. Watching the waves of change. I root myself deep into the murky water.. The briny ocean laps around my ankles, threatening to remove my foundation. I am equal and simultaneously changing. I am exactly the same.

This is my time, my dream, my life.. MY LIFE.

I lift my arms, higher.. Reaching up and then down again, hands to my chest in prayer. I bow to the never-ending Prana that courses through me. I offer a prayer of life and thanksgiving. I will not be shaken.

This is my day, my hope, my calling..

I will never give up and never forget to hope. I will never lose touch or forget the voices in my life. I will listen, and remember.

I am not the same person. I am changing like the sand under my feet. But that change solidifies my place in this world. This intensive classroom session. I am forever the student.

This is my life. MY LIFE..

And here I am. Rooted, grounded, solid. Even as the sand washes out from underneath my feet..

No Bad News.

Life has been moving at an incredible pace lately. There are many many days I don’t even have time to stop and think about what day it is or what month.. I attribute much of this to just being a mother of two small children. Time flies, life goes by so fast. My boys are growing up. They’re literally changing right in front of me. Sometimes it makes me sad, but most days it just makes me proud. I am proud of my life, proud of my kids, proud of what’s becoming of us.

I don’t have many complaints lately. I think that’s a good thing, a sign that either I am learning to be more tolerant or my life just really is that good. Either way, it’s a good thing.

I was reading back over old blogs and I realized I hadn’t made a “Thankful” list in a while. So, for posterity, here goes.

I am thankful that I am healthy.
I am thankful for delicious, whole, raw food.
I am thankful for yoga.
I am thankful for my studio, the teachers, and the classes.
I am thankful for this incredible body that is changing everyday.
I am thankful for friends.
I am thankful for my kitchen (even the fruit flies).
I am thankful for people far away even though I miss them desperately.
I am thankful for heartache that teaches me to be stronger.
I am thankful for the ability to take care of my family.
I am thankful for my children.
I am thankful for Dave.
I am thankful for music, songs, signing, playing, and making noise..
I am thankful that Spring has arrived.
I am thankful that it’s going to be warm enough to swim really soon.
I am thankful that I can be strong even when I have no idea where the strength comes from.
I am thankful for the sun.
I am thankful for God.
I am thankful for this journey.

I had the best time today catching up with a close friend. We sat and chatted, and it was wonderful. I treasure times like this because they are rare. But Leigh Anne is the kind of friend that no matter how long it’s been, it doesn’t matter. It was fun to sit and laugh. It really reminded me of why we’re friends, why we’re close. She’s one of the strongest women I know. I admire her so much, and I look forward to the day we can have more time together. Leigh Anne has been a friend for a long time. She was around when I got started as a mother, she was there for the birth of my second child, and our kids have been friends for what seems like forever. I love her so much. And I hope she reads this and knows it.

Not that you asked, but yoga is going well. I’ve been practicing very regularly and loving it. I’m feeling very at peace about my progress and practice. It’s never been my goal to coast along, but it is nice to feel a little more settled. I am progressing, and I feel great.

Today is the beginning of Passover. We have been invited to a Seder tomorrow evening. This will be my first time to attend a Seder and I am totally excited. I’ll keep you posted.

And since this is one of those rambly blog posts, I will leave you with this little video. It’s a trailer for a movie I can’t wait to see called Enlighten Up!. Enjoy!

Never too far..

I have been deeply affected by something I read recently on a friend’s blog. I don’t care to link it because honestly I believe it’s far too private and intimate to have the whole blogosphere cross referencing my thoughts. But I have had such deep thought about it that I decided to sit and write about this issue of separation, distance, longing, and loneliness.

I spent a great deal of my young adult life working and traveling. I was alone in that I was single. I had friends, but I was completely transient. At the drop of a hat, could have easily gone anywhere, done anything. For the most part, I saw this as a freedom, a privilege. But there were many days that I would sit alone in my bed and wonder what it would be like to have someone lying beside me. What would it be like to have a partner, a life long companion? I tried, of course, not to dwell on this. Seeing as how at that time I had no prospects for such a relationship. But that didn’t erase the fact that I wanted it.

Now that I am married, and have been for some time; I have developed such a dependence on Dave. I need him. I need his voice, his face, his body. I need him to turn the locks on the doors at night. I need him to keep me warm and remind me to laugh. I need his questions, his chatter, his smell. I need to see his clothes in the closet, and see his wallet on the counter. I need to know he’s here.

Lately we’ve had such a crazy life. We are more often apart in the evening than we are together. One evening is yoga, the next a meeting, the next he is gone to class, the next he is doing the show… On and on.. Day upon day. I sometimes feel like we pass one another in life. Like we are just cohabitants.

I believe I am cursed in a way. I need the tangible. I am addicted to it. I can’t stand surface relationships, surface communication, it’s too generic. I long to touch people, see them, know them. Pictures aren’t enough, emails don’t satisfy me.. I need more. Dave and I always find a way back to each other. We can have the longest week and in one instant, it’s gone. Behind us. In one moment we are back, we are together again, and the distance is gone. He is laying beside me, holding me, telling me something about his day. And in that minute, I forget how far apart we seemed just moments before.

I treasure this connection. It makes me feel alive, and new. I despise loneliness and separation. But there are times when it’s not up to me. There are days and nights I feel apart from those I love. Friends living too far away, family distant, it’s a lot to deal with. As I get older I get less and less content to just cope with my frustrations over being separated. I feel like somehow, I deserve to have these people around me. Whether or not I do is another story. But at least, in trying, I feel like the road is shorter. At least by reaching out, I know I have come that much closer to holding the ones I love. And that makes me feel a lot better. Even when the distance and time seem to be against me.

Down came the rain..

This is a story I have never really told. It’s something I rarely tell anyone about. But it’s something that I have been thinking about. It’s part of my journey right now. And somehow I feel that by writing about it, and sharing it, I honor the memory of this terribly painful time of my life.

I think having children is a wonderful thing. I believe every child is a blessing. Pregnancy, birth, and babies are passions of mine. I love it, really. My first son, Simon, was a tough kid. He was born 2 weeks late, refused to breastfeed for weeks, and screamed for six months straight. He was tough. But I managed. I had mild depression with Simon. I found one of my best friends during that time, someone I still love and depend on deeply. But the cloud passed rather quickly the first time. And I rarely recall the real hardships of having him. My second son, Eli, was completely different.

Eli was born a bit late. His labor was horribly long and painful. I remember laying in my bed, right after he was born and just crying. He was finally here.. I was exhausted, and stayed that way for a long time. Eli was not a happy baby. He had a high-pitched scream that astounded anyone that heard it. It was one of the first noises he made and it made the hair on my neck stand on end. My husband commented about it the first time he heard it and could not believe such a small animal was making such a terrifying noise. Eli nursed straight away. He was seemingly starving all the time, endlessly fussy, and always unhappy.

The first few weeks of his life are a blur for me. I remember the midwives coming back to see me the next day after he was born. I remember him fattening up, and growing out of his baby clothes at an astounding rate. He was in perfect health. Gleaming and gorgeous. But he was so… unhappy. I remember trying so hard just to get him to stop. Just for a moment, I longed for him to stop screaming. Eli never simply cried, never the gentle “wahhh” of a newborn. Eli screamed with all of Hell’s fury. And to this day, if he makes that sound I feel every muscle in my body tighten.

Mothering, as it turns out, is far more than diapers, feedings, and naptime. I knew this, having had a former child. Who, as it was; proved to be a total angel for me during those early months. Simon would watch his brother scream, watch me panic, and sit so incredibly quiet and happy you would swear he was either deaf or a wax figure. It must have been a blessing straight from God. Simon was my Godsend. He went to sleep at naptime, ate his lunch, helped pick up toys, and brought me endless bottles of water when I was parked on the sofa nursing his brother. He was only 2.

What I didn’t know then was that I was waist deep in Postpartum Depression. I had no idea that my delirious frustration, rage, and anxiety was a chemical problem. I denied it. I only let a few people into my life during that dark time. I isolated myself at home, and I was desperately lonely. I prayed for the day I wouldn’t feel so resentful for having a child as difficult as Eli. I was lost, and felt that I would have this screaming infant forever. I never thought it would end. I coped with my depression in many many unhealthy ways. I ate poorly, watched too much TV and retreated into myself.

What nobody tells you about Postpartum Depression is how it always feels like it’s your fault. I always felt that somehow I was doing something wrong. I couldn’t get him to stop crying. I couldn’t make him happy. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t shower. I felt it was my fault. I was a terrible mother, and he would be forever scarred by my blinding incompetence.

That was over 2 years ago. Eli is now a happy, adjusted, and rarely makes “that noise.” What I have never told people is how alone I was. I never tell this story. I never talk about the hours of screaming. I never mention how I would lay him in the bassinet and walk outside and cry. That’s simply not something you talk about.

People wonder, why I don’t want more kids. They look at the two that I have, so healthy and perfect. I did have two very healthy pregnancies, and two relatively easy births. What nobody knows is about those six or seven months. And yes, it lasted that long. Those long, unforgiving months of hell. But I never find it appropriate to mention that in polite conversation. Somehow I doubt anyone wants to really know that.

There were many things that pulled me out of my depression. Yoga was the main thing. I firmly believe it saved my life. It gave me a reason to wake up, and try. I will never forget the profound difference I felt after that first class. I was a human again. And I will never ever forget to be thankful for that. My friends and family were always there for me. There were plenty of people I never reached out to that I should have.

For me, Postpartum Depression was a veil of darkness. It was a constant rainstorm. Even to this day, I feel scarred by it. Writing this feels raw and painful. I recall the endless days, nights, sitting and waiting. I would watch the clock for the second I knew Dave would be home. I would beg my sister to come see me, anything.. Anyone to be there, to help me not feel so alone. I was lost. I think many women are. They have no compass to help them.

What I hope is that by sharing the truth of my story, I can bring understanding. I am just one mother. But this is who I am. It is part of me, part of what makes me who I am. And now, my story is out there. And in that, I feel a little bit more free. And a whole lot less alone.

Nobody told me..

There are so many things nobody ever told me.. So many things I never knew about life. Things like how awful it feels to fail your child. How frustrating it is to try and try and try to calm them, and they just don’t. Nobody tells you how heartbreaking it is to lose your cool in the face of a horrid temper tantrum. Nobody tells you how angry you can become, and how fast it can happen. Nobody told me those things. I never heard it. If they told me, I didn’t listen.

There are things in life that get you. They just get you. And being a mother is an incredibly vulnerable job. It means I put myself out on the line every single day, every moment of every day.. I love, and give, work, hug, prepare food, kiss, tuck in, bathe, snuggle, hold, and console. I give so much of myself. Hours of it done alone. Two little ones in my care. If that’s not vulnerable, what is..

But make no mistakes, I love my children. But nobody told me. Maybe they don’t tell you because if they do, they know you won’t ever try.. Or maybe they don’t tell you because they know you won’t listen.

It’s been a long day..

Lifted

I woke up in a bad mood today. A really awful, classically hormonally driven BAD MOOD.. So the better part of my morning I chose to avoid society. Probably for the best. But anyone who knows me well knows that there are a few things that will at least help me when I am in one of these moods..

Diet coke.. I know, but HELLO Phenylalanine!! God’s own mood enhancer.
Good Music (like Matt Morris)
Reading Blogs
Talking to friends
Massage (this didn’t happen for me today, but it goes on the list..)
Sweet baby cheeks..

Wait, what?? yeah, sweet baby cheeks. I guess these wouldn’t be on every list. But they go on the list today. Mostly because they really did lift my mood. Really. I believe God makes baby cheeks extra soft. There are a few reasons for this. But the main reason is that they’re irresistibly kissable. Eli, in particular has the sweetest cheeks ever seen by anyone. I know this because I am his mother and I kiss them regularly. And I happen to be totally impartial.

Every day when I lay down with Eli for naptime I am reminded of this. It’s an old habit from the days when I would nurse him to sleep. I lay down beside him, cradling his head in my arm and caress his head. His sweet blue eyes rimmed with the longest eyelashes ever. He grins and pulls his “KiKi” in close for a snuggle (that used to be mine).. I marvel at how his face has changed and he has grown up. Even at two, he seems so much older. He’s growing up, and fast. And then comes the moment that I love.. The sweetest part of the ritual. There’s a bit of back rubbing, a bit of patting, and then, the kiss.

The thing about kissing Eli’s cheeks is that one kiss is not enough. Never. In fact I venture to guess that if I were to do a field study on kissing his cheeks there would be nary a soul who could endure only one kiss. I always give a minimum of three or four kisses. Often they are rapid-fire kisses all over his cheek that elicit giggles from the sleepy tot. But I can’t get enough. I just can’t.

One day, in the not so distant future, those cheeks will fill up with cheekbones. Like Simon’s have. They won’t be padded with sweet baby fat any more. I will mourn the loss of those beautiful sweet baby cheeks. I will probably cry and be a pathetic maternal mess. But for now, they’re all mine..

And for today, they have totally lifted my mood..