5. The Stare Down

What has happened in the past few weeks is I have opted to look my shame, sadness, and discomfort over the state of my yard in the eye. To face it without backing away as I have in the past. To own the mess and see what I can make of it little-by-little. Step-by-faltering-step.

After all, I remind myself, this is how I have tackled every post-divorce challenge that has come my way, and it has worked every time.

I sit on my porch after another day of watering plants, weeding the driveway by hand—without chemicals—and cleaning out the garage.

I rock in the dusty, paint-chipped rocking chair on my porch. I breathe in the feeling of another successful day of homeownership. I don't feel so overwhelmed. I have broken down the mental list of all the things that need to be done, and feel energized to do them as energy, time, and budget allow.

As I rock, I reflect. I have come so far in other areas of my life in the past three years. What will I accomplish in this yard in the next three years now that I have the mental space and physical energy to attack it head on?

The sadness I felt mere weeks ago is lifting, dissipating. That’s what happens when I stare down the uncomfortable emotions attached to something I have tried to avoid. My sadness is being replaced with a sense of accomplishment and increased competency. A sense of "okayness" with the situation is evaporating the long-held beliefs that this situation was always too big, too messy, too expensive.

It IS a lot, as the photo below captures, but I have a sense now that I can tackle it. I can improve it on my own time with my own wits. This, alone, is progress.

4. Habit Forming

Another weekend passed, and again, I chose to do the lawn early in the weekend so it didn't weigh on me. I mowed while my daughter was at a birthday party. I was energized by working with a deadline: the mowing must be done by the time I have to pick up my daughter.

I heard neighbors fire up their lawn mowers earlier in the day, but I chose the evening because it's when I was free, and the day was hot. I hoped to escape some of the heat.

I felt sweat run down my back and was out of breath as I pushed the mower and breathed in the muggy air. I couldn't imagine how winded I would have been if I'd mowed five hours before.

I was weary when I pushed the mower into the shed, but I was also content. I didn't let the chore hang over my head, so I could enjoy the rest of the weekend.

I feel a shift. Lawn care is one more thing on my plate during the summer season, but it no longer feels so heavy, or like such a burden. It's something that needs to be attended to, and I get it done with much less procrastination than in the past. 

I am grateful that it isn't the CHORE it used to be. The task hasn't changed, but my attitude has and that changes everything.

3. First Floral Purchase of the Season

My introverted ways sometimes challenge my ability to parent my extroverted daughter with peace and calm. She thinks nothing of having plans every evening after school. That thought alone wears me out most days, let alone carrying out whatever plans she has in mind.

I do my best to stay ahead of her requests, so that I can have the energy to offer her something to do. I know she doesn’t need to be busy every night of the week—I am not a cruise director, but it’s fun to surprise her with plans on occasion.

One evening the week after the Royal Wedding and my satisfying and productive afternoon in the yard, I was ready to buy and plant flowers in our wheelbarrow-turned-flower pots. It was our outing for the evening, and we had a great time choosing flowers.

Early on in her young life, it was apparent  my daughter had an eye for design and fashion, and as we pushed our flower cart around Home Depot, it became obvious that she also has an eye for flowers.

She selected marigolds and a neon green plant to add to some of the flower pots. I chose geraniums and ivy. We also picked out some red blossoms (name unknown) that would fit on a plant hanger in our backyard and begonias in memory of our grandfather who died this winter. We loaded up on potting soil and did our best to not over buy flowers like we had last year.

My daughter’s neighborhood friends were out when we pulled in, so they helped us with some of the planting. My daughter has a generous spirit, so she was intent on giving our neighbors a pot of flowers. When that gift was delivered, she was done with the planting and wanted to play with her friends, so I resumed the work on my own.

I prefer to eat a doughnut with a fork because of my aversion to having sticky hands, so it always surprises me when I like getting my hands dirty with potting soil. 

I planted the begonias in the backyard around our tree so I could enjoy them when I look out the kitchen window. 

I hadn’t counted on the soil around the base of the tree being so difficult to dig. It has a dense root system, so I went to my tool shed and found a hand ax and began loosening up the soil with the ax. It was hard work, and I broke a sweat, which rarely happens, and added to the sense that I was hard at work. The sun set before I finished getting the begonias settled in the ground and watered.

I was so pleased with how it looked when I was finished. It was an evening well spent for extrovert and introvert alike.

2. Fueled by Imagination

When I was a child, my imagination was my super power. In the course of an afternoon I could morph from a mommy caring for her Cabbage Patch babies in my walk-in closet nursery into a teacher calling out attendance in the unfinished basement or swirling a whistle lanyard around my finger (just like my principal did)in my driveway during “recess.” My imagination on display in public spaces must have been a sight to see.

An afternoon after a trip to the dentist or orthodontist might be spent in my dad’s wood shop where I’d work on a mouth of teeth (nails pounded into scraps of wood and thin wire twisted around each “tooth.”)

As an adult, I needed ways to entertain a preschooler while I readied the house for a visit from family. So we turned housecleaning into prepping the “hotel.” We played “cooking show” complete with talking to the imaginary camera as we showed our audience how to make our chosen dish.

While it may sound a little out there, I can assure you this playful approach to adult tasks makes the time go by quicker and the chore seem less burdensome.

It was in this spirit that I approached my yard work a few hours after I’d been up in the middle of the night to watch the Royal Wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

I had the entire day unscheduled before me, so I decided to work in the yard for as long as it took to knock out some jobs. I knew that without the pressure of having to finish and move on to something else, I might have the time and space to actually enjoy the work.

I crouched on the balls of my feet and began plucking weeds. I thought about being a gardener on one of the Royal properties. And somehow, that thought transported me back to what I’d watched hours before—the beauty and pageantry—and the yard work on my own little manor didn’t seem so overwhelming.

Two summers before, my dad bought me a weed wacker. I used it a few times, but felt so self-conscious. I couldn’t get the hang of using it and didn’t like looking inexperienced for all the neighbors in my cul-de-sac to witness. I benched the weed wacker the next season, but my yard always looked a little unkempt without the edges trimmed. So on this Saturday, I committed to getting the hang of it, and I did! That one little touch really made a difference, and I was determined to make it a regular thing in my lawn care for the summer.

I worked for two hours and realized the answer to my earlier question: I CAN do this lawn care thing on my own. There’s no need to hire out the services. I enjoyed the time out in the sun, and was delighted to feel a sense of desire to do this work.

That afternoon taught me that planning ahead and building time into my schedule rather than having to rush through the work will be the best way for me to successfully maintain my lawn.

1. The Start of a New Season

I pulled the cord on the mower for the first time this season and pushed the mower across the front yard. I made a U-turn, and cut across the yard in the other direction. I can get lost in my thoughts when I mow. As I made progress, I felt a wave of sadness press hard against me. The force of the sadness was equal to the exertion I expended wielding this heavy machine. (I do not have a flat yard.)

I usually feel a sense of empowerment when I’m pushing the mower. I feel strong and responsible. But on this day, I reflected on the 14 years I have lived in this house. Eleven as a wife, and three as a divorced woman. So much has changed in the landscape of my head and my heart. But my lawn hasn’t changed, and that threatened to thrust me back into the painful past. If there was a historical marker detailing the events of my yard during my marriage, it would be a sad tale: It is on this property where disappointment, loneliness, and hurt feelings were prevalent. Dreams of spending weekend afternoons planting, maintaining, and beautifying the land together died on the vine.

In reality, I mowed the lawn most weekends of the first three years we lived in the house before I learned I was pregnant. Sitting around the fire-pit I picked out as a Mother's Day gift, my husband looked at me blankly when I talked about my participation in the lawn care four or five years earlier. He had no recollection of my contribution.

I felt invisible where our yard was concerned in other instances. The shrubs along our front porch were past their prime. One weekend my husband’s coworker, who had access to a bobcat, pulled up to our house, unloaded the machinery, attached a chain to the dried up shrubbery, and yanked it out. We had had no prior conversations, and there were no plans for what would replace the old shrubbery. My husband covered the now-bare space with excess rock from the landscaping in the backyard, and for a time, our curb appeal was improved. It was less cluttered, but days later, my husband lost his job, and so there were no funds to fill in the empty space.

I think of these things as I finish mowing the front yard and move to the back. By this time, I feel sick to my stomach. The backyard is an overgrown jungle of tree-like weeds. I am reminded that this backyard is now MY RESPONSIBILITY ALONE, and I want to weep. In the nearly 15 years I have lived here, there has never been money enough to correct the problems. I am embarrassed by the mess and the fact that it is in such a sad state.

It was suggested last year that when my budget isn’t so tight that I should probably hire a lawn care service since I can't handle it on my own. This assessment knocked the wind out of me. I'm handling it now, I shot back, hurt that my efforts weren't recognized or encouraged.

I criss-cross the backyard and began to fantasize about what it would be like to hire the service. I could sell myself on both sides of the issue. If I have it done for me, it would save me time and mental energy, not to mention, physical energy. I will have more free time to write, and there's no doubt my lawn will look better if someone else takes it over.

On the other hand, I would feel frustrated for not doing it myself. I have a strong, healthy body, and I should be doing the work. It's an integral part of homeowner-ship and pride of place. Why should I spend extra money when it's something I could do myself? If I kept at it, I'd get to experience the sense of accomplishment when I mad improvements and know that I did the work.

I want to prove to myself that I can do this on my own. Cue my pioneer spirit and stubbornness.

I turned off the mower and pushed it back into the shed, still unresolved. I considered asking someone what I should do, and then I remembered. This is my decision. I do not need to rely on someone else to answer for me.

I will weigh the pros and cons and after I have done that, I will know which decision to make. In the meantime, I felt heavy, sad, and overwhelmed. What will be the best course for me to take?

Word of the Weekend - YTT #5

I came to training weekend 4 unprepared for Friday night's yoga sequence testing. I had planned to study and then the days slipped away, and each day that I did not study I did enjoy a break from panic. The break felt good, so I kept not studying.

That reality made Friday night really uncomfortable. For me and for my sweet classmate who had to sit there as I didn't say much as I held my head in my hands. He sat quietly, holding the awkward space for me. At one point our teacher walked up to me. She stood next to me, put her hand on my back and told me to breathe. Eventually my time was over and it was my proctor's turn. Those were the longest 20 minutes of my life.

The next morning my teacher approached me. “How are you doing?” she asked the question in a way that communicated that she'd seen how not well I was.

I had hoped to keep all of this stress and tension to myself, but her care and concern drew it out of me. I told her everything and at the end she said, “I think you are right to trust what you're hearing yourself saying. But I also want you to consider that while you've changed your mind about teaching, things could change again. Stay open to that as well.”

And so it was in that spirit that I entered weekend 5. I had studied my script, but not in the laborious way I had in weeks past. I managed to recite far more than I expected and can credit remaining calm with making that possible.

The weekend unfolded and almost as if on the universe's cue my classmates repeatedly encouraged me. “You know more than you think you do... Keep at it... Trust yourself... You are going to make an amazing teacher...You have a lot to offer your students...”

After two hours of intense yoga practice in the morning, we settled into teaching drills in the afternoon. Up until this weekend, these drills were another source of dread and panic, but this weekend, I turned a corner. When I 'fessed up that I didn't have the set of poses we were working on memorized, my teacher let me use a book of photographs to teach from. While I didn't have the script down, she also didn't let me use it as a crutch. And in the process of the exercise, I demonstrated to myself and my classmates that I could vocalize how to get a student into the poses. With confidence in this hidden ability, I can spend the next two weeks studying new poses with the knowledge that my efforts are sinking in.

At the end of Sunday's class, we were asked to share a nugget that we would take away from the weekend. I opened my mouth, and immediately got choked up. “This weekend is teaching me about the unpredictable nature of this journey. Last weekend, I accepted that taking teaching of my plate was the right decision. After this weekend, I'm not so sure. It may not be something I immediately jump into, but I'm no longer ruling out teaching yoga after all.”

I have had such a tenuous relationship with the future and the unknown in recent years. This training is reflecting back to me how far I have come in living in the moment, doing the work, and trusting that life will meet me where I am and that no matter what happens, I will experience joy and contentment. It's also teaching me how fun it can be to not know what's around the corner. It's helping me embrace the surprise and adventure of the unknown.

Yoga never ceases to amaze me. It has become a powerful tool for living life with deeper understanding and joy.

Dream Inventory aka What Happened When I Asked Myself the Hard Question

I do not want to be a yoga teacher.

This is the unexpected thing I have learned in four weekends of intensive yoga teacher training.

I know what you might be thinking:

• You don't mean that. 
• You're tired. 
• Don't make any decisions prematurely. 
• Yes, it's hard, but you'll get through it. 

I have thought all of these things and more. But I have also had more panic attacks in the past three months than I care to have in a lifetime. Each time I pull out my study materials I feel seized with panic. After days of studying, I will test myself and the words do not come. Living with that sort of pressure and tension is not sustainable. Not for myself or for my daughter as she witnesses all of this.

So, I decided to ask myself the hard question: What would it look like if you didn't teach yoga after all?

I have some practice asking myself the hard questions. I am so glad I decided to do it this time because it has opened up places and spaces in me that I couldn't have accessed in any other way.

The immediate answer was RELIEF. I would feel relief if I removed teaching from the experience. I was surprised by this, but I kept listening. I wasn't done answering. I would also feel disappointment, sadness, embarrassment, and humiliation, but those big feelings combined paled in comparison to the relief.

This was not the answer I expected, but it's the answer I must listen to.

When it came time to begin studying for this month's poses, I recorded the entire script and then the first few individual poses. I listened a few times and did the poses while I listened to the recording.

Then I started writing. I anticipated the full few months ahead and how much less stress I would feel if I got to work on my writing projects that had deadlines. I started, and like Forrest Gump who started running, I kept writing and writing. As I wrote, I was keenly aware of the time I was not spending studying yoga poses. It was all right because I had three weeks left to study, and then two weeks remaining. And then the days continued slipping away. I wrote the majority of one writing project, came to a natural stopping point, and started and finished another. As I wrote, I also examined what it meant for me to not be studying.

At some point, it became a conscious choice. I needed a break from the panic, pressure, and tension, so I did not prepare for the pose recitation.

What I discovered by asking the hard question and listening to my gut is that not every dream I dream for myself has to be achieved or pursued, but I won't know it until I explore.

I love yoga so much that I assumed that teaching it would be the natural next step for me. I grew up wanting to be a teacher and when I didn't make that career choice, it seemed that teaching yoga would be an alternative way of pursuing that old dream. What I know now is how much time it takes to do it well. I have a new reverence for my teachers now that I've had a look behind the curtain. When I was dreaming about teaching yoga, there were so many things I didn't know about what it requires.

Yoga training has reinforced how much I love writing and that IT is the dream I want to pursue. Having a day job is a necessity for the foreseeable future, which means that the time I have to devote to my dreams is limited. I do not have time to both pursue my writing career and put in the time required to prepare meaningful, enjoyable yoga classes.

This decision is not an impulsive one. It is not about quitting when things get hard. I am not a quitter, and I am not quitting yoga training. There is too much richness and deep exploration to consider not seeing it through because my focus has shifted.

In making this decision, I am also keeping my head and heart open to the possibility that this is a dream deferred. Perhaps I have come to a “Not Now” intersection on my life's path. I certainly never expected to find myself changing my mind partway through, so I'm open to changing my mind again.

But that openness does not change where I stand now. I am prioritizing one dream over another. This decision feels right. It frees me up to keep showing up at the mat and the training, and to learn all I can about yoga and myself without the paralyzing pressure of reciting the poses.

It took some time to make peace with all of this. I spent a lot of money to take this training. I am giving up ten weekends over six months to complete the training. I am spending a lot of time studying. As I have sat quietly with all of this, I know implicitly that this training is not a waste of time or money. I will be a better human and a better yoga student when I complete the training.

I have soaked my sore muscles in epsom salts. I have napped. I am tired but content. I cannot put a price tag on that kind of peace, and it is this peace that will carry me through the next three months of training.

And when I return to working on my novel this winter, I will have a new appreciation for what doing something hard looks and feels like, and writing my story will in some ways feel like a breeze.