Lately, I’ve been in a place of introspection, looking at the differences between projection and reflection as they relate to understanding Self (more on that later). A story is made up of chapters that progress toward a message or some nugget of truth, and our individual stories are part of bigger anthology. Cracking the covers to read what has been written, is the beginning of writing new pages.
What strikes me, often, is the tension between my changing and unchanging Self (if there even is an unchanging part). I am amused by looking back on a person I know so well, yet hardly recognize at times.
Following is a very lightly edited free-writing practice on this idea of identity and evolution. I’d love to hear your story and what your thoughts are on the changes you've experienced so far.
The days I would handle my stick shift car with a cigarette in one hand and double whopper with cheese in the other, did not portend the cleaner lifestyle of the vegan I am today. Neither can my vegan ways see where I’ll be in a future reality, which may be very different.
My love of strong flavors like bourbon and black coffee has also waned, reminding me that identity has nothing to with the desires of any given moment (though they may point to something of a self). Tastes change, but when they are attached to a version of yourself that came before, it may be hard to let them go, even if they no longer provide the same satisfaction.
I love smoking, but am no longer a smoker.
I love cheeseburgers, but no longer eat meat or dairy.
I love theatre, but no longer act on stage.
I once hated cats with a passion, and then I allowed myself to fall in love with one and have had cats ever since (Chew Chew, Junior, Isis, Buffy, & Angel).
I love driving fast, but two speeding tickets and several years later, I drive the speed limit.
I love NYC, but now live in a bucolic river town.
None of the above feel like contradictions, they reveal origin stories rather than destinations, and speak to the power of making choices that open new windows.
When I wanted nothing more in the world than to be an actress, I could never have imagined I’d become a yoga and meditation educator or follow a path forged by a different set of creative skills. The bigger-than-life dreams of my youth continue to form and reform around the events that shape my heart and mind. It is my job to pay attention to the signs, to be my own cartographer, draw new detour lines, and live fully into each step.
Even within my own yoga practice and teaching, there have been significant shifts along the way. At first, I was confused and consumed by a practice that brought my body, heart, and mind together in a language I did not speak. Regular practice brought a sense of fluency and ease over time. Even though I have never been an advanced performative teacher, meaning my body doesn’t do the big poses, I came to know my yoga intimately on all levels, and practice from that place, today.
There came a point early on in my teaching, that I became obsessed, even inappropriately judgmental, about alignment. I was compelled to dive into the anatomy of the asanas, another language that took time to learn and embody. This phase lasted for many years and took me to several anatomy trainings just to get a tiny grasp of the bigger picture. And then I found freedom in letting it go.
My path led me through the ignorant bliss of not knowing, through the brambles of learning and sweaty flows, to a space where I nod to my practice and honor its steady lead (even if it’s slower than I would have ever tolerated in the past).
Today, I let the remaining outward knowledge that has seeped into me over time, be an inner knowing that informs my practice which is very different than it once was. It has become a personal expression of my experience in my body, in this world. I no longer teach public classes, though the limbs of yoga are part of everything I offer, absent the dogma and need to advance to some undefined destination.
I’ve always been more curious than resistant to change. It’s in those moments of reflection, when what I see no longer feels in alignment with who I think I am, that I get to examine a new reality. I get to grow into a fresher, more expansive version of my Self without projecting older versions onto the former.
I’ve seen this play out in how I parent my kids and relate to my partner of 25 years; it shows up in the simple joys that were once obscured by limited thinking, and in a willingness to adventure beyond what I can see. Nothing is static, and in a world that is changing faster than ever, it becomes more important to find grounding practices that support growth.
This is not to say that change is easy. It’s not! It can be fucking hard and deeply uncomfortable. Rather than letting the discomfort go or trying to avoid it, I let it be and see what it holds for me. Most of the time the journey through is well worth it.
Ours is an ever-evolving map of where we were and where we are going. It is not written in indelible ink, rather in pencil with a huge eraser. Mark it up with what my mom would call, “squiggly lines.” Those lines are the detours off the main road, and often lead to unimaginable moments of meaning.