Not having it all

I began a new day job a few weeks ago, and the stories are already writing themselves.

I find myself in that tender space where everything feels unfamiliar—new people, new work, far from my comfort of comforts. Don't get me wrong, yoga teaching certainly has its vulnerable moments, but it's where I feel most like my truest self. It's where I become a better human for my children and my partner. And yet, for reasons I am pretty clear on (affordable health insurance, my future, my present) I worked hard and manifested this new role.

The last few days, I've been fighting it internally—those couple of days a week when I commute into this new world. I do try to make the best of things, but my optimism lasted about sixteen days before I started feeling a bit of close to panic. That particular storm lasted thirty-six hours, and as I write this, I'm back to feeling like I have room to breathe.

I really do believe we can't have it all. A friend of mine says we can have it all, just not at once. I knew there would be a yoga class or two I'd give up for a time, but I'd still be able to teach as I love to, still lead retreats and write as my heart calls me to. It's just these last few weeks—I think I expected to still be able to do it all, this coming from the woman who still so often thinks I don't do enough (I continue to work on this view).

One of the classes I gave up is a class I have had for over 8 years. A class that feels like home, a class we use to live stream during covid and I gently and a bit gingerly welcomed students back. A class where I have met friends who crawled deep in my heart. A class where my friend and studio owner and I would giggle before or after about life on the days I got to see her.

I was speaking to a dear friend via voice memo last week (as we often do as busy humans in this world), she reminded me to adjust the sails. She's more flexible than I am—a lot more—when life changes. Her words brought me back to the handful of times I've been on a sailboat. You need others to help raise the sails, sometimes to steer the wheel, and sometimes you just get to float.

I'm still determining where I'm at right now. I think it's a lot of adjusting the sails and trying not to steer the wheel too hard or only sail quickly back to the places that feel like home.

So I continue to remain open to observations, to show up without needing it to be perfect. And I got to graduate a small group of yoga teachers who attended my Yoga Mastery Collective—work that I love to do, work that feels like coming home.

As I tell others, both things can be true: I can have a new role that comes with its challenges, and when time allows, I can dive deep into the work that seems to know me best—yoga, writing, and just being.

Here's to adjusting our sails and trusting the wind to carry us where we need to go. Thank you for being by my side as I embrace the awkward of vulnerability.