I read horoscopes and fortune cookie fortunes for the same reason I will occasionally follow a car in order to decode its cleverly arranged license plate message. I want some reassurance, some good old-fashioned comfort, a reminder from the universe that I am on the right track, that everything's going to be okay, that Meher Baba was right when he said "Don't worry, be happy." It really is that simple. I figure that I am not alone in divining wisdom from such talisman because newspapers, which seem to be short on space for news anymore, continue to provide valuable column inches to printing horoscopes.
Trust has been a challenge for me for much of the new year. Big changes loom, and while a part of me recognizes the inevitability of change and understands, too, the necessity for these changes in particular, another part of me is caught up in worries about security and identity. When I recently read BLVB4UC on a license plate, I took it as a sign to have a little faith. Naturally, that only lasted long enough for my inner doubting Thomas to wake up and pose his well-worn question: Is it really that simple?
I always laugh when Indiana Jones, the character that Harrison Ford popularized in the Spielberg movies by the same name, must make a leap of faith to save his dying father by walking across a chasm that provides no visible means of passage. It appears as though he will have to walk on air. It comes down to this. Indiana Jones must believe in order to cross. We see his moment of doubt. The panic registers in his face. Then, resolved, he grips his chest in the region of his heart, and takes the plunge. He steps off into the unknown, and voila, the net appears. As I said, I always laugh, but maybe it is that straightforward.
"Leap and a net will appear," and yet, there I stand, legs like cement, not knowing where I am supposed to go next. It dawns on me that maybe this is the whole point. This uncertainty. I am not meant to know where I am going, only that it's time to go. Unfortunately, I have been trained to know, to plan, to prepare, to expertly execute forever my next move. I should be emboldened by the universe's attempts in the past couple of years to dismantle every well-intended plan I had with regard to my teaching career. The truth is, I have been miserable for a long time. A career in teaching seemed to be doomed from the start for me, but I have, nonetheless, limped along for years, convincing myself over and over that my efforts and commitment would soon be rewarded. I look back now on almost 20 years of this sort of talk when I knew early on that my heart was never convinced that this was the career for me.
Forget, for a moment, that I feel disappointed. I feel a lot more foolish. What have I learned? That limping should never be a substitute for leaping, and that just because I am a good teacher does not mean that teaching is a good fit for me. Look at that. Two succinct lessons. I should be happy about that. I am not unhappy, but what I am is very scared. Funny thing is that all these years later, the same fear that initially drove me into the teaching profession is the fear I now face as my teaching career wanes. What is that fear? Money.
Such a low bar, huh? I have to ask myself whether I have learned anything from my yoga practice about addressing this tired old fear, not to mention the low-level anxiety I feel about charting a new career path at my age. Itay's axiom returns to me: "Trust will take you a long way." It's another version of taking the leap, of believing before you see. When life is running smoothly, it sounds plausible, simple, natural even. Relaxing into it when I'm up against the wall, that is something else entirely.
I must remember to write author Rolf Gates a letter one day to thank him for writing his book Meditations from the Mat because I find myself going back to it again and again when I am stumbling or struggling or confused about some new lesson that is working its way through to me. Gates had a career in the military before he became a yoga teacher. His book is full of lessons he learned from experiences he had while serving in the U.S. Army. He shares the following military joke in one of his entries: "It is always 3 a.m., raining, and you are at the intersection of two maps, when your country needs you most." One of the lessons this joke is intended to teach, Gates explains, is not to assign difficulty too much importance. I think, yes, that is what fear does. It assigns importance to difficulty. The other lesson embedded in this expression is the reminder that we must adjust our ideal in order to accommodate real life. Real life is messy. Work is not always going to be fulfilling. Family life is going to have its share of ups and downs. When things do not work out according to plan--and let's face it, they often do not--I have to be brave enough to forget the plan and trust the process, anyway. In other words, believe before I see.
Trust has been a challenge for me for much of the new year. Big changes loom, and while a part of me recognizes the inevitability of change and understands, too, the necessity for these changes in particular, another part of me is caught up in worries about security and identity. When I recently read BLVB4UC on a license plate, I took it as a sign to have a little faith. Naturally, that only lasted long enough for my inner doubting Thomas to wake up and pose his well-worn question: Is it really that simple?
I always laugh when Indiana Jones, the character that Harrison Ford popularized in the Spielberg movies by the same name, must make a leap of faith to save his dying father by walking across a chasm that provides no visible means of passage. It appears as though he will have to walk on air. It comes down to this. Indiana Jones must believe in order to cross. We see his moment of doubt. The panic registers in his face. Then, resolved, he grips his chest in the region of his heart, and takes the plunge. He steps off into the unknown, and voila, the net appears. As I said, I always laugh, but maybe it is that straightforward.
"Leap and a net will appear," and yet, there I stand, legs like cement, not knowing where I am supposed to go next. It dawns on me that maybe this is the whole point. This uncertainty. I am not meant to know where I am going, only that it's time to go. Unfortunately, I have been trained to know, to plan, to prepare, to expertly execute forever my next move. I should be emboldened by the universe's attempts in the past couple of years to dismantle every well-intended plan I had with regard to my teaching career. The truth is, I have been miserable for a long time. A career in teaching seemed to be doomed from the start for me, but I have, nonetheless, limped along for years, convincing myself over and over that my efforts and commitment would soon be rewarded. I look back now on almost 20 years of this sort of talk when I knew early on that my heart was never convinced that this was the career for me.
Forget, for a moment, that I feel disappointed. I feel a lot more foolish. What have I learned? That limping should never be a substitute for leaping, and that just because I am a good teacher does not mean that teaching is a good fit for me. Look at that. Two succinct lessons. I should be happy about that. I am not unhappy, but what I am is very scared. Funny thing is that all these years later, the same fear that initially drove me into the teaching profession is the fear I now face as my teaching career wanes. What is that fear? Money.
Such a low bar, huh? I have to ask myself whether I have learned anything from my yoga practice about addressing this tired old fear, not to mention the low-level anxiety I feel about charting a new career path at my age. Itay's axiom returns to me: "Trust will take you a long way." It's another version of taking the leap, of believing before you see. When life is running smoothly, it sounds plausible, simple, natural even. Relaxing into it when I'm up against the wall, that is something else entirely.
I must remember to write author Rolf Gates a letter one day to thank him for writing his book Meditations from the Mat because I find myself going back to it again and again when I am stumbling or struggling or confused about some new lesson that is working its way through to me. Gates had a career in the military before he became a yoga teacher. His book is full of lessons he learned from experiences he had while serving in the U.S. Army. He shares the following military joke in one of his entries: "It is always 3 a.m., raining, and you are at the intersection of two maps, when your country needs you most." One of the lessons this joke is intended to teach, Gates explains, is not to assign difficulty too much importance. I think, yes, that is what fear does. It assigns importance to difficulty. The other lesson embedded in this expression is the reminder that we must adjust our ideal in order to accommodate real life. Real life is messy. Work is not always going to be fulfilling. Family life is going to have its share of ups and downs. When things do not work out according to plan--and let's face it, they often do not--I have to be brave enough to forget the plan and trust the process, anyway. In other words, believe before I see.
Thank you for reminding me that uncertainty is a path too.
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