September 19, 2011 § 2 Comments
I turn 32 in less than two weeks. Thirty-two. Trente deux. Saying it more frequently doesn’t make it any less alien.
When my mother was 32, she had a seven year old daughter (me), owned a house, a car, and climbed the corporate ladder.
When I turn 32, I will have a car, a vegetable patch, a husband and a big question mark about where I’m going in this life. There are big dreams and ideas to be realized, and my self-concept oscillates between thinking “I’m only 32!” and “I’m already 32!” depending on what Twitter/Facebook/Google+ tells me that day.
The longer I stick with the yoga the more transparent my thought processes are, which is not to say that I see through the mind’s veil with perfect clarity. No, it is clearer than before and yet not clear enough. It is tiring, sometimes, to see through the stories I constantly tell myself and to put a stop to it. Does it get any easier, I wonder. And then I remember to look at individuals who inspire me, who are taking big steps in their fields to change things for the better, and wonder how they got started. What makes them tick? How do they deal with doubt? How do they hold on to their dream and push through with it, sometimes in the face of cynics and in the absence of feedback?
As a creative, I work on my own most of the time, which is both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes I get gripped with doubt about whether I’m headed in the right direction, in the absence of feedback. But then I see that the solitary creative process is exactly what I need, because it (a) doesn’t allow me to indulge the inner cynic and (b) requires me to draw on my muse and really create, without a care for how it will be received.
I credit yoga for putting me in touch with my inner muse, by clearing out the clutter and making space for creativity to flourish. Which also means that, for as long as I want to photograph or write brilliantly, I am going to have to practice yoga, unfailingly.