On Finding Balance
I'm still trying to figure out a way to soften my edges without losing my sharp. Still trying to slow the hell down without losing my ferocity.
They say this process is easy. That you can simply shut off the voices in your mind and achieve this inner peace. That you can breathe through a yoga pose and suddenly find yourself floating in the sky above your body, learning all the ways your energy has been unbalanced, and how to cleanse as you fall back from soul to skin.
It’s not that easy though. And honestly, what is?
I speak these words to myself every morning, ‘Today is new.’ And I don’t say those words because I’ve spent the day before in anguish. It’s not because I want to erase all that’s been done. It’s simply a reminder of starting over. That no matter what I’ve faced, nothing lasts forever.
And that’s both a comfort and my greatest fear.
This week marks the second month of a new year. I love the rush surrounding that ‘new’ feeling. The idea that I can become something else, that maybe I already have. That I can write more lists, do more things, fill my life with more more more. But what is ‘more’ but chaos? Craziness? A mix of both good and bad?
And here I am in the New Year, doing the same damn things as before. Running back to the idea of ‘balance’ and trying to will myself into understanding what that means.
I don’t do yoga that often, but when I do, I can’t find a way to silence my mind completely. When I’m lying there, I’m thinking of everything else that will fill my day. But it’s not an antsy-type of feeling—it’s the closest thing to peace as falling into my bed at the end of a long day, or watching a movie on a Saturday afternoon for the first time in months—I know there’s probably dishes in the sink and poems to be written but there I am, taking a much-needed breath.
And that’s how I feel when I’m resting like a fool in child’s pose, my palms to the sky and my eyes closed. Not exactly silence, but some semblance of stillness.
And maybe that’s enough.
Finding balance. I’m still trying to understand what that means. Still trying to figure out a way to soften my edges without losing my sharp. Still trying to slow the hell down without losing my ferocity and the way that energy has built me into the woman I am today.
I don’t know if there’s an easy answer. I don’t know if there’s an answer at all. All I know is that I’m going to be intentional—in resting, in going, in running, in slowing, in kissing, in writing, in speaking, in being.
And maybe that’s enough. 
