I really don’t want to be “that person,” but ever since I started doing yoga with this particular YouTube yoga instructor — dare I say it — I have been feeling overwhelmingly better.
But like with all things that make my life more livable — it’s always at risk.
And any happiness I experience is just one FML away.
Annnd before you even think it — I have been going to tremendous lengths to not only try to put — positive everything — out into the universe while I attempt to refrain from putting — anything negative — out into the universe — 🙄 because science says that ish is real 🙄 — but I’ve also asked those around me — so, my Mom — to do the same.
I am NOT setting myself up for failure or doom and gloom — certainly not intentionally anyway.
It’s not my fault that my history works it’s dark magic.
I know, I know. I hedge despite my best efforts.
And I have a great analogy for you. Check this ish out:
Imagine a gorgeous paint by number that you recieve as a gift. Now imagine the craft store the paint by number came from. Now imagine there are 34 different paint by number choices available in this store. Now imagine a few bored kids decide to check out all of the colors in these sets of paint by numbers — all at the same time — innocently — lining the little paint sections up in rows to see if the colors match or how many there are or which ones are the most diverse or if they can find every color they can imagine. It’s awesome! The colors sometimes match! There are hundreds of different sections of color and each has a number attached! Some sections start with a 1 that’s white ⚪ (geal), and a 10 that’s purple 🟣 (purpaidh) — while others have a 1 that is black ⚫ (dubh), and a 10 that’s brown 🟤 (donn)! Some sections are just different shades of green 🟢 (uaine)! But now there’s a problem, (and I know y’all see it coming!) — the kids cannot remember which paint goes back into which box — where what goes where. So, they guess. They make sure that at least every box has the correct amount of paint sockets as required by the instructions. A few rivers might be purple, and animals might be green, and skylines might be white and black, (“just as nature intended,” the kids don’t tell themselves). After all, they didn’t mean to screw anything up, they just got excited. But, as the expression [I just now made up] goes, once the paint is out of the box, you can’t put it back the way it was before, no matter how much you might wish different choices has been made and considerations had been thought through.
That’s my life.
Oh, it’s never dull; it’s just SO interesting — to look at. The perspective is so unique! YOU might not have used the same color paint, but you can certainly appreciate the brave choices I have apparently made myself.
From the outside.
At a very safe distance.
How straight ballin’ was that analogy?!
Please don’t get me wrong. I do indeed live a unique and colorful life. I’m grateful for everything I have that doesn’t hurt me — (or worse — those around me).
I’m going to tell you a secret: I’m terribly terrified that every single thing I write sounds like I’m complaining — as if that’s all I’m capable of doing. Only others can really decide whether that’s the case. But at least, my dear reader, you will know that should I sound like the constant complainer — I HATE that, and it’s NOT my intention when sharing.
I REALLY hope that you will always know and believe THAT, at least.
So I’m going to set the stage for the paint by number that is my life, which has me feeling pretty great today, and had me feeling pretty great last week as well.
I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll write it again and again, but I have an incurable disease that has cost me the life I was supposed to have at best — and the life I thought I wanted at worst.
My woulda/shoulda bright amazing sunset was switched out with mostly dark grays and blacks and some streaks of light grays and white.
Indeed, my colorful life is no longer (and has not been) available to me. And I’ve had to adjust. And work within darkness much of the time. And when I do get the chance to play with the light I use every last available steak of even dried-out or old paint that I can — because I just never ever know when that light’s gonna run out.
In that vein, I guess I don’t mind so much being “that person,” who’s 🌟shining🌟 about yoga. Because I’m not suggesting anyone else do it for whatever reasons other people annoyingly suggest yoga seemingly endlessly and unsolicited for, I’m genuinely and truly doing yoga for me. It’s part of my light. The fact that it’s a cliché is a coincidence😇⚖️👩⚖️.
When I was younger — I was sick often. It caused all types of problems for me in a multitude of places — and I’m not gonna go into it much further right now except to say that so many adults in my life didn’t believe me.
And my parents raised me to be honest.
And I was.
So when I was not believed for other things that happened to me later in life — it certainly wasn’t the first time.
Though I cannot say it hurt me and confused me any less just because the feeling was familiar.
When I wasn’t believed as a kid — it was scary. I was confused because I couldn’t understand what I had done wrong to make these adults think I wasn’t being honest.
When I was younger, I was sick often, but not nearly as sick as I am now. And I was hella (sorry, Eric) active despite my frequent illnesses.
To be clear, let me tell you what categories the various “adults,” as I’m using the term, were in: Doctors, Teachers, Coaches, Nurses, Tutors, a Priest, Members of my Church, and other kid’s Parents who thought I was getting special treatment (though I couldn’t tell you even one way anything that happened to me when I was sick gave me an upper hand).
I’m only sharing this snapshot of the muck I’ve had to tread through to say quite a simple thing, actually.
I was a competitive swimmer in the winter and in the summer (two different teams in two different locations), I played basketball for a minute, I was on a rhythmic gymnastics team, I was very proudly in Color Guard and Winter Guard in high school, I swam on the Varsity swim team at the same time, I danced in the school musical, I was a choreographer for the Show Choir which I also danced in, and I worked out with my sister wherever we could.
So when I can do a couple hours of yoga a day NOW — I get a whisk of that past life when I used my body all kinds of ways.
And it feels good.
You have to understand I’ve been doing little much other than laying in bed — in [literally] writhing agony — watching movies and TV, sometimes coloring or reading, thanking God for my 3 cats, (😿2 of which died within 12 days of one another this past winter😿), and connecting with other people (read: my therapists and psychiatrist) via a screen — for about 5 years. Until.
Until.
For now, for today at least, that’s all you get.
UNTIL.
Please trust that I have reasons — GOOD reasons — to preserve “until” — with an emphatic period, just for now.
I’m not going to make excuses, I’m just going to tell you what happened while I was writing this post: it was turning into a small novella so I thought it best to break it up here.
That means — part II is almost completely written.
And since I’m letting y’all in more and more on my process, even though some of this was already written prior to my finishing my morning yoga at 11:37 A.M. — a LOT of this post was written today.
And then — while I was editing and thinking and creating — I decided to cut up this particular message into more than one post — because part II deserves it’s own stage.
That being said, part II is really important to me.
part II leaves me vulnerable in all kinds of ways that I hope will reach someone who needs to hear my message.
part II will hopefully be up — well — as soon as I’m done crafting it out the way I want it to be. Then — like today — I’ll re-read it a few more times — add more images — it’s 3:04 P.M. now — and hit that publish button for y’all.
Until then, be good to one another ♥️🎶✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽🦊!!!!!
to be continued [very very very soon🤞🏻]…
JustCallMeTaco 