confessions of ice cream, beer, and yoga

confession: i got dressed. i put on yoga clothes, hoping they’d inspire me to go to class this evening. we’ll see. 

confession: i’m procrastinating. you probably are, too, since you’re reading these instead of doing something else. 

confession: for weeks i’ve pondered the question “who would you be without your story?” my short answer–i’d be free. my long answer winds its way through every moment i can forget myself and just be, which happens effortlessly when i listen to etta james singing “you shook me” on repeat. i dance in my chair. i dance through the hallway  carrying my clean laundry to the dresser in the bedroom. i dance and i am free. 

confession: ice cream and beer. i haven’t, but i wanna. they’re waiting for me in the freezer and fridge. okay, i lied. i ate a low-fat ice cream sandwich for lunch. and i’m about to open a beer. but if i do, i won’t go to yoga, and i’m wearing yoga pants so that i’ll go. argh. welcome to my first world inner conflict. 

confession: feck it. i’m opening a beer. yoga pants be damned. 

confession: who drank all the beer? there are only two left. (now there’s only one.) this question would be more disturbing if i lived alone. luckily, there are two other people in this household who may have drunk the beer. 

confession: i’m glad that cats don’t drink beer. beer belching from a cat would be extra icky. 

confession: i’m getting a new kitten next week. the old cat has been dead for six months, which is the shortest acceptable requisite grieving period for an old cat. 

confession: truth-telling is easier with some people than others. 

confession: truth-telling is my new hobby. truth-telling requires more courage than regular conversing. truth-telling means that sometimes i have to pause and sit in awkward silence while searching for the most accurate words to convey the real-est truth. 

confession: do you ever have that fear that someone you love is gonna die, like today, in a car accident, on his way to a business meeting in plano? that feeling sucks. he’s not gonna die. he promised. but that fear feeling, that irrational not-gonna-come-true probably-rooted-in-something-subconscious feeling is scary. do you ever have those fears? or am i the only one? i don’t have them often, but i have one today. ice cream, beer, and yoga don’t erase the unease.

confession: my life is getting so good that the not-quite-good parts show up in stark contrast, distracting my attention from the goodness. i have to employ discipline to focus on the good and address the not-quite-good parts with the least amount of time and effort required. discipline is a slow, methodical, and consistent practice, and i’m slowly, methodically, consistently improving.

confession: let’s get back to work now, okay? but before we do, let’s take a deep breath. sit up straight. roll our shoulders back. drop the stories we tell ourselves. set ourselves free. (and eat ice cream, drink beer, and/or go to yoga class, if we wanna.)