Yesterday I cycled to an appointment and I felt so insanely happy, it really was impossible not to notice it.
Especially since there was no particular reason for me to be this upbeat.
I have no idea where I stand with my secret lover.
Nor do I know if that really matters, since our relationship has always included having to go without sex for months, and sometimes not hearing from him for weeks.
Which is reason enough, to review if this is honestly how I want to spend the last fertile decade of my life.
My yoga business, in terms of revenue, was still nothing different from how it had been doing the past few years. Years that had almost made me throw in the towel, just a few weeks ago. I was still receiving mailings from “real career” things I had signed up for, and I was aware that most of my friends still assumed I was looking for a job of some sorts.
Instead of committing to the studio.
And this Monday in particular, I also doubted myself because I had just spent the whole day writing. Not just the sales page for the yoga studio – which could still count as ligit work. But also yesterday’s blog post, about writing and journaling.
Which took me two and a half hours.
And definitely did not count as “going all in for the yoga studio”.
So I didn’t understand why I was feeling so smug when even my most basic resolution – to not write for pleasure on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays – had proven to be unfeasible.
And the mess in my love life…. man! Was I perhaps living in denial, about how bleak it looked? Had I forgotten, how in 2008, I had experienced a total melt down when my then lover had cast me aside?
Or alternatively, had I forgotten all the lousy dates I had had, with men I would never have had sex with if it hadn’t been to prove I was over this lover?
That I could live without him?
That I was MY OWN WOMAN?
Had I forgotten about that?
And the truth was; No. Of course not.
I spent some time thinking about my love life. How would I feel, if Mr.Big broke up with me? Or just let it all die out? And how much energy was I willing to spend dating other men, in an attempt to supplement or replace Mr.Big, depending on how much we would be part of each other’s lives.
And the answers were:
“I would be okay. Even if Mr.Big did break up.”
“No, I don’t care that much for male company. In fact I don’t care much for company at all.”
Just a few months ago, I would go out regularly. Have dates with friends in town. But I was now perfectly happy behind my computer, writing. Or listening to motivational audios while doing the laundry. Or watch personal development videos on YouTube.
And on weekends I would visit musea.
If someone joined, that was great.
If not, that was also great.
And if I was honest with myself, I didn’t really care enough about my love life to make an effort to save it.
If there was a hierarchie in “perceived problems” my love life certainly ranked lower than not doing the things for my yoga studio I thought I ought to be doing for the next half year.
But love life? No.
So with that ruled out, I wondered then why did I feel so unbreakable? High? Confident? Worthy of everything? How was that possible, when I clearly had little to praise myself for.
And I realized – and this answer was so simple, and impossible, and it raised so many new questions, but it was definitely the correct answer – the answer was:
“I am so happy because I wrote all day.”
I looked it up: the sales page took me 3 hours and 15 minutes, and the blog 2,5 hours. That’s nearly seven hours of writing. Together with my classes, I worked over 11 hours.
Effortlessly, and with a spring in my step.
How was this possible?
And if it was the writing, then what did this mean for my yoga studio?
Which yoga studio owner could afford to spend so much time on writing?!
Today I am going to a business coach. It’s my first conversation, and technically I have not been accepted as a client yet, but I have faith that it will all work out.
What I really like about him, and I have no idea if this is actually something that will benefit me, or if it’s what will ruin our relationship, is that he is a normal coach.
He has a normal, local, coaching business. And before this he owned a few other normal, local, companies. Until he sold them ten years ago, and became a coach.
But I like that so much.
Because he has everything I desire to have: a small, local, company, with private clients. I do offer super great arrangements for all current group class members! But to new clients I will only be a private yoga teacher.
Charging in quite a similar way, as the business coach does. I knew he was “my” coach, when I heard his fee, and it was exactly what I had set as my rate, and a session was the same duration as well.
I immediately recognized his business as a mirror image of the one I wanted for myself.
So I m going there today, and I hope that we can get some clarity of what is going on. But I do know that that feeling I had on the bicycle, that feeling of being so in flow with life! – that comes from writing.
Not from doing yoga.
And I need that feeling, in order to be able to teach.
Just as I need this blog, in order to be able to feel so happy with my love life, because the most important part of my love life, is me 🙂
When I returned home after teaching my classes, I found a flower in the hallway. Near the entrance to our building.
I hesitated before picking it up.
Maybe because I didn’t know if I was picking it up, in order to clean it up, or to let it float on a dish of water.
I decided to save it, and picked it up.
I admired the flower.
I realized this was just like picking up small coins: it’s your chance to say thanks to the Universe. I went further up the stairs and found another one. This one was more battered, but I picked it up anyway, and said thanks. And before I reached my door I found a third, on the doormat of the neighbor.
Had this been intentional?
Had I just ruined a grand romantic gesture from my neighbor to a lover, or from a lover to my neighbor? I thought the chances were slim. She didn’t look like the romantic type at all, and was much more the untidy type who would just let the flowers drop from the bunch and not clean them up.
I picked up the last flower, and after I had put them on a saucer with water, I texted her. Just to apologize if I had made a mistake collecting the three flowers.
But in a strange way, I knew I hadn’t.
I knew those few bright pink pedals, and the three flowers, had been The Universe saying:
“Welcome home, Honey.”
See you the next time around
To hear what happens with the coach, my secret lover, or the Universe dropping me flowers, find the Subscribe or Follow button somewhere on this page.
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An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living
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