This morning I was front row, center, in an open air yoga class in Bryant Park. Every bit of that sentence wouldn't have been possible a few months ago, even a few weeks ago. But, I let go of control, of my fear of the unknown, of discomfort in being somewhere I never was before.
It was gorgeous. Cool bordering on brisk. The bright sky unmarked by clouds, trees towering overhead, leaves glistening with morning sun. I practiced surrounded by the high rises of midtown, light glinting off mirrored windows, the elaborate facade of the library straight ahead.
This afternoon I was wandering the radiation floor of a hospital, traveling endless beige corridors filled with staff in surgical scrubs searching for recovery so I could escort my brother home from having his new catheter put in. Another situation far beyond my comfort zone: people on gurneys, doctors still in masks, not knowing what shape my brother would be in when I got there.
All I could do was smile as I asked directions. And breathe.
Now I'm on a bus, heading to a high school fair, already half an hour late as I got the address wrong. I hate beyond hate being late. And I have no idea what to expect. After this day of extremes my stomach's in knots and I'm close to tears but, instead of giving up, I'll deal when I get there.
Today was full of beauty and stress. Flow and anxiety. Being present and being absent. Love and anger.
I'm still breathing.
The air is cool and crisp.
Next up is dinner with a good friend.
Tomorrow state maths tests start. Then coffee with a friend. There's another hospital pick up mid-morning. A yoga class to hopefully balance things out. Design work mixed in when there's time.
I want to go to Hawaii when this is all over. Universe, I hope you're listening.