Tonight, in the midst of yoga, this song came on. I can’t tell you what I was expecting to hear, other than — not this song.
Like all the things that hit me when they do, I am never — ever — prepared. I’ve decided that we simply can’t be. Otherwise, we’d walk around, waiting for bombs to go off all over the place … memory bombs and sadness bombs, but happy bombs, too.
And then we’d never be able to get anything done or go anywhere because we’d just be waiting and watching and anticipating. Or, maybe, this is just what I would be doing.
Hearing Moby playing, had me almost frozen in place … my saving grace being a room full of people looking at me. I wonder if they could feel the shift, that suddenly the pose ended much sooner, and we were on our backs meditating.
Because of my memory bomb weirdness.
Because I wasn’t ready to be taken back to my former boyfriend’s car, driving down a dirt country road in Oklahoma, learning about love and feeling such devastation and heartbreak in that car … wondering how relationships ever last, any one of them … wondering about my life ahead, at 19. Wanting … to say something to him, but not knowing the words to use … to hold on to that second.
I didn’t realize at the time that I was doing just that … that all these years later … I would be teaching a yoga class, face to face with Moby again … feeling once again, a familiar heartache.
Wanting to cry a silent cry for that me. Yet, rejoicing in that me, at the same time.
Being awed that how was I to know … all these years later … it would be that song to take me back to that moment, in the midst of something I never even saw myself doing … me — me — teaching.
Something that I love, that moves me to mastery and love and inspires me to share with others so that they, too, know what they are capable of.
What we are all capable of. Together and as individuals.
I wondered, what else will it be … ten … twenty … thirty years from now … what will take me back to this me … who couldn’t see possible, the possible of the future?