Unscramble within

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The truth behind our comforting lies stays cloaked in fear. The fear forms a whiteboard against which we present our ideas, hopes...a refracting surface. A place to point to if anyone asks about ambition, hopes and dreams. A collage of "would be's if not for...".It allows us to pretend for ages. A lifetime if the need to look within stays unexamined and untended.

I've been able to pontificate about this for ages. But I realized when writing my wish list, and more importantly working on the fashion forward article and the follow up guest post by my friend and fellow blogger Shabana Feroze, that I am such a giant clucking chicken when it comes to facing ridicule and negative opinion. I knew it and tried to make the fear smaller than what it was. In short, I tried to fake it till I made it...but the only thing fake was my smile of unconcern, and secret attempts to stay on every contradictory person's good side.

by adamr through www.freedigitalphotos.net

And while I wrote about hopes for visiting Kiribati and Montana, and my hopes for a fashion redemption, I realized that the only factor that kept me from feeling better about my life in general was my "over conformist" attitude. Especially when every fiber within rebels against everything. No wonder my children are so contrary. I think I've been a mass of knots for ages. And when wondering about fashion choices, every choice I struggled against, and every decision I made was put through a mental council...a council made up of all the people in my life who would be unhappy with my choices.

Do you know the feeling? That feeling you get when you're being judged and held accountable for doing what you wanted to do? If you're a conformist who hates being one, you know what I'm talking about. The stomach dropping fear, surging rage and going hot and cold at once. Yeah. It can get that bad!

Now, I'm trying to breathe and stretch and twist it all out. Every little bit of discomfort and angst that makes a comfortable home in my body is being breathed out. Every time I ease into an asana, I put all my latent hopes into my body, and breathe out everything that is holding me back.

There will never be the perfect time to speak my mind, wear that dress I've hoped to, say what I meant to, write another book, or...yes...practice yoga.

It seems crystal clear to me, as clear as the popping in my hip indicating a long road ahead to true yogi-hood, that there is no perfect time to quieten enough to hear my own voice. The one that is constantly drowned in others' cacophony.

It must be now.

Image credit : "Beautiful Woman Practive Yoga On River in Nature by adamr through www.freedigitalphotos.net