I so loved this post, entitled Reconciliation by blogger and yogi Jennifer Pastiloff. I wanted to share (what was for me) the most resonant piece of the essay.
How does the heart reconcile? Does it?
We move on. We get up and go and come home and pour a glass of wine or not, but we never fully get over things. What does getting over even mean? It sounds like some kind of vengeful expression that they would make a movie out of like Die Hard. Getting Over It Part 7.
I am going to get one over on you. I am getting over. It suggests that there is something underfoot, something to be trampled on and overcome.
My heart does not want to overcome or trample on my losses but rather assimilate them into my life so I can function like a “normal” adult with responsibilities and schedules. Right now, I stay in pajamas and write unless I have to go and teach, and I worry about things like having a girl because how do you even braid hair? I worry about having children. Period.
How do you make a diorama? How do you do algebra? What if I don’t want to watch their soccer practice?
What is a normal adult? Is there such a thing?
I am a woman of a certain age. (Yes, yes, in comparison, I may be very young. I am sure some of you reading are rolling your eyes and saying, “Girl, you are so young.”) Not in baby-making years. I am not at all. Trust me on this. I am young at heart and maybe young looking, but when it comes to ovaries and eggs, I am meh at best.
Do I need to reconcile all my losses before I bring life into the world? Do I need to do the proverbial getting my sh*t together before I make a move?
(What do I do? Who do I ask?)
I have always fantasized about having someone who would give me answers, which is why it was especially devastating that my father died so young because, although I am sure his answers would be fifty percent bullshit, I would take them as The Word, happily and without question. (I would!)
Here I am a teacher and a leader, and I am still searching for someone to tell me what to do.
As I have written about before, one of the worst things for me is deciding what to eat. Recently, in Bali, I went out to eat with someone who takes my yoga classes, and I couldn’t decide what I wanted. I hemmed and hawed and changed my order. I fretted.
She said something to the effect of I have never seen that side of you.
What side? The pressure I feel to be somebody that always inspires, that always knows what to do and what to order and what to eat. I don’t even know if I want a baby, and I am in my late thirties.
So yes, there is this side of me. The side of me that doesn’t know. Who has lost a lot. Who has anxiety, still, yes. Who, sometimes, doesn’t leave her house and who would prefer to write than do or teach yoga and who tends to take things too personally and drinks too much coffee and gets stuck in the past and novels, too.
I have reconciled those things for the most part (some I’d like to keep). But the questions are looming.
I am not looking for answers necessarily.
I think life exists in the questions.
I am looking to never stop asking the questions. To always look and uncover and dig and smell and retrieve and throw back. If I stop asking the questions, I die.
It may take a while for my body to die, but my mind and soul and all other parts of me will wither away immediately if the questions stop. The heart can never reconcile all of it until it stops beating.
I think that is why that line chokes me up. I know the truth behind it.
How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses? It doesn’t.
Some turn to legend, some to fact, some to dust, and, the rest, well, the rest you bury inside of you and reach for it when you are drowning, knowing it will be there. And it will.
Visit Jennifer’s amazing site here: http://www.jenniferpastiloff.com To read the post in its entirety, click here.