I am writing this 36minutes before my birthday. I will probably finish, and publish, this on my birthday.
I turn 35. I will have the label of a 35 year old human being. 35 calendar years.
I took a yoga class this evening with one of my favorite, and first, yoga teachers; Liz Lowe ( a Hollywood name if ever I heard one, right?). Her classes always leave me feeling more human because she just gets ‘IT”. What do I mean by IT? I mean the honesty of it all. She is just fucking honest and raw. Shockingly, unconventionally, unabashedly, straight up raw. She says what’s there. And she yells it at you like a military commander. And that always makes me feel safe (the being real part. But the military commander doesn’t hurt either).
As I ‘air-kissed’ my way out of the studio, I happened to be leaving with another student who is significantly younger than I. Younger in calendar year, but wise in her way of the world. We walked across the road, westward toward the setting sun, and I bought up the fact that it was my birthday tomorrow.
“35” I said. Looking skyward in a moment of recognition and of prayer (“thank you for the life that I have lived…..but, please don’t make me be old”)
“That’s a good, solid number” she said (of course she did, she was only 25)
“Yes, it is – and that’s the problem – it’s the solid~ness of it that makes me feel so stuck. For the first time ever, I feel mortal. Like ~ I age too!” I balked. I was half talking to her and half talking to myself.
Not knowing what to say, (what business do I have talking to a 25 year old about this anyway) she replied:
“It just depends on how you look at it”.
She said this right at the moment where we were to part ways.
“You’re right” I quipped, almost to myself.
We did the goodbye kiss and walked our separate ways.
“Everything depends on how you look at it”. I thought.
Everything is waiting for you ~ David Whyte
Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.
Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into
the conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.
— David Whyte