So I made it through my second yoga class the other day without stopping (or dying!), and I was warmed up enough that when I walked home, I barely noticed that the temperature had dropped to a balmy 7 degrees.
This time around, I was a touch less focused on just surviving the class, and could pay attention to things like exactly what my limits are right now (more than there used to be), and exactly how my body was having trouble moving (ways that never used to trouble me before). I did do every pose though! The quality sucked near the end, but I pushed myself as far as was reasonable I think. That’s what matters.
And yet…
See, what I’m feeling with my return to yoga is almost exactly what I’ve been feeling like with my writing lately. I can’t seem to bring myself to feel good about the rebuilding I’m doing. Oh, I do it. I take a step forward and I’m determined to show up and take the next one; lots of people would pat me on the back for that. Yet, I know how far I’ve fallen. I don’t go, “Yay, me! Let’s keep moving forward!” I think, “One step down, 9,995 to go until I’m back to where I was.”
It’s motivation by self-loathing. It’s letting fear and anger fuel me.
It’s the Dark Side of the Force.
Probably not a good thing. But what to do about it…?