Businessman and a Businesswoman
Standing at a Crossroads
Shaking Hands
Giclee Print
There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
~Anaïs Nin
In the midst of my tumultuous mid-thirties, I am struggling to feel whole. I've dutifully completed my formal education, developed an overzealous work ethic, and accumulated an array of work experience that has shaped me. Throughout it all, I thought I was sketching out the parameters of my world, finding my way. But I so frequently snagged up in the details of others 'expectations that their significance dissipated and I felt lost. Stretched like a brittle wishbone beyond its reach, I was pulled in such an opposite direction from where my soul resided that I feared I would snap and sever from the Self that defined me.
The inevitable happened. After six years of sacrificing any type of personal life to teach high school English, complete a Master's degree, and then tackle an executive job managing a learning center, I succumbed. I let the wind scatter me where it would, my efforts wafting in every direction; shards of me could be picked up by the side of the road, useless. I could not gain sufficient insight or carve out time enough for reflection to effect change. How could I seek an authentic life with such dispersed energy? If I was going to etch out a path that was uniquely mine, I needed to recognize who I was. I scrabbled about to retrieve the bits and pieces of myself I wanted to retain.
Recently, I've committed this waning decade to discovering what fulfills me. It's a first step. Unwilling to persist in the daily grind of an unsatisfying existence, I made sacrifices to leave my job, sell my house and enter a simpler period of exploration living in an RV. I don't know what the end result will be. But I'm getting over that, as I do the first pelting shock of rain. That lovely, repetitious pattering on the thin rubber membrane of my roof imperceptibly shifts into the background music of a melancholy morning. I take comfort in practice, in routine, to sustain me. Though I am traveling, staying in campgrounds for three-month stints and observing myriad changes along the way, I embrace routine to stay grounded.
There's no denying it: we are creatures of habit. As much as we embrace the romantic ideals of spontaneity, most of us seek solace in routine. We respond to rhythms, look for patterns, and learn through repetition. Consider what binds us to routine. Our bodies crave regular sleep and nourishment. They remind us if we've missed our caffeine quota by unleashing debilitating headaches. Most weekday mornings we function on autopilot just to make it out the door. We attend classes and worship services on scheduled days, at preordained times, and unite on national holidays. We can rely on routine, and it comforts us. So why not employ routine in our search for truth?
I needed a routine that would help me get to know myself and cope with a chaotic world. Everyone's heard of the benefits of yoga: improved mood, resilience, strength, and even sleep patterns. Yoga doesn't slap you across the face but offers a smooth transition to a more mindful state. I'm realizing that, through practice, small changes occur all the time. The way a sunflower, with her priorities straight, shifts with the curve of light throughout the day. Only months ago I was rigid with tension and responsibility. Look up, lift up, ascend! Now I bend a little longer, reach a little further. I become a conduit, allowing energy to flow through me as I watch my breath and concentrate on the now, practicing receptivity. I perk up and listen to the subtle changes in body, mind, and perspective. These are the dedicated moments in my day when I welcome emptiness and enjoy peace. I relish the discipline of Wednesday and Friday mornings. Sometimes I resist leaving the shell of my thirty-seven foot RV and trudging to class. But, comforted by practice, by just doing, I choose what I need. Afterwards, I am rewarded.
My body grows more flexible, my mind becomes more receptive, and new clarity surfaces as I inch closer to uncovering personal truth. With daily, conscious practice gracefully emerges revelation. I have faith that routine cultivates insight, encouraging me to stretch in different directions that I can't anticipate or document in a daily planner: not on November 17, I will reach enlightenment. But instead, on November 17, I will go for an early morning stroll and quietly witness my world.
Pause for a minute and acknowledge how, despite our best efforts, it all ends. So why are we always rushing towards a deadline, a final goal? We aspire to continually improve ourselves, to push our limits and consequently lay ourselves out paper thin, but in this drive forward we often forget to look to the left, right, or even above us. What are we trying to accomplish... and for whom? We heap on layers of guilt, denial, and judgment, wondering why we feel dissatisfied. At times, we lose ourselves in the journey-or lose the journey in ourselves. For those of us endeavoring to develop an intimate relationship with our selves in a search for truth, it's time to awaken to the benefits of continuous practice.
Searching for truth is about getting to the heart of things, and it makes sense that this pursuit radiate from within. If we must strive towards something, let it be an over-arching principal that helps us hone our energy. We can gently remind ourselves of this principal by establishing a routine, a daily or weekly practice that encourages us to bring ourselves home. Let it be a routine we practice in solitude, one that stimulates us to strip away the nonessentials and recognize the veracity of our naked selves. Aren't we more receptive when vulnerable, when there's a little more at risk?
As I began vigorously stripping away, I cringed at what I would find. That I wouldn't like the truth. After all, my education and blind commitment to work had steered me down an unfulfilling path that only withered me. I attempted to empty a little space in my mind and encountered hefty obstacles. Many of them stemmed from within, so I couldn't separate myself from what held me back. I chose to grant myself the singular gift of time to understand, to heal. Now I am trying simple replacement therapy, not for hormones or nicotine but for practice. When longing for more coffee, I brew green tea instead. Craving some drive-through dining? I make a pit stop to the gym. And when I need to drown out the drudgery of the day? I turn off the TV and turn on some instrumental tunes, or, if the opportunity arises, listen to rain—what my instructor lovingly refers to as "liquid sunshine." Once I get off the couch and sit in the middle of the living room floor, my body quickly converts. Look up! View familiar details from a different perspective. By altering old routines, I grow from a new touchstone. I've planted myself on my floor a lot lately, patiently waiting, breathing. Getting to the heart of things the way I've learned how.
My body may change; my career may change; even my dreams have a way of shifting. I can hold on to few constants in this world. Solid practice allows me to dig in deep and reconnect with the truth of my own existence.
Thadra Petkus is an English teacher, mentor, and freelance writer, possessing her M.A. in Education/ English. She recently moved from South Florida and is currently traveling throughout the U.S. with her fiance in an RV, living in local campgrounds and lightening her footprint on the earth. After selling her house of seven years, she has vowed to shun convention, escape the rat race, and simplify her life.
Also in Inspirations:
Severed | A Place of Greatness