Said, woman, take it slow. It'll work itself out fine.

I'm going to give myself a medal for patience and let it hang from the rear view mirror of my car.

I drive almost 50 miles a day, 4 days a week to get to my job where I work as a yoga and meditation teacher.

That gives me at least an hour and a half each day to practice patience and a bit of forgiveness.

Traffic isn't as bad as it is in L.A. or other big cities but the constant waves of construction, snowbirds and texters can make for a challenging commute.

There is only one road that gets me to work so it is easy for me to become angry as I make my way to and from, however, I've gotten pretty good at catching myself and redirecting my attention to the road, the mountain views and reminding myself that everyone else is just like me...

Wanting to get somewhere sooner than later.

Just.

Like.

Me.

Navigating traffic with equanimity was a big first step for me as replacing anger with patience has only recently become a strength of mine. Somewhere during these long drives, I have finally realized that I don't have control over how quickly the red light changes or need to know why someone cut me off in traffic. I can just take a breath and keep on my way without dragging all the little things that annoyed me into the rest of my day.

I mean, I still have my moments but they aren't as bad as they used to be or as regular. 

If I'm bored enough, I can still plant seeds of paranoia throughout my brain and then incessantly feed them with attention until they grow like weeds.

But, honestly I'm just getting too old for some of this stuff, I'm tired and don't want to have to deal with the overgrowth of tension that winds up planting itself all over my mental landscape, anymore. I'm trying to notice when I'm even considering about giving an impromptu performance of an adult temper tantrum so that I can talk myself down before embarrassing myself or hurting someone else with careless words. 

It ain't easy.

I was born into a family dynasty of drama queens and over the years I honed my skills.

I've had many great moments worthy of an award or two: I've stormed out of parties and restaurants, accused boyfriends of affairs, thrown dishes, run away, cried myself to sleep over stories that never happened and argued endlessly in my head with people over situations that were totally made up so that I could at least win a debate within the jury of my semi-conscience mind.

As a teacher, I might be wise not to share so much of my madness but it is a new year, after all and I'm hoping somewhere in this rant I will finally come to reveal the improved me, the better me (which is really the same old me but not so full of bravado me) within these paragraphs of self reflection so please try not to be too critical. 

I'm just like you and thankfully, I have the benefit of knowing some very pleasant but straight forward people who are able to see when I'm starting to walk up the stairs to my podium of self righteous self pity and say "are you serious, right now?"  Often, they are greeted with my very confident "Fuck off" but after I lick my wounds, drink some water and eat, I'm usually grateful to know that even though my madness may be solitary, it's only temporary and I can always choose to be a bit more gracious, a bit more patient and a lot more forgiving.

It's taken me a long time to understand that forgiving someone wasn't a weakness.

Forgiveness and patience is courageous and liberating.

It doesn't erase the scars that are left once the pain has subsided but it does allow you to itch and stare at them less. It gives you the opportunity to see the bigger picture and for me it was much needed.

Anger and resentment has been a companion that I have carried with me throughout my life.

Like any addiction, I have allowed it to own me in every way.

It's kept me from living, it has kept me from experiencing joy and laughter. Instead of looking around me, instead of seeing what was good in my life, I've often reached for anger and found ways to be offended even when it wasn't justified.

I've drunk it down over and over, believing that eventually the bottle would go dry but it turns out that anger can be infinite.

You can try to swear it off but eventually it shows up like a shot glass poured by a charming bartender who smiles and says " it's on the house" so you smile back, throw it down and then snap your fingers so you can order another.

For me, it finally came down to asking myself how do I want to continue to live?

Do I always need be right, to be in a hurry, to be angry?

No.

And oh my...is it a hard habit to break. When you've become very good at something it's hard to walk away from it no matter how destructive it can be but I started it by simply taking my time as I drove up a long road. 

Taking my time as I walk from my car to my front door.

Making myself slow the fuck down which is so not how I've down things. 

It's not how I was raised, that's for sure.

I'm going to continue to get pissed off over really dumb stuff from time to time but the reality is that there is real injustice that deserves my attention.

There is much in the world to be angry about but if I spend all of my energy fuming about the stop and go traffic, the person in the left lane going too slow or the ridiculous caller on NPR, then I don't have energy for the things that require real tenacity.

I can't pause and think clearly about the things that matter like standing up for my kid or calling out bigotry and inequality. That sort of bravery requires patience. It requires the ability to stay calm in traffic for hours on end and most certainly wasn't what I expected when i first found myself gritting my teeth and waiting for the light to change.

Man, it's a long drive. 

But, please excuse me, I've got a medal to go craft for myself.

Thanks and I'm old.

It has been almost a year since I tip toed into my 40s.
I took it easy and was able to plan the perfect stroll into full fledged adulthood. 
Ever since, I have been patiently taking the time to pause and breathe so that I can see the path of my destiny clearly and without obstruction as I finally embrace the responsibility of my age and let go of childish yearnings and whims.

Ha. That is a lie.
I am so not that organized or thoughtful.
Not me.
My truth is that I ran into my 40s with lights flashing, bells ringing and an "Everybody...look at me, look me! I'm 40. Did you know?"
And then the day after, I woke up with a hangover and crawled from one room to the other like a Golem suffering from vertigo in search of the most precious glass of water and an aspirin to end my suffering.

Yes, this year of 2015 has been quite something.
I've become more Mama Bear and less Party Girl but the question is...
Have I grown up?
A little bit.
I have more wrinkles. 
Anything below a joint has become more lined and saggy but I've decided to believe the boyfriend who says he likes me just as I am and honestly, who freaking cares?
The world is being maimed by overconsumption and we are killing each other over ideas.
It's insane.
Literally...folks get more riled up and passionate about an Olympic athlete being labeled a hero for coming out as transgender then they do over the possibility of a racist spoiled brat hotelier being considered the next President of the United States?
Seriously?
I'm trying to grow up and take responsibility for my actions and my words.
I'm learning to bite my tongue anytime I see one of my privileged friends post an "All Lives Matter" rant or "The Universe has a plan for me" meme but I don't know if that's a sign of maturity so much as a reaction of apathy and laziness in a world that seems so draining depending upon the feed of the day.
 
Oh, 40!
What have I learned from you?
I've realized that I can't be all things to everyone and putting all my energy into worrying about how I can fulfill the role I think others want from me is exhausting. 

To my mother, my son, my boyfriend, my friends, my co-workers, my family and fellow beings...
Tell me your needs but be direct because my creative mind is still easily confused and prone to insecurity. Shoulder shrugs, emotionally ambiguous emojis and "that's interesting" comments still leave me in a state of "what does it all mean?" and it's just too damn much!

To myself,
Oh, Alysa. Be kinder to everyone but also sit your ass down more.
Be still.
More.
Oh. My. God...and put down the shiny electronic rectangle with all its little alerts, apps and reminders. It doesn't love you, like you or even care to know you.
Siri isn't your girlfriend and she doesn't actually like your jokes so stop it.
Lastly, say "yes" to hanging out and listening to the people you know and ask the people you don't know more questions or at least say "hi" and "how are you?" and wait for a response.

That's all the wisdom I've come up with.

So far...I'm grateful that I'm drinking less and less often.
I quit and then I binged. 
I quit again and for the past month, it's been a beer here and there but it's not a requirement to be social.
I don't find myself liking the taste of beer anymore which is strange because I thought beer was my tongue's fine wine...like I could get paid to be a beer taster because I loved it so much but I guess that's a dream I can let go of.

Now, it's all about me finding gratitude in raising a kind son and dedicating myself to being a really good parent to an awesome but aggravating as all get out child.
He is a brilliant but annoying pain in the ass.
A bit like me.
This year, I have learned that being a good person for myself and others is what success means to me. Waking up and liking myself is much more important then wondering how I can ever advance in a career that isn't about money.

I'm learning not to turn every criticism that my boyfriend may have into an opportunity to slip in the term 'mansplain' and then walk away.
Quite often, he has a point and I can always learn to be better,
So?

My life. 

I'm a grateful for life but I'm also heartbroken by it.

I want to lead the change I want to see in the world.
I want to have a heart to heart with the very people who think I should be silenced and I want to believe that it's possible for us to have peace between us even if our stories don't make sense to one another.
But, I also know that it's so hard even moment to moment to always have peace within myself.

It's Thanksgiving Eve.
I'm alone.
My head hurts, my eyes are tired but I'm grateful for my love, the love of my family and my friends.
I'm happy that I get to wake up tomorrow, put on some hiking gear and go outside and listen to the sounds all around me.
Until next year...I will patiently watch 41 unfold.
I'm totally lying about being patient. I'm probably going to tap at least one finger the whole time and sigh often.

Amen, Hallelujah and bring on the mashed potatoes.

I want some sugar.

I woke up with crusty eyes and a slight kink in my shoulder. 

The left one. 

She's always been more battered than the right.

I sat up and I said "Awakening, I smile. A brand new day is before me. I vow to live each moment mindfully and to look upon all beings with eyes of compassion."

I sighed and questioned my sincerity and began my way into my morning routine.

Tired? Check.

Thirsty? Check.

Brush teeth? Done.

Coffee or tea? Tea.

I walked into my Alysa Room.

I lit a candle.

I moved through my exercises and then I meditated.

It was a noisy sit. The same drama that's been outside my head for weeks...came inside to yell "you aren't a good parent. You are an undesirable girlfriend. You're a terrible teacher and you made boxed crappy cake full of shitty ingredients all the while knowing that you added suffering to the world but masked it with chocolate."

And then, I returned to my breath.

For another 20 minutes, the internal dialogue of yelling disappointments versus a calm 'can I catch your attention, I am quiet?' whispering continued until a chime on my phone brought me back to the 'let's get Atticus ready for school' checklist and I stood up and bid my drama adieu.

So far, I have burnt 3 fingers, ran out of creamer, I can't find my glasses and the dogs are farting.

I could leave it at that.

I could go back to bed but instead, I made breakfast for a hungry little boy.

I won tickets to The Rialto so I get an unexpected date night with my sweetie.

I get to see the eye doctor and order new glasses today so I can manage with some cheap readers for a week or so.

And I realized that my mind stirs a lot of stuff up.

Everyday.

Every moment I have a choice of whether or not I want to stir the pot.

Should I turn the heat up?

Or let it cool?

Should I use the same seasonings of insecurity and jealousy because that what I used last time?

That's what's easy to find?

It's what I'm used to.

I guess, I could.

Or I could try something new or at least different.

So, like I did as I bit into a persimmon for breakfast, I am going to give something else a try.

Something a bit bold but also sweet.

I am going to pretend I ran out of that salty bitterness of fear and doubt and scourge the pantry for some spicy hot chocolate to go with my meal.

I'm going to choose some sweetness today.

I'm gonna let it melt in my mouth and take a breath between sips and bites because I'm in charge of what nourishes me.

Lay...Baby, lay.

I'm going to be a child for a minute.

Or forever.

I am a child.

Emotionally...I'm a big fucking baby.

If someone says something sweet to me...I cling to it like cobwebs on a feather duster and if it's mean?

It sinks into my heart as if it's job had been meant to be to stop the beating and my resistance is offensive.

I'm a fully realized baby and I know it.

Recently, I was told that "everything in my life is a big deal and I need to get over it".

The truth is?

Yes!

Everything is a big freakin deal. 

It is.

I have had the privilege or curse (depending on my moody perspective) to know almost 30 people to have died.

Some of them have been close friends or family members  and some have been acquaintances but regardless...my wide eyed and mushy, gushy bleeding heart has held each and everyone was as important as the other.

If our friendship had gapped for a few years...to me?

Time is irreverent.

If we had only shared moments...it does not matter.

My heart and brain says "I love you and now... I will never know why you paused to smile at me, over and over."

I love like a fierce fire and I mourn like the gravest of the living.

I'm over the top, I guess.

So...as often happens...I am tired and writing because my brain knows that waking up the man who loves me to express how pissed I am...would be rude despite the fact that he said some super shitastic stuff tonight.

I feel broken.

Again.

I am tired and angry and confused and know that I could and should stop before I react with a lease contract that seals the deal of breaking up.

Agh...but what will I do instead?

I will write and post my 'Dear Diary' to all of the 3 folks that might read this.

Life isn't hard. 

Not for me...I have things that interrupt my day but rarely are they terrible and when they are...if I am paying attention? 

I learn something.

Tonight?

I don't want to learn.

I am going to vent.

I am going to go to sleep and fight a really good habit of running away.

I really want to run away from everything. 

I want to say " Fuck you" but I'm old and a mother and people frown upon that AND I care about stupid shit like that.

So?

Good night.

This wagon has squeaky wheels. That's all. No big deal.

It's been almost 3 months since I cracked open an overpriced Dale's Ale on my plane trip home from Portland, Oregon.

I haven't gone this long without alcohol since 2007.

I thought it would be the hardest thing I've done since giving birth but it turns out giving up alcohol hasn't been the real struggle.

The struggle has been having to realize that the same overwhelming waves of frustration, sadness, anger and exhaustion are still there.

Sobriety hasn't made me happier.

My life is the same dynamic mess of laughter, tears and waiting for the sky to fall as it always has been.

Every time, I reinvent myself I tell myself that it's not motivated by a need to 'fix' myself.

I tell myself that I don't believe my own bullshit but when I wake up with the same amount of mopey self pity that I had months ago, I'm surprised and somewhat pissed about it.

Being sober was supposed to break that habit, too.

Once I got sober, I'd finally be the uncomplicated/ low maintenance woman my boyfriend wanted.

When I quit drinking, I would sleep better and have more patience for my son.

When I quit drinking, I wouldn't waste my money on beer everyday and finally build up my savings.

When I quit drinking, I would learn to deal with my shit without taking a drink first.

Well?

I've woken up but it turns out that I'm still a complicated, impatient and restless woman just like always.

I still hold back tears everyday as I scan the daily news, I still wince and want to scream at intolerance (I believe there's some irony in that, no? ) and can't believe that in the midst of getting sober...I would have to watch Donald Trump become a possible contender for President of The United States, see 'Christians' shame The Pope for wanting to help the poor and watch millions risk their lives fleeing horrible living conditions and be told there is no room for them!

What the fuck? 

Doesn't The Universe know I need all my ducks in a row while I learn to not chug a beer every time something in my life starts to lose its sheen?

Damn it..the answer is?

No. 

The Universe doesn't give a rat's ass about my little white girl problems.

If ever there was a time to become knee deep drunk in whiskey, it feels like it's now.

I'd like to be.

Oh man...I'd like to get drunk, go dancing and get sloppy with a stranger but I'm not going to.

Nope, I'm just going to sit with the crappy whiny voice in my head that incessantly lists everything that annoys me.

I hear it.

I hear it but it's not the boss of me.

I'm finding that whether I'm sober or not, I'm probably always going to feel lonely.

I might never have a good close girlfriend that I can just call up to hang out and eat chocolate with.

I might always wonder if I am lovable and I may still roll my eyes every time I hear someone tell me that if I was just more positive the universe would provide me with wealth, joy and ease.

Actually, I will ALWAYS roll my eyes at that privileged belief but I just won't slam a shot of tequila  quickly so I can feign a smile and nod in agreement.

My life is rich, though...its rich with stinky stupid drama, it's rich with kid tv shows, board games and burritos.

It's rich with overwhelming thoughts, inconvenient desires and unattained dreams.

It's rich with randomn 'I love yous' from my son.

It's rich with hands that touch my shoulders to acknowledge that I am living with a man who loves me even though we seem barely able to make time to open the door for one another as we race off to work, appointments and events.

It's rich with an awareness that I can keep trying to fix things but I'd be better served by noticing what's working.

I don't know if I'm going to do this sobriety thing forever.

I keep thinking that come Winter...I may have to get a fancy Spanish Coffee to warm me up as I step deeper into my 40s.

I don't know.

I never do.

I do know that I won't ever pay $8 for a can of beer on an airplane, again.

Well, ...if Trump wins the election, maybe?

But, it's a maybe.

 

  

Sometimes, people are great.

I have a wonderful job.

I get to teach Yoga and Mindfulness for a living.

It's a privilege and I am fortunate to have been patiently trained by very accepting people over the years.

At Miraval,

I am allowed to be myself (amazingly) and given a lot of room to decide how I will teach and respond to students.

Of course, there is some structure to it, as well.

Each day, I'm likely to teach a combination of classes that include asana, pranayama, meditation and lectures on mindfulness.

It still blows my mind at times, that this is my life.

Considering what a hot mess of a teacher I was at the beginning, I am pretty sure that there are a few who knew me then that are equally shocked that I'm still at it.

When it comes to major newbie mistakes to be made...I made them all!

I didn't injury anyone but I said a lot of stupid stuff and wasn't always professional.

After almost a decade of teaching yoga full time, it is nice to know that with maturity and humility, I have been able to improve as I continue along this path.

I've gained a fair amount of wisdom and become more compassionate towards myself and others.

Hooray, for that!

But today?

Well, today was special.

Today was one of those days where I got to witness just how much I've learned as a teacher and how important it is to value the trust that must happen between a student and their instructor.

In the middle of my day (between a 2 hour lecture on stress management & 2 asana classes) I got the pleasure to work with an amazing woman and her seeing eye dog, Buster.

She's in her early 60's, almost completely blind and recently started practicing yoga because "I need to take an interest in myself, for once".

She was nervous (I was, too) but also aware that she needed to move her body more,

She has only 10% of her sight left.

It started when she was only 10 years old but it did not prevent her from becoming a gymnast, having a career and raising 2 sons with the help of her husband.

Soon she will be in complete darkness. 

She knows that now is the time to learn how to be in her world fully because sooner than later she won't be able to see it.

So, we took the time to practice.

Buster sat next to her. 

Relaxed and half awake.

We did a little Yin, a little Joint Freeing Series and then she said she needed to work on her balance and get stronger.

I took a moment to think about it and asked her if she had used a wall before.

She rolled her eyes as if to say "I'm blind, what do you think?" So, I asked her to walk over to the wall and demonstrated Ardha Chandrasana (Half Moon).

She very quickly said "Oh no, I can't do that".

I said "Let's just try...if nothing else you can pretend you are holding the wall up".

She was reluctant but gave it a go.

She did it.

Easily.

Before her eyes could tear up...mine did, instead.

It was one of those experiences when the sweetness of triumph is freely celebrated.

I cried.

It was simple, you know?

A person puts there backside against a wall and drops their hand to the floor and lifts a leg up.

Nothing Earth shattering except it was something.

It was special.

We ended our private session shortly after.

We didn't 'do' much. 

No handstands. 

Nothing that required a hot room or a commitment to practice every single day.

What we did do was to be open to the possibilities that would allow her to feel strong, balanced and courageous.

We were willing to experience a moment of vulnerability, to be honest about it and be aware that this might reduce future hesitation.

It was just a moment but I still feel shaken by it and really can't do it justice.

Lately, I've been questioning what I am doing. Yoga is such a 'thing' these days but it is a practice and it can rip you wide open sometimes and that's fucking beautiful. 

Tight pants won't fix you because you're not broke, damn it.

A few weeks ago, I was at a family gathering to say goodbye and celebrate my niece's accomplishments before she moves away to begin college and ultimately save the world.

After a 5am start to my day, I arrived late after work, found the buffet of food and begin to devour a heaping pile of wilted garlic salad.

Half way into it, two women I adore sat down next to me to catch up.

Within moments they surveyed my work outfit: yoga pants and top and said "We need you to come over and teach us yoga".

"Of course, I'd be happy to" and then their real reason was said without hesitation:

"We've got jiggle. Dimples.Yuck".

They grabbed their thighs and shook them to accentuate their point.

My shoulders slumped and I felt sad.

They reminded me that most of us whether it's yoga, cross fit or whatever...are wanting to do these practices because we are hoping to fix what's wrong with us...on the outside.

Our dimples, stretch marks, grey hairs and laugh lines...those parts of us that reveal a life history are not celebrated but instead hidden or condemned.

I mean, let's be honest...if a woman doesn't talk about what's wrong with her we label her as arrogant and full of herself and if you spend any time in a grocery store line you can't escape the messages on magazines that reinforce that being gorgeous is the key to happiness.

In addition, pretty much any current women's magazine is going to have a caption that praises yoga as a fun and interesting way to get it all:

If you do just a few simple moves, you too will get sexy-yoga arms like Tara Stiles and can look svelte in super cute yoga pants like Kate Hudson.

It's what the beautiful people do and who doesn't want to be beautiful like them?

I mean...uh...I do!

I want to be beautiful, lean, strong, calm, thoughtful and liked and quite often believe that I am anything but so I am just as neurotic as my friends who are wanting to do yoga for the sole purpose of getting rid of cellulite which it doesn't, by the way.

That conversation we had several weeks ago ended after I told them that even though I practice yoga every day...I've had cellulite since I was in my 20's and it hasn't disappeared but instead recruited more friends.

They were NOT happy to hear this and quickly dismissed the notion of even trying yoga if it wasn't going to give them the elusive yoga body that seem to be overwhelmingly promoted.

"I mean what's the point, then"?

Well? It a very common question and one that I've been asking myself a lot but not because yoga hasn't given me Tina Turner legs but because yoga has become a mask for covering up the continuation of women devaluing themselves as mere physical objects.

I am a yoga teacher, therefore, I am obligated to acknowledge that I have been an active participant in abusing yoga as a tool to be prettier on the outside, as well.

I am one of thousands of American women making a living off of an appropriated practice that many of us chase after with an expectation of eternal youth.

When I began to practice yoga 20 years ago, I was recovering from a serious eating disorder.

It began as a means to appreciate my body after years of bulimia and anorexia but once I got into it I too began to abuse it as another opportunity to overdo, under consume and hide behind its exoticness so that no one could see that I was still obsessed with being perfect.

These days, I still find myself falling into that trap from time to time (specifically, right around my period) but I own it, I know it's futile and I know I can choose to spend my time objectifying myself or tell that voice to speak up about issues that actually matter.

I've grown up and my practice has been along for the ride and given me a foundation of support.

I have a responsibility to be clear with myself and my students as to why after all these years, after the obnoxious amounts of yoga scandals, commercialization and tacky reinventions (Happy Hour Yoga or worse yet, Ghetto Fabulous Yoga, anyone?) as to why I am still participating in a 10 Billion dollar industry that lately seems more focused on selling insecurity, better sex, vacant new-ageism and expensive pants than encouraging health, wellness, awareness and social responsibility. I do it because it feels good, It calms me down and I'm nicer to myself and others when I practice so that is why I practice yoga.

Yoga is old.

It is a living practice that continues to evolve and the fact that women practice yoga more then men is a sign of progress. 

50 years ago, that fact would have been taboo to the men teaching yoga so I say "Yes, sisters...do more yoga" but stop using it as another means to oppress ourselves physically, mentally and spiritually just like I did.

Please, Stop. Doing. That.

Yoga is not lost. 

It's just covered in a lot of party make up and like myself...I hope it will start to realize that it can be fun to glam it up now and then but you can't pull that shit off all the time otherwise you just wind up looking in the mirror and seeing something resembling Bette Davis in "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?" and thinking 'Damn yoga, you lied to me. I'm getting older. These Sun Salutations and Handstands were for nothing'.

Some of us are going to get cellulite, some of us are going to get those sexy yoga arms, some of us are going to bind in a twist or not but regardless we are all going to die. 

Don't let those stories of Gurus living forever trick you...that's just good marketing of the ultimate lie.

We are all going to die.

What's important is what are we going to do before that?

If it's yoga then practice yoga.

Show up, feel your breath, your bones, your jiggly thighs and if your mind wanders off (it will) than maybe consider how you're going to make the world better today.

In the interim, support yourself and all the other women who have yet to discover the depths of their yoga practice: it's to prevent future suffering so that they may live a life worth their time.

I'm still jiggliy after all these yoga years. I'm still weird, awkward and obnoxious after all these years but those things don't need to be fixed. All I want is to be awake for my life AND yours so that I can keep on eating garlic salad and keep on laughing and loving.