Forgiveness, like most things in life, has turned out to be more complicated than I once thought. I’m not naturally a forgiving person. If someone has betrayed me, I’d just as soon remove them from my life and move on. I’m far too lazy to be vindictive, but I heartily approve of vengeance when sought by my (less sedentary) fellow man. It may not be mature, but it works for me.
I always assumed that forgiveness was a sort of zen state that you gradually worked toward, until you’d finally let go of your anger and animosity. It was almost like a homemade gift that you slowly created and then finally gave to whomever hurt you. But if you were to ask me now if I forgave them, the only answer I could give you would be this: sometimes. There are moments, though rare, when I hate them as much as ever. I wish them all the worst in life and truly hope that all of their dreams turn to ash before them. Then, more commonly, there are days, weeks, or months when I think of them not at all. And then there are those times when I remember them fondly. I see only the good times we had, the wonderful memories they gave me. I see them for all they were; all their goodness and all their flaws. I accept them, and in that acceptance, “there is a kind of love.” And yes, I guess there is forgiveness, too.
The past few weeks have been stressful but UNREAL at work. And I’ve barely been able to enjoy an evening at home. Today, as I was headed up to bed I noticed that the kitchen was an absolute mess and I started winding myself up trying to clean up, move bottles out for recycling, and wash up counter top stains. By the time the kitchen was clean, I was in a mood.
But then I realised that today is November 8th. 15 years ago, my uncle died. And I still miss him all the time. The kitchen doesn’t matter. The stress at work will go away and dissipate eventually. But I’ll never see Brendan again. Perspective. It’s nice to have every once in a while.
I feel stupid-awful about this. Like I’m abandoning something that could potentially be a rewarding or a goal I’ve set for myself. But I feel like I need to write this publicly to try to digest and process my mixed feelings about everything that’s going on. Here it is folks:
I’m breaking up with Yoga.
It’s not that I’m deeply troubled by the ideologies or philosophy behind yoga, it just didn’t do it for me. I couldn’t buy into it. Especially with a teacher who was really into the spiritual and side of it. I’m not religious. I haven’t been in a long time. I find it really hard to break that and think that if I were to “release the anger” or “remove the tension” by “looking within” then maybe I would “have more peace” within my life. I’m also turned away by the overwhelming enthusiasm of basically everyone but me. But then again, I really don’t like the hoo-rah over Christmas, sunny weather, and cupcakes so maybe I just hate fun and good things in general.
But I love the exercises. I really dig the progress I’ve seen in my flexibility and strength and I’ve enjoyed seeing the changes it has had on my body. I do a number of stretches at home on the big green rug in my living room. Yes, yoga has helped with relieving stress. I cannot say enough good things about the deep stretching poses I do and the benefit yoga has had on my posture and my confidence. That side of yoga is awesome. And i still love it for that reason.
…but I just lost the fever. And I can’t keep going to classes if I’m going to waste money and time by listening to someone who’s words of wisdom just wont penetrate this heathen’s thick skull. I just can’t with the teachers and the yogavangelists. Some people can go to a couple classes a week, do their thing, walk out and never speak of it and could give zero shits about chakras and inner thoughts or whatever. But I have exactly two opinions about things; I am either uber-all-about-it or ultra-not-into-it. Except white wine, cronuts, and now, yoga. I’m pretty ‘meh’ about those things.
Basically I’m just going to keep doing me and staying active and healthy and happy. Good talk.