Yogayama

Ahhh, my last yoga class was so delicious. It was a different kind of class than I'm used to though. The teacher started off by talking about "Yamas", which are the first steps in the "eight fold path to enlightenment". I did not know anything about this. To pretend that I am "enlightened" would be silly. Instead I let Google enlighten me so I could share it with you. The one yoga yama she was talking about in class was "Ahisma", which translated, means "non-violence".

 She sat so peacefully on her mat, candles all around, and read a short passage from her book about "Ahisma". It spoke to the importance of non-violence to others, as well as to oneself - this violence could be in the form of physical, verbal or emotional. When she finished reading, she asked us to go around and comment on how we felt about it. This was the part that was new to me, the having to comment thing, and not just passively stretch, breath and ommmmm.

 It made me squirm a little a little on my mat, especially since I had spent a majority of the reading looking around at all the little stars and Buddhas hanging from the walls and ceiling, and wondering why I didn't do more of that kind of decorating in my own house. All of a sudden the pressure was on to leave behind the Liz that had just been cursing out people in traffic, and tune into my inner non-violent yogi...that was obviously unaware of this elusive path to enlightenment. What would sound mindful, peaceful and smart? Think think think.....be impressive. I only wished the senior citizen who said "I don't understand the question, I signed up for a tae kwon do class", had been sitting in front of me. It would have reminded me to chill the heck out.

Anyway, that wasn't the case, and everyone in front of me was VERY together and VERY yogi-ish, so thankfully an answer came to me. I told her I was going to stop being so violent to myself (obviously). I was going to stop beating myself up over trying to balance work, family and the house perfectly. I was done with that. No more self spanking. She applauded me, and seemed very proud of her little yogi in training- whoo. I would live to lie another day.

As I thought about it though, I really should try to put into practice what my panicking self had suggested I do. So, I've started to embrace this principle a little bit over the past couple of days. See, in the past, I've spent a LOT of energy thinking about having a linen closet where everything is stacked neatly, and color coordinated. I want all of my linen closet stuff, including band aids, toothbrushes, medications, and apparently stuffed panda bears, arranged in alphabetical order, according to likelihood of need. But this never happens, and when I'm not able to accomplish these things, I feel like a lazy person, and assume the rest of the world triumphs over me in these sort of tasks. "Ahisma" has taught me that this sort of thinking is deemed violent, and ultimately unhealthy, but I help myself to a big serving of it ALL THE TIME.

That being said, people who are able to do things like this, and maintain them amaze me. The same goes for people who have systems that actually stay in place for anything, such as a family calendar, or a system for keeping their car clean, changing bed sheets, washing the children regularly, making a meal that doesn't involve the crock pot, or keeping pairs of socks together. I need the people who work at The Container Store to come live at my house, and give me crash course in home living, or just come and crash in my home forever. I promise, it would never be boring, because whatever they did, I would immediately un-do repeatedly. Maybe on purpose, but more likely because I just can't help it. It would be perfect.

Anyway, since the Container Store isn’t coming here for a home intervention, it shall remain haphazard. Around here, by the time the laundry goes through the bazillion steps of being separated, washed, dried, folded, and sometimes put away, this is what the closet winds up looking like -

This is less of a linen closet, and more an an extension to our junk drawer. It might contain less sharp items, but the positive side is that is has more drugs. The Tums are by far the most powerful. I came close to overdosing on the berry ones during my third trimester. The top shelf holds the towels that have required a lot of jumping, slinging and tossing due to my height challenges. I have to thank the bottom shelf for my biceps, as it's required a lot of mushing and mashing to get those towels to stay in place and look just right. This kind of closet takes work, that's all I'm saying.

Another area of our house, that could be seen as problematic is our bedroom closet. I'm just gonna go ahead and show you the photo right now, and then we can break it down. If you are at all OCD - close your eyes, and let someone scroll down for you.

I guess there are a few things to note here. One, there is an Oreck vacuum cleaner parked in our closet. Two, someone, not me put labels in our closet, and three, I apparently have a high threshold for embarrassment. The Oreck has been there for a week, and I don't know why. A bee got in my bonnet to vacuum, and that was about all the energy I had. The thought of dragging it ALL the way back to the broom closet is just too much, so soon it will morph into a hat tree and we won't even see it anymore. Problem solved. The lady who lived in the house before us put labels on her husband's shelf, which have clearly inspired nothing in us. I believe the label in the picture says "Polo Hoodies", but I don't even think those are real kinds of clothes, so who knows. If I had a label maker, I would print two labels - one for the closet shelf that says "Piles", and one for Anthony's floor next to the bed that says "floordrobe". Easy peasy.

So, I guess if you were to look at these pictures, it would seem that I've embraced "Ahisma" full on. It would seem that I really don’t care at all about the state of my house. However, what you don't see is the internal dialogue that goes on when I see these closets. I totally beat myself up, and I totally want it to be different, but I just can't make it so right now.

I am going to let it go. Well, clearly I've let it go, but I'm going to let go of the fact that I've let it go, because even though I'm not that old or wise yet, I've figured out a couple of things.

I've figured out that we always think the “past“ was, or “someday” will be better than the right now. Right now, I think I want structure, order and time in my life, but when I'm standing someday in my closet, with nothing BUT time, and it's all pretty and organized, I'll be wishing for the past, for someone little to come tug on my pant leg and ask me to play. I may even wish there was a little purple shoe here and there to trip over and curse at. And when the towels are folded perfectly, I'll wish someone small would take just one and throw it right into a full bathtub, just to make me crazy. The past and the present aren't all they're cracked up to be. So, I'll stay right here, and embrace everything messy and chaotic, and try not to pinch myself too much. After all, it's pretty easy to close the closet doors on that chaos, when you can open another door, walk into the next room and see this chaos.....Namaste.