attachments and figments of my imagination

This morning I added a few extra poses to my practice for no real reason other than that they felt good. As I lay back, enjoying the stretch, I thought about how this would never have been permitted in my old shala. I miss practicing there. Miss the discipline coupled with a deep respect for tradition.

After explaining, for the 800th time, that I have two torn hamstrings and wasn't going deeper into the pose deliberately, I thought about the Helsinki shala where I only had to tell one person, once, that I was working with an injury before all of the teachers knew. I miss the warm, yellow room with its creaking floor, community, and the sound of ujayii breathing enveloping me.

I thought about why I was in Helsinki in the first place and stopped my practice for a minute, surprised by a longing for everything to be like it used to be. Just go back to the way it was.

People keep saying that I sound good. Better. I don't know what to say in return. I'm not sick, not recovering from the flu. I've just been feeling sad. I've also been feeling happy, light, depressed, relieved, angry, wry, cynical, optimistic, and excited - often all in the space of just half an hour. Probably not so different from each of you, albeit each for our own reasons. While sadness and confusion do lurk beneath the surface waiting to rear their heads, I know they'll fade with time, they already are. This is a time of transition and transitions are hard on me.

Breaking up is a transition, redefining what we are to each other is a transition, and the loss of what I thought my life in the immediate future would be like is a transition. I was really excited to live in a new city. To struggle with a new language and see how it would feel to make the foreign familiar. I was excited about that. Now I'm in Toronto returning to my old job and that's exciting too for entirely different reasons, I'm just surprised. And confused. It's like someone took the gameboard of my life, changed the pieces around and plunked me back down in the centre to scramble while I process changes I didn't ask for in the first place.

This morning I just wanted things to be what they used to be. Back in the old shala practicing mysore in the company of the yoga girls, a flight booked to colder climates, and fanciful dreams of a perfect, easy yogi life with my best friend dancing in my head. I longed for things to go back, oh, six months. Maybe seven.

But six or seven months ago the shala was oppressive and downright mean, the future of colder climates already uncertain, and the dreams I had of a perfect yogi life were mine alone - what good are dreams for two when they belong to only one? Six or seven months ago things weren't what I remember them as being. I know that. I know I'm attached to something that is a figment of my imagination, but I kind of wish I could just go back anyway.

I think the hardest part of this transition is learning to be honest with myself about what really was and what I imagined into being.