blessings

Last week I assisted a yoga class for the first of what is now my regular weekly shift. People filed out of the room thanking me for my help as I stayed behind talking with the teacher and a few other students before grabbing my bike helmet and heading outside for what would be a long, meandering ride home in the gorgeous evening air. The whole time I struggled with the sneaking feeling of being lucky. Incredibly, blessedly lucky.

Life has thrown surprises my way, as it does. There are a few things that, although they hold the most personal meaning, haven't yet found their place in my life as I assumed they would but, in many respects, I'm living the life I always wanted.

I'm pretty sure that a couple of years ago I looked at the assistants, wondered how they got the position, wondered if I'd ever be able to drop into Marichasana C with ease, wished I could be more a part of the yoga community, and even wished I had a bike to ride home. I'm pretty sure I thought those things and last week as I was biking home I couldn't ignore the feeling that I am incredibly lucky because I'm living that life.

I almost wrote about it. I penned the entry in my mind, toyed with how I would explain the experience but then deliberately chose not to. I've been so attached to being sad and so focused on what is missing that I consciously chose not to write about what was right. It's as if I carry the idea that admitting happiness negates my sadness. That acknowledging the parts of my life that are exactly as I want them to be takes away from my disappointment over what is not. And I'm not willing to go let go of my sadness yet - it feels so very real.

So I chose not to write. But then it happened again tonight. The same blessed feeling, and it seems childish not to acknowledge what is going well simply because of my attachment to what is missing. I'm both. I'm living the life I always wanted and I'm sad over those absent pieces.

It's a new thought for me - that I can be both - and it's confusing. It's confusing to grieve the end of something but, at the same time, be able to find a place of contentment and it's confusing to mourn the loss of a life I was so excited about but, at the same time, find happiness in the life I have. Just this morning I wrote about my longing for what is lost and now I'm writing about living the life I always wanted? Which is real? Am I crying or am I calm? Am I in the depths of despair or am I hopeful? Am I lost or am I found?

I feel like I have to choose one or the other. I am sad, disappointed, and a bit lost at the moment but I've let it overshadow all other aspects of my life. I don't like endings, particularly those I didn't think I wanted, and the sadness that accompanies this ending may stay with me for a very long time - but I'm also content with what is.

It is possible to be both. As the days go by I find myself increasingly willing and able to make room for happiness. Life is good, even when it's not.