The Queen of Indecision Stays Put

I’m the QUEEN of weighing things. And no– not apples, my body or gold pieces on a scale. I deliberate. I equivocate. I see-saw. I lean this way and then that. And I do it with gusto. I’m not a wishy-washy weigher. I am a warrior of indecision. I run like a wild thing into a fork in the road.

Take today. I have been on a solo retreat in Ojai– something I am wont to do as frequently as I am able. I am staying in the studio where I teach my retreats. I love staying here. I have been alone for about 48 hours with an occasional smile for a barista or a quick call home. It has been deliciously silent and I’ve been crazy productive. I’ve also been soft and receiving and organically letting each moment lead to the next. I am happy and remarkably PRESENT.

But tonight, a small group of my dear girlfriends are gathering for a slumber party. It’s an important gathering because one of the gatherers is from New York and just here for a quick visit. I am, of course, supposed to be there. I am very much supposed to be there.

But I am here.

How did this happen? Did I double book? Did I blur? Did I not quite think things through? All of these are true and irrelevant. Tonight, I am scheduled to be two places simultaneously. And thus my warrior of indecision has been quite active for the last number of hours.

Now. Let me fill you in on something else. This is not unusual. I’m often split. I’m never fully where I am, doing what I’m doing, because I’ve already moved on to what needs to be done next. Onward. Upward. Onward. Upward. It’s all exhale without replenishment.

I’m reading words on a page and simultaneously worrying about something at the house left unfinished. I’m driving and talking. I’m eating and making lists. I’m meeting a friend and worrying about another. I’m getting a massage and planning my retreat. I’m waking up on a Sunday when nothing need happen and I’m urgently–suddenly–urgently needing NOT to sit and eat pancakes with the kids but instead clean out and organize the basement. I’m moving 24-7. Relentlessly. AND, nothing is fully, deeply, happily absorbed.

But earlier today, while I was doing yoga via a tele class with Sofia Diaz, we were in a pose called ‘Chi Generation.’  I always have to come out of it several times before she wants us to — skittish about the intensity, certain I can’t make it.  But today, I stayed there. I stayed put. My legs were quivering. My heart was pounding. My arms were aching. I was miserable and ecstatic. And then I noticed that I happened to be standing just in the spot where I sit when I teach. And I thought, here I am seeing this through. Here I am staying put when I feel like my body can’t last another moment. Here I am radically, bodily facing my edge when I know I’ll be sitting in that very spot asking others to do the same in just a few weeks.  And I KNOW I looked awkward and ridiculous and in pain but I stayed.

And then I noticed that I stayed.
I noticed that I made the decision to stay.
I noticed that I stopped asking myself whether I should come out of the pose and just decided it was where I needed to be.
I noticed that I fully, deeply, happily absorbed that experience.

I love learning through the body. I love that staying in that pose awakened  strength and  clarity within me.

So for tonight, though I can feel the pull of gorgeous friendship and a giddy sleepover, I am staying put. I know my time here is not complete. If I left now, I would be running on to the next thing, trying to fit everything in without feeling the fullness of what I have been building in the stillness of these last two days and perhaps without confronting what comes up as I truly see this through.

There are remnants of fear and restlessness and really? really? really? in my head as my body is used to moving on. And there are whispers of doubt and worry that I’m letting loved ones down. But as I sit here and write with the sun setting over the mountains, my body knows it’s staying. My body knows it has to stay. I’ve left the fork in the road and have begun to listen to the bird calls and the whisper of the trees on the path I’ve chosen. My body is softening. My breathing is deep. I’ve arrived in a singular moment. Here. Now. Complete.