“Life is Weird…”

I said aloud, in between throaty sobs, as I carted myself home from yoga via the treacherous freeway.

My dramatic one liner was not freeway induced, surprisingly, but rather a culmination of many emotions felt in one 24 hour period of time. Let me preface this essay by saying today was effing awesome. So don’t let the title convince you otherwise. Nobody said “weird” is a bad thing…

In fact – I never do this, but I’m going to momentarily interrupt this broadcast with an important message from a fellow crazy weird writer:

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Wow…did I just manage to unintentionally put myself [verbally] in the same category as Poe? Please know I mean in terms of weirdness and not talent; though I don’t know if I can even hold a candle to his epic weirdness, but I digress…

Today was beautiful, in all its strangeness.

I spent my commute to school listening to a wonderful Deepak Chopra podcast and indulging in diaphragm breaths (to refrain from cursing up a bucketload at the you-know-what storm of traffic over which I had no control). I lunched with my very best friend in the shady courtyard of our college campus (I love even being able to say that, it’s such a gift from the Universe that we both ended up on this same path). I had the realizion that I turned 25 and suddenly became a “real” grown up…programming NPR into my car stereo and using phrases like “har har” repeatedly. I made it through another you-know-what storm of freeway demonization to the studio; my spectacular Wednesday yoga ritual of level III practice under a master teacher.

After ninety minutes of deep hip opening, a very quiet round of Hanumanasana and some moving pranayama, I fought back tears that were rising up in my throat as I bowed in reverence of my teacher and the practice. I was deeply affected by my pranayama experience and wanted to share that with my teacher; in the same space of time, I felt myself choking up on some emotions that must’ve scurried loose from my psoas and crept up into my tear ducts. Upon invitation to offer up the efforts of the practice to something external, I instantly chose my dad. He’s going into open heart surgery mid-month and, well, I’ve been sending him all of my healing heart chakra energy on a daily basis.

I didn’t even bat an eyelash in my dedication. I felt extra spiritually sparked from all of my quality time with Deepak earlier in the day, and as I moved through every advanced-as-all-get-out posture in the practice, I thought to myself this is for you Daddy. I’d had a little quiver in my lip since lunch when I asked my best friend a bit about open heart surgery (her boyfriend had to have it several years ago). The details are unnerving, to say the least, but reality is the only thing worth knowing in life. When it comes down to it. Reality is what must be taken like a shot, and chased with a squeeze of lime.

I honestly don’t know where that bizarre analogy came from; I’m up past my bedtime.

What I will say, before delirium overtakes me, is this…the tears did spring up. I made it through the heart connection with my teacher, bidding farewell to the Tribe, pulling my black riding boots back on over my yoga pants, finding my water bottle where I’d accidentally left it on some corner of some counter, and maneuvering my little car back out onto the deathtrap more commonly known as the freeway. I made it a third of the way home before the tears came springing out. It didn’t last long. It was almost like a fit of sneezes. I’ve never been more than a twice-in-a-row sneezer, but this was the crying equivalent of say five sneezes. Counting the spaces in between. It lasted maybe three quarters of a mile, came in little bursts, and when it passed I felt cleansed. I didn’t even need to take off my aviators.

I sense the purge was necessary. I mean, it always is. I sense what came “unstuck” did so both through the dedication to my cool daddy-o and the deep hip opening. More on the hips later…

The most interesting part is the little line that slipped out from my quivering lips. All alone in the car, I spoke them aloud before my brain could realize I was speaking. I spoke them only to my own ears, and to the molecules of air surrounding me.

Life is, sniffle sniffle, weird. 

It is, though, isn’t it? Weird and beautiful and unexplainable. Magical and intense and completely tragic at times. Dramatic, exquisite, stunning. I could go on and on. And I love it. I love life, in all of its beautiful, unexplainable, magical, intense, tragic, exquisitely stunning drama.

I love it. Tears and all. Traffic and all. Weirdness and all.

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2 thoughts on ““Life is Weird…”

  1. I love being weird. I’ll cry sometimes during my morning runs. As running opens me up to all that is inside my wild creative mind. I wish more people saw the stars.

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