The Spill

The Spill

I’m a pretty careful person.

I’m a planner and a thinker and an organizer.

I like things in their place, stacked and folded.

I’m not speaking necessarily of the parts of my life that can be seen, like my clothes and papers and such around the house. I’m more talking about the parts that can’t be seen.

The parts that are naturally kept under wraps, like most of us have.

I have friends that can talk about anything. And they do, often to me. I think that’s because they know I will make a neatly folded pile for them, too, set it aside and leave it undisturbed for safekeeping.

This is what I’ve done for myself over the past many years.

It’s just that I didn’t really realize how tall my piles were getting and how many had sprouted. I didn’t know they were taking up so much space and resting at their teeter points.

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It’s been almost three years. Three years of handstands.

When I first started yoga, I would not go upside down. I knew I could do it, but it just felt so silly. I’d often goof around with my kids and only a couple years earlier, before even finding yoga, I had done a headstand on Skype for my daughter and her college roommates.

So, it’s not that I was never silly. It’s just that I was never so in public. And the yoga studio counted as being in public.

Then, one day, it was just my daughter and me in a private lesson. In my mind, this was not public, so upside down I went.

And then, almost every day thereafter, I only wanted to be upside down.

Headstands led to forearm stands. Forearm stands led to handstands. I could not get enough and still can’t.

And now I can’t remember what there was to ever feel so silly about.

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