Ugh. Why can’t truth be easier? Another reflection on satya and my failure as a writer.

I woke up early this morning to take myself on a date.

Morning date attire. Yes – I got fancy. 

Mornings are my favorite time. They’re special and sacred. Birds chirp and await the coming of the sun. Lamp posts illuminate darkened houses, where people sleep and dream, and a few are up drinking coffee and watching the morning news. (Or reading it on their phones.) The moon shines from the sun, moving about and reminding me of cheese and my impending vegan cleanse. Gosh I love cheese. 

Bur mornings. Mornings I love even more.

No one wants to talk in the mornings, myself included. I can be grumpy and disheveled and it’s wonderful. I don’t have to be anyone but me. I mean, when I’m not teaching. And right now I have exactly one free morning to watch the sun rise.

After a morning walk, meditation, and having breakfast and coffee watching the sun rise, I tried to work, but I really didn’t feel like it.

Then I thought I might write. Back when I had this conversation with Beryl, I was feeling really on it and started a few projects. But those didn’t seem right, either.

This week I’ve been teaching on Satya – or truthfulness. I even wrote this blog post on it. One of the things Deborah Adele says in her book is that truth “isn’t safe, but it is good.”

I feel like I’ve been missing something lately. So when I couldn’t do motivate myself to work, I decided to journal.

The longer I wrote the more I connected to my own satya – or truth. The truth isn’t safe.

My whole life, I have wanted to be a writer. But I learned very young that writing isn’t safe. When one person praises you, another laughs in your face.

So the past almost thirty years, I’ve been trying to figure out a way out of this. To find something that was more “safe” than writing. Teaching yoga was good. It is good. Teaching yoga is a way for me to speak my satya and teach it to others, which is what I want to do with writing anyway. But being in a contained space, in a group where people come for that – it seems safer, in a way. It’s harder to laugh in someone’s face when they’re standing right in front of you.

Last Sunday I also taught my Durga workshop. Durga is about strength and courage. I could cry right now thinking that I taught this workshop in a place where I currently feel weak. Where my avoidance of writing is directly related to my lack of courage. I had this at one point, right after I spoke with Beryl and was feeling courageous, when I was calling on Durga daily, but now it has fled.

When I sat down to journal, I know exactly what I want to do. I was able to detail my perfect day to Beryl exactly. But to get there is very scary.

My stepson is with us for the week for spring break. Two nights ago, we rented and watched Moana. Moana is about a girl on an island who feels a strong urge towards the ocean and adventure. Everyone tells her to stay on the island, to stay safe. But when the island starts to lose its luster, she ventures out to right the wrongs and save her people.

Moana has the strength of Durga. She has the audacity and courage to step out alone. And her sweet grandmother (I’m tearing up just thinking about it) who was her one supporter, was there with her in spirit.

The truth isn’t safe, but it is good.

My truth isn’t safe. To admit what I want and to go for it will likely mean a lot of tears and a lot of heartbreak. A lot of struggle. A lot of loneliness and frustration and despair. It’s not safe.

But it is good.

How many times will I have to keep convincing myself of this same thing? I feel like I’ve done this so many times before.

Writing is scary.

Before I took yoga for the first time, I thought it was scary, too. The only thing I wish is that I would have done it sooner. That I didn’t wait four years to go for the first time and another four years to commit.

What will I get done if I stop waiting around and do it now? How many more years until I get over my fear and just go?

There’s some creative writing workshops in Iowa at the university. Maybe I’ll go. Maybe I’ll get over myself and just do it. Maybe it won’t be another four years until I commit.

What do you struggle with, in your own satya? Where do you run from the truth? Anyone else a struggling wanna be writer who is too afraid to just do it? Maybe we should have coffee.


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