Got the preaching yoga teacher again. She kicked off the class sharing a story of how she was struggling with self-defeating thoughts, truth and clarity appeared in the form of something said by a sassy little girl wearing a pink tutu.
“If you listen to your breath, the answers you are looking for will come to you. Your soul knows the truth. Your breath is your soul. Listen and be your breath.”
So I set my practice to pursue the answer to the nagging question. Do I, or do I not want to have children?
I warriored-one, downward-dogged, eagled and chair-posed listening to my breath. While in a side plank, the teacher’s voice sounded across the room.
“Don’t worry about what your neighbor’s doing. It’s not a competition. Do your yoga.”
Tada! That’s right, universe, just because all but three people you know are making a last ditched effort to get pregnant, I don’t have to headstand if my comfort zone is dolphin pose.
I closed the practice with a satisfying Om and hit the streets in hopes of looking for more signs.
A guitarist strumming Moon River on the subway platform. I look up the lyrics. “Oh dream maker, you heart breaker/Wherever you’re going, I’m going your way.” Just bob along life and it will all figure out?
A young woman with a toddler in a stroller on the train asking for money. My fellow passengers and I quietly hand her dollar bills. What does this mean? Even if I feel uncomfortable about financially affording a child, people will help me? Or that there are enough children in the world to take care of I don’t need my own? Or life with a child is rough? All I know is this country does not do enough for military vets.
Movie poster for Brigit Jones Baby. Oh dear. Does that mean I have to go watch it? Am I going to find the answer to my life questions by giving money to this franchise?
Neon signs for a liquor store. An awning of a store called Rainbow. Then a sign right smack in the middle of the street: “Two dollar pizza with drink.”