In about two hours I’ll be 23 years old. That’s 23 years of this life I have lived in this body. I keep thinking about karma and dharma and purusha and prakriti and all of the tattvas really. It’s so mind boggling. So expansive. It’s something I feel like I’ve known before but know I haven’t. That’s the funny thing about this yoga stuff- there’s a reason I’m drawn in, there’s always a reason for the pull.
At 8, I thought I’d have my life ‘figured out’ by 23. The world is so ambitious in its goal setting and schools really orient kids to pick a path and go for it. And I love that. I love the ‘going for it’ and the passion and the drive and the ambition.
But I also know, that the moments I have experienced in this life that will leave lasting marks on my karma and my soul… They have nothing to do with the path. They have to do with the feeling. Whether I had chosen to be a doctor or a anthropologist or a astronaut- whether I still choose to be any one of those things- that’s not really my being. My being is how I feel. My being is my emotions and the moments tied to the ones I’ve felt so deeply that I thought the world could implode.
My existence for 23 years is my first fearful or joyous screams into real sound. It’s my many full hearted adventures into friendships that sometimes never started or failed or grew into some of the most deeply loving relationships I have ever felt. It’s my terrifying fears of failure or being wrong and the constant compassion I’ve been shown by my mother and father and family when I do or am. It’s in my deep anger that felt like tree roots planting me to the ground at 16 and my humbling gratitude at 17. My being is in my loneliness and contentment with being alone.
I’m 23 and I don’t really have a lot of direction. I have degrees. I have certifications. But I’m finding that what really matters at the end of the day is how you go to bed feeling.