This is a Blog.
I'm Bri. But if you're here I'm assuming you know that already (or maybe you just randomly stumbled across this on the internet idk). And this is a blog. Not a blog in the I'm-13-and-I'm-writing-about-my-teenage-angst-on-xanga blog (Did we all do this? No. Just me? Ok.) More like an I'm a semi adult figuring shit out blog. It's 0033 hours (or 12:33 for those who don't run on military time) and I'm wide the fuck awake even though I've got a yoga class and guided meditation to teach in a few hours. Yet, as per usual, I've procrastinated on putting together a class thinking, "What and how the fuck am I supposed to teach tomorrow?"
You see, my favorite teachers are, it seems, full of infinite skill and wisdom. I can walk into my studio feeling any kind of way and walk out feeling refreshed, renewed, and like I received exactly what I needed. Some teachers I see multiple times per week: they know me, my practice and my entire backstory. Others I only see every few months, or a few times a year. Still others I've never met at all, only practiced with on YouTube or Codyapp. Either way I always take away something that resonated with me. Meanwhile here I am, newly certified, teaching and subbing my way around Atlanta with (seemingly) nothing to offer students but me, trying the very best I can, to give back everything which has been given to me.
I started my yoga journey to impress a boy who may or may not have given two shits about me, and committed to my yoga practice because I saw an ad that was literally everything I wanted to embody (you can read more about that here). However, throughout my 2½︎ years of practicing yoga I've come to realize that I can't compare my blooper reel to someone else's highlights. The behind the scenes of my life will never look like someone else's picture perfect Instagram post. That every person has been or will be where I am right now, and that no matter how different individual stories may be that somehow they're all the same.
Which brings me back to right now. Awake, writing, smoking from my hookah (it's just tobacco, chill). Tonight I got a message from my ex. Just a friendly, no big deal continuance of a conversation we'd been having for a few weeks I suppose. Me: affirming that eventually I will find my person, and this ex agreeing that one day I probably will find what I'm looking for in a partner. That's all. Short and sweet. Nothing more or less. But it wasn't the answer I wanted or was expecting. I guess you could say my feelings were a little hurt although there really wasn't any reason for them to be. Then I had that moment of clarity. That "aha" light bulb moment I had only read about in books or seen in cartoons. Grounding down and letting it all go. Letting go of the expectations I had of the people in my life, letting go of the the preconceived notions of who I'm supposed to be as a yoga student and teacher, letting go of the need to show one face to the public and another in private. Instead of just being. Being a twenty something in a world full of faces and social media accounts. Being a girl (dare I say woman) in a man's world. Being a person of color in a life where I have to work twice as hard to only get half as far. Being inexplicably and unapologetically myself.
I won't give too much away, but I will say I've figured things out. Or at least figured out my tomorrow. So if there's something you've been struggling with give yourself permission (because who the fuck am I to tell you something really) to let go. Stop dwelling on situations past or circumstances not yet to be and just enjoy the present moment. Or if you're in the Atlanta area, come flow with me tomorrow (today?) at Yoga General, 0930 (shameless plug) and we can let it go together, move together, journey together. And stick around (or don't if you don't wanna) for some interesting, weird, dope, lame, crazy content coming at you in the future. In the meantime I'm gonna lie in bed, pretend to sleep for a few hours, and not let my thoughts consume me.