the ground beneath

Interpreting her open arms as a sign of welcome, I walked towards her this morning, it was 700am. As I walk closer her hand comes towards me, now pointing at me, she looks me dead in the eyes and I look back, sipping my coffee.

‘YOU’RE MALAYSIAN!!!!’

I looked back mid-sip, she looked like she could have been a retired school teacher, she had on a red cardigan, sensible shoes and khaki pants. As she walked closer to me pointing her finger in my face it was then I noticed the small cart she had in tow with various possessions, a teddy bear with one eye, a box of graham crackers.

‘YOU’RE MALAAAAAYSIAN!’ she insisted again this time with anger flashing across her eyes. And as I am staring back at her about to break her gaze and continue to walk she says this:

…’and there’s no room for you here in our country’ Pauses. ‘Go home’ she broke our gaze before I even could and walked down the street chanting ‘go home. go home’ Intermittenly she would yell out Malaysia.

After a not so amazing day yesterday that had me feeling like I wanted to give up, I woke up early after falling in and out of sleep to take Moose on a really long walk. Moose is always a show stopper, but on this particular morning he was just really turning it on: attracting babies, and other dogs, and the friendliest people, all stopping to chat. One woman was even like ‘that’s it, todays the day I do it, my sons been wanting a dog and your little dog has convinced me’ and Moose just stands there wagging his tail…and I. Well I attract a woman who informs me that it’s time to go back to Malaysia.  That I don’t belong here.

‘what you seek is seeking you’ rumi.

If I could click my heels three times I’d ask to be transported to a Feburary Sunday morning, in my small little cape-style home in Rochester. I remember kneeling down in the living room and placing my hands on the ground and running them over the knots in the wood. ‘ I want to put an offer in’ I said. It was those floors, original to the home that was built in the late 1800’s, those floors in their warm shades of brown, the scratches of one million stories, the loyalty of staying in place for all those years.

‘but what about that brand new condo’ she said. The one in fairport (the suburbs)…you’d never have to worry.

‘no’ I said. ‘I like this house. This house is perfect. ‘

I had this plan you see, about building a home, I did all the things that you do, I bought a dish set, a couch, I bought a lawnmower, I kept ice cream in the freezer for the little kids next door. I raked the leaves. I slept in on Sundays. I invited the same boy to sleep over, and he would make breakfast.  I replaced the fence. I got Moose.

And then I got a dream job with lululemon so I rented my sweet little house and moved 90 miles west to an apartment. And then I got another dream opportunity to go work for Africa Yoga Project so I left that apartment and moved into my room in the house in Kenya.  And then I got the best opportunity yet to come join this team over here….so I packed my things, and within two weeks and sleeping on couches and floors I moved in here to Sacramento. Of all the years of my life, 2012 was by far the most amazing for sure in terms of adventure and growth, but my god, its been uncomfortable and painful too. When the stakes are higher, everything is higher, deeper.

2012 took me to 4 different cities to live and work. Each of which I fought completely. Gloves off, pissed off, eyes closed flailing and failing to make contact. At all.  Losing my shit on a daily basis, telling myself I’m too weak to do this anyway, saying no to invitations to not be alone, and wondering why I feel so damn lonely.

The house wouldn’t fix this. I miss those floors, and the back steps I’d have my morning coffee on while Moose ran around chasing squirrels. But those floors with their history cant free me from mine.

I miss the floors in the studio back in Rochester. The place that showed me that I could create my life to be beautiful. That place I gave away my secrets to and set free those years of shame. The floors that saw held me over the course of 5 years. And yes, I wanted to leave then too…in the beginning anyway, ‘this isn’t for me’ I said. These floors could never hold the weight of me…but they did. They held all of us together, and I began to teach, and trust more and more in the ground beneath me and all of us. I began to trust, I gave my life to save my life.

And now.

No memories of floors will save me. No trips home to lay my hands on the ground will lift me up. No it’s time to drop to my knees, to place my hands to my heart, to bow my head. To realize that all this running has got me tired and empty…and so is it the discomfort of starting again to help me see that? You know, I don’t know. But in this past month this familiar feeling that I gotta fight for my life is coming back.

When something good is right in front of me, my history triggers me to move quickly across the floor. How this plays out is others may think I am never satisfied, that nothing is every good enough for me, that I am not grateful…so while I try to whisper loud enough for my hear to hear that this could really be a place to be home, and this could really be a family that loves you…I find what is wrong, so that way, I don’t have to stay. I have a beautiful ability to attract amazing things in my life, but until I believe I am good enough for them I will never stand on this ground and I will always be an amazing dreamer…big dreams, yeah, I got plenty of those. I think I’ve gotten much better at this…but weeks like this show me I have not. All the tools in the world mean nothing if I don’t choose to build.

If I were sitting in my living room in Rochester, if I were to wake up tomorrow morning and go teach the 6am at breathe, it would feel incredible I’m sure. But I already know how to do that…but what I don’t know how to do yet is to create a home no matter where I am not contingent on comfort but rather on me trusting that I, I am enough. That the people around me love me. That I belong here. I deserve to learn how to do this so that I can show others too…

‘my life is my message’ jimmi Hendrix.  And right now, I’m looking to create a new message that speaks to strength AND grace…both and always.