Summer Storms - An Angry One

We were supposed to leave today, originally for a few weeks of adventuring, seeing family and friends, exploring Maine and Montreal. Most of that was cancelled ages ago. Now is obviously not the time to discover a new city. But we had thought until very recently that we'd still at least get to see my parents and sibling. A change of scenery, some family time. That was not to be either.

I was sitting on my couch earlier listening to a summer thunderstorm approach, just feeling inside, for all intents and purposes, the same as the intense winds and splatters of rain that were rolling in with the storm. That combine with the feeling of all the now empty days ahead on my calendar.

I found a new therapist, someone much more suited to me then the one I found just over two years ago, and unceremoniously dumped 9 (?) months ago. I've already poured out some of my anger and frustration over the pandemic and all its taken. There's so much to say and go over, a lifetime of things to unpack so much more then 3 months of loss, and I feel like I'll need years to talk about it all. So maybe I'll save the history for her, and come here with my anger at every single person I see that isn't wearing a mask, in their gatherings by the dozens, because so many of us have changed everything, and they can't seem to deal with a square of fucking fabric to show a little consideration to their fellow man. God Bless, Motherfucking America.

Let me not beat around the bush here: if you are a science-denying dick who can't wear a mask or not get together to drink cases of beer with your 20 best friends, then you are the reason I can't see my family right now, and I ask you to kindly fuck off. Truly.

Humanity feels like a failed experiment. And I'm not handling it well. I'm angry, and also I'm just sad. I thought we were better then this, and we're clearly just not.



One of the first things that I did when we moved to Colorado was find a yoga studio. I needed that part of my life to handle all the stresses that came with the move, and since I didn't have a job, I needed a way to build that community. That's what I found in iThrive. An absolutely beautiful studio, warm and welcoming, and people to match. If you've seen my yoga pictures over the past few years, you've seen the beautiful windows and amazing wave wall of this space.

I loved the space so much, that I chose to do my teacher training there. It was where I became a yoga teacher, where I did a good part of my teaching, and where I found my favorite class. 

And last Friday, I met one Addison - of my good friends, and fellow teachers there - and we (at an appropriate social distance), said goodbye to our home away from home.

One last time, we set up our mats, and enjoyed a practice. We looked at the mountain view, took a few pictures, and then walked out one final time. The Denver area has lost a lot of studios during this time of pandemic and upheaval. In the long run, that may be a good thing, churning out stronger, larger individual communities. But none of that matters right now, because my sanctuary is no more.

I know I will be okay. My yoga is still there for me, even if this particular space is not. The owner is committed to our community, and is looking for ways to keep us practicing together still, both on and off the mat. I will rebuild my teachings in new an wonderful ways. But on Friday, I grieved.


Caught Between

Everything makes me feel nostalgic nowadays. For days of climbing trees, of barbies with my best friend, for embarrassment over naked Santa (what? you didn't have family that were naturists?). My Gram has been gone so long, that she has merged almost completely in my mind with the Grandmother from the old Garfield's Christmas special. She had many things in common with her anyway, but now I can't tell the difference.

I want countryside, maples in a blaze of red, and green green green so lush around me I can feel it without even having to touch. I even look back at March, and wish I knew then what I knew now... how differently I would have started things.

When I'm not feeling nostalgic, I'm ... what even is the opposite? wistful for what's ahead, and may in fact never exist? I long so entirely for a world that might not even come to pass, that I miss it. I weep for the house and the yard, for gardens in a riot of flowers and plants. For moments of quiet and teaching friends in a home studio. For traveling to the ancestral land of Wales that holds so very much of my heart. I pine for choices so very much out of my current control.

What does it say about our current days when I can't seem to escape the nets of past or future?