All posts tagged: crying

Lean On Me

I took myself to yoga today for the first time in several months. I chose to go on my own and purposely told no one about it. Could I endure it? Not physically, but mentally? I practiced yoga for many years in Argentina, but since being back in the US, I’ve had a hard time finding a class and an instructor I like. While this didn’t stop me from searching for the missing puzzle piece, it did make me lazy over time. Eventually, I arrived at the excuse of “I simply don’t want to do yoga as my main workout each week because I’m bored of it.” For the most part, I eliminated it from of my routine, with the exception of a special occasion for charity, a few poses I’ve always done before and after exercising and, of course, my headstands, because I love them. After much reflection, I finally understood the real reason behind my disenchantment with yoga: it wasn’t the practice itself, rather the quieting of my mind that seemed extremely daunting. …

A Big, Fresh Breath of Living

I had to battle a lot of demons in order to get the photo you see at the top of this post. Mood swings can be aggressive… Forget feeling bipolar; I was multi-polar, volatile, and explosive that day. I went for run to get it out of my system. I walked down Bush Street to Polk, where I took off all the way down to Ghirardelli square, past Fort Mason, around Chrissy Field, and onto Fort Point right next to the Golden Gate Bridge, where the only options, once I got there, were either to jump into the water or turn around and head back home. It turned out to be a 10.8 mile, 2.5 hour ordeal, with the wind beating against me. I admit to walking most of the way back after passing Fort Mason again, but I did lunge up the Taylor Street hills, in case that counts for anything. I am obsessed with the Golden Gate, which explains why I take so many pictures of it and why I always tend to …

Tonight, I Cried

“Don’t be bothered by the noise. Go sit and be silent,” I read this evening, and it made me pause for a moment. Be silent, the phrase urged. Don’t mind the noise, it said. I lost count of how many times I repeated it over and over in my mind, until I finally admitted to myself that I couldn’t do it. No, that’s wrong. It’s not that I can’t. It’s that I don’t want to. I choose not to, in the same way that I’ve chosen not to do it so many times in the past. But why? There’s no way around this one; it’s plain and simple: I. Am. Scared. Of. My. Thoughts. I’m scared of my thoughts. Me dan miedo mis pensamientos. Two languages, one concept. I don’t want to go sit and be silent. I don’t want to unearth all I’ve been hiding. I don’t want to face the part of me that has been tamed. I don’t want to deal with all of the pent up emotions cowering behind my smile. …