The Other Side
You know that saying ‘the grass is always greener’? Well, I’ve been living that lately. No matter how much I try and override it I’ve reverted back to that time when I would be on my way to a uni exam looking longingly out of the bus window wishing I was every single person on the street except me. Because they weren’t on their way, hideously underprepared, to this three-hour nightmare and that’s why they looked so happy and content. (Dammmmmn them!)
Even the ticket warden.
That’s what I remember. It’s the details that haunt me.
I also remember the delicious feeling of utter relief when it was over. Goodwill to everyone and all that. I went from Eeyore to Pollyanna, crossing over to the coveted green side in a blaze of glory and English Lit.
That’s what I remember. And it’s driving me crazy.
Because I’m back revisiting that murky ground of wishing I was anywhere but here. (This morning I even got caught staring for an inappropriately long time at a florist loading a van. I couldn’t believe how good that *florist’s life looked from where I was sitting. All fragrant and pretty and with absolutely no deadlines or editing issues.)
Yet all I really (read: desperately) want is to experience that sweet release and satisfaction of a job well done.
And tragically (bit dramatic, yes, but it is that bad), there is nothing stopping me except me. (Dammmmmn me!)
The roadblock of some writing that won’t write, decisions that keep changing their mind and an overwhelming sense of being underwhelming has kept me from moving forward.
Except on the mat.
That’s what I know I have to make time for. That’s when I know I’ll be just that much closer to where I need to be. Even when the goalposts keep changing it’s when I practice and listen, to my teacher’s words, to my breath, that I realise some of those desires are nothing more than me trying to undercut myself.
Of course you could argue that writing this now is not exactly keeping to my self-imposed schedule for a work deadline. But I bet sometimes even florists have to fling some flowers around, making a mess till they figure it out.
– Jane
*I know in the real world florists also have to wake up at some ungodly hour in the freezing cold, probably deal with ‘all manner of people’ and yes, old flower water smells like sick but I am feeling sorry for myself. So.
[line]
You might also enjoy these posts in which it appears I’m lucky I get anything done at all apart from practicing yoga (of which we should all be very happy because I am much, much nicer after class):
© The Yoga Connection 2015