The morning of the last full moon of winter, I sit to reflect on my most recent adventure. This adventure has two distinct tracks which must be written about separately although the intertwining of the stories is inevitable and important.
My 2018 has been interesting. I’ve had some incredible highs with progress in the professional world, personal world and really feeling in the flow of life. I’ve also had some real down lows and frustrations that really seemed to really peak (or would that be valley?) during this past moon phase or as I like to call it - the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad month of February.
Ok, that could be considered dramatic, however….
February always sits in the distance, looming, maybe even leering. It is this cold, stark, dry winter wasteland where I can’t quite remember what warmth feels like and I’m dangerously deficient on vitamin D. This is the phase of the year where my hands become so grey, dry and transparent they resemble the hands of a 95 year old corpse. I get asked a lot if I’m feeling well because apparently I don’t look like it.
I thought I was being oh so sneaky and skipping most of February’s bleak, short days by saying hasta la vista Kansas City and leading a yoga retreat in 85 degree, sunny Puerto Vallarta. I had planned everything out, gotten subs for my classes, picked up extra classes to help fund my adventures and was beyond stoked to say SEE YA Midwest on Valentine’s Day.
Let’s take a little side venture here - Valentine’s Day is not my favorite holiday. If you love and care for someone you should show and tell them a lot, all the time, in many different ways. You shouldn’t need a holiday to force you to do so. That being said, I’m a HUGE fan of love. So any chance to celebrate and show love I am all for.
I can explain this dissonance.
My deep down dislike stems from second grade when everyone in my class received a carnation (or several) and I received none. Even my gross older brother received a few. I was embarrassed. Devastated. My Mom hates that I tell this story but the point is that I learned my parents’ love for me wasn’t dependent on this show of affection on this one day filled with pink and red candy.
All that being said - I was happy to be leaving town on a day I am wishy washy towards and head toward warm, sandy Mexico.
January had brought it’s share of good and bad. I had been in a bit of a mental funk (I blame the lack of outdoor time, bare feet and sunshine) and had been working through some energy stuff that came out during my reiki session (holla at ya girl Lauren Chavez who is AMAZING to work through your shiizzzz - you can read about my experience here).
So naturally, I got sick. Sick as in a 5 day 101 degree fever with a head cold turned to pneumonia kind of sick. The kind of sick where there are a few days I don’t remember kind of sick. The kind of sick where I was choking and gasping for air just trying to breathe wondering if I should go to the ER as Rosa practically laid on my chest with worry. I couldn’t speak words for a week. I had not had human contact in nearly two weeks and then Rosa the Dog even left town to hang with my parents for the duration of my impending trip.
I ended up postponing my flight to get a few more days of healing under my belt. I was feeling better. I was packed. I was going to freakin’ Mexico. See ya sickness. See ya cold.
Then the following series of unfortunate events occurred:
My car was broken into and my yoga equipment was stolen.
I lost my phone 24 hours into being out of the US.
I ate something that gave me my first ever experience with anaphylaxis.
I was offered to stay at the retreat center for another week for free …. then my Mom messaged me, our oldest dog had fallen and was at the vet not doing well.
My car battery was dead upon arriving home.
Car battery was dead again the following morning I needed to drive home to see my dog.
I had to say goodbye to one of my best friends - our sweet old boy Bailey dog.
No matter how I tried. I could not escape Februaryness of the month, not even in the sandy beaches of another country. Perhaps February is a self fulfilling prophecy. Or perhaps this is a phase in my life clearly meant to teach me. Teach me what exactly I can’t tell yet. But I can tell you I laughed a lot over the last couple weeks and I’ve cried a lot as well. I’m thankful for both of these extremes. It means I’m alive.
There are things I do know for certain:
You have to keep loving. Love without abandon. Continue to take the risks. Don’t let life circumstances steal your joy. It is always a choice. Your choice.
And maybe next year I’ll make a deal with February to talk a little nicer towards it and perhaps it’ll be nicer to me. Can’t hurt to try.