Reclamation
“For fast-acting relief try slowing down.”
In the gentlest of practices, today is day six of returning to the yoga mat for 20 minutes or so a day. Returning to the mat always returns me to myself, words that don't really do justice to the inner experience of reconnecting with the subtle interior body as much as the solid, physical one.
Rather than beating myself up for months of benign neglect, I'm choosing to be kind in this homecoming; less "where have you been" and more "I'm so glad you're back." I'm also taking a full-stop break from running, opting instead to walk in silence or occasionally talking with a friend.
Slowing down has a way of revealing just how fast I've been moving and just how habitual many of my less-than-stellar habits are, such as multitasking, being tethered to my phone, or allowing my work and life to blur together like one continuous series of hours without definition or intention. It's worth noting that none of these are criminal offenses or morally inferior behaviors. But they're also not doing my physical, emotional, and mental health any favors.
All of this is part of something that feels big and deep and broad and wide, something that doesn't have a name, at least not yet. I do know that it's not about being better. It's about being, period. And being (this strikes me as ironic given that we're never *not* "being") is something I lose touch with all too often and oh so easily.
I'm in the baby stages of doing some necessary assessing and of asking for help in places where I've grown accustomed to shouldering everything alone. It's vulnerable and admittedly a bit scary to admit certain things aren't working, or that I need to make some changes. And it also feels alive and potent and promising.
In fact, now that I've written a bit, it occurs to me that maybe I do know the word for this process. I think that word is reclamation.