We will never know how far we can go until we look back and see how far we've come.
. . . and I have come a mighty long way.
For three years, we lived in Prague, but two summers ago we relocated back to the US, to a place in Texas one hour north of anything called culture. We've enjoyed some concerts and some barbecues by our pool, aka my oasis, and don't get me wrong, I like Starbucks and giant grocery stores and satellite radio but Prague left me longing for more than I ever knew completed me so. Last year, I became a Registered Yoga Teacher, and have launched the new workshop series Yoga for the Creative Spirit: Write OM. I keep on putting pen to paper, writing my life through a poetic lens. Some days it's blurrier than others.
My guideposts for raising my kids are simple and stronger now than ever: Be wise, be kind, be true. We moved them to show them the world; I think it internalized in them an understanding and connection that would have been hard to foster any other way. The experience of both moves, the culture shock and its reverse, the leaving and the entering and the leaving again has honed my sense of self, broken down some inner walls and built up some others. My challenge now is to meld the two sides of myself - the Czech side with its languages, my eyes and heart open toward that land and its people, and the American experience side, the one who lives back "home" now, but is still trying to figure out what "home" even means. Read more on that theme here.
I am becoming resistant to caffeine, to divisions, to chronic pain that has ruled my story for too long. Anyway, persistence in the new resistance, right? So I persist -- I make donations and slap bumper stickers on my car. I write my poems and paste mementos in old fashioned scrapbooks, update Facebook and WhatsApp and Instagram and forget where I've posted what. I go to my mat and practice, because all we can do is practice. I inhale intuition and exhale doubt, Imposter Syndrome, the unshakeable sense that I'd rather be somewhere else at any given moment, anything, really, that weighs me down when all I want to do is fly.