The problem with highs (even natural ones) is that there is only one way down.
In the space of a month I have gone from experiencing elation, peace and joy to absolute frustration, confusion and (dare I say) depression.
To say it’s been a hard landing ‘coming down’ from Bali to Mexico is an understatement.
No matter how many times I utter the words, ‘this too, shall pass’ during the difficult times, I never quite want to accept that it it rings true for the good ones too.
Adding to the jet lag, the loneliness of not having my Bali retreat sisters or nieces to wake up to and my inability to acclimatize to suffocating summer humidity, has been my guilt that I should be somehow feeling differently.
Tyrhone gave me such a beautiful welcome home; lavishing me with the type of affection and care usually confined to the honeymoon period of a relationship, rather than the beginning of the tenth year (yes).
IT PISSED ME OFF that I was receiving the kind of tenderness I usually revel in while feeling utterly unable to receive it with my weary heart.
And so began my battle with how I was feeling as opposed to how I should be feeling after such a blissful trip.
And it continued until this morning, when, at the height of my misery (and subsequent insomnia), I cried out to God to help! me and the tears began flowing into the pillow at the realization of my predicament.
Too many shoulds.
That I should be relishing meditation after discovering such bliss on the mat in Bali; that I should still be in love with Mexico as I have been for so long, that I should be able to maintain the peace and contentment I experienced on retreat.
Should, should, should, but none of it has been so.
This morning, I let go of the shoulds and accepted what was. That I was exhausted, drained, discontent and trying too damn hard to be otherwise.
I’ve experienced so many highs of this path of self discovery. So much healing. So many glimpses of enlightenment.
The truth is, I want that feeling all the time, but I am just not there yet, and maybe I never will be.
Like a baby bird who is learning to fly, the falls are part of the practice.
Perhaps, the most important part.
My hard landing has been emotionally debilitating, but only because I wasn’t accepting myself. I haven’t treated myself with compassion like the baby bird I am, but as a mature eagle who should effortlessly soar through the sky.
I needed to experience this in order to see the ways I’ve been sabotaging myself (yet again) with perfectionism and mis-aligned motives; the ways I have been pleasing others ahead of myself which disconnected me from the truth of my soul.
I’m slowly, softly and ever so gently, tending to my wounded wings so that they may soar higher, farther and more gracefully next time.
Perhaps the next fall will be softened by my newly tenderized heart.