Sneha - Mother Love

 One of my favorite stories from the OT is what happens after Elijah defeats the prophets of Baal at Mt. Carmel.

Following his massive and unqualified victory, Elijah is so full of endorphins that he runs 15 miles back to Jezreel, where all his endorphins promptly leave him and he asks God to kill him. (And God is like, "No. Here, eat a sandwich, your blood sugar is low.")

I mean, what? If this is not a clear case of what we would today define as bi-polar mania and depression, I don't know what is. At the very least, it's mood dysregulation.

I feel like that prophet right now. After 15 years of trying to find a high school English position, I quit my job in a massive blaze of glory and took a leap of faith on a one-year-only position that -- I suspect -- I was probably the only person to apply for. This fall I will teach people older than 14 for the first time since the student-teaching days of my 20's.

And now I want to die.

Yesterday, I taught the first yoga class I myself sequenced (an unmitigated disaster, if you ask me, but we're our own worst critics). In a few weeks I will finish 6 brutal months of teacher training and become a certified yoga instructor.

And now I want to die.

I finally realized that I want to pursue an advanced degree in English, and I found a program that would allow me to attend extension classes mostly remotely with only a few weeks a year in Boston.

And now I want to die. 

I met someone who was not what I was looking for -- literally everything about this person was the exact opposite of everything I wanted... and it turned out I didn't even care! Only -- I'm too old now to have a bunch of kids, so it didn’t work out. It's no one's fault. It's just the hand Life dealt. 

In Sanskrit, a mother's love is sneha. I'm never going to be a traditional kind of mother, and I'm okay with that. There are so many kids in the world who need love and affection and someone rooting for them... I was that kid for a really long time. I'm at peace with being a non-traditional mother. My old friends Jared and Justin used to say, "You have such a tough exterior, but inside, you have this big, gooey marshmallow heart" and I think that's probably true.

Growing up, I always thought, If I can just escape, I'll be free. I'll make my own choices, I'll find love and I'll create my own family, and I'll get back all the things I should have had from the start. I'll get to be like everyone else and have a home.

But that's just not the way Life happened. I had a series of relationships, but none of the guys ultimately committed (probably for the best, as I would have made a terrible pastor's wife). I assumed that I was essentially unlikeable and that there was something wrong with me. Now I'm 41 and life is still closing doors on me, and that hurts. 

It hurts when things don't go the way you think they ought to go. And it hurts when the very fact that your life has gone differently is a further reason to withhold more life opportunities. It sucks to hear, "You're an amazing woman, but..." (fill in the blank; honestly, doesn't matter what it is).

In yoga, we eat dark chocolate at the end of class. Chocolate has been proven to promote good mood vibes and well-being, as well as to lower stress hormones.

But dark chocolate is also both bitter and sweet, much like Life itself.

The yogic path asks us, "Can I walk the road I am on in this moment, being fully present for both the bitter and the sweet? Can I stay with this?"

A lot of times lately, it feels like the sweet moments are really fleeting and only last for a breath. The bitter ones, on the other hand, seem to come from all directions. For example, my dad came over to check out my new lawnmower, which the 6th hour boys helped me pick out. I was really proud of all my research and the fact that it actually cut my grass, as well as the fact that I found something I could afford.

"Well, look at that!" Dad said as he gave me a side-hug. "Some of your decisions are actually good! As they say, even a blind man is bound to get a hit if he shoots into a barrel of fish long enough!"

I don't know. Rejection stings. Being constantly told you're almost enough except for -- that stings. It doesn't matter how logical the reason, what remains is the hurt. I don't have any regrets, other than my bitterness at the end. But oh, how I hope at some point, the sweetness and bitterness begin to balance in my life.