I’m going to put a lot of weight on the Blue Moon about to happen. You see, I believe in synchronicity. Things start falling into place and connections are realized when my head is in the right space.
What does this have to do with my passion journey?
About a week ago my partner got off a plane after being away for a few months to tell me he took another gig out of town. That started in a week. Since changing careers and becoming a bartender, my life has been in a state of anxious-making disorder and discovery. Where do I fit in? What am I doing? Can I do this? Can I fake it until I make it? Thrown on top of my work uncertainty, the support system I’d counted on to help me cope, disappeared on a Jet Blue airplane, relationship future unknown.
Not having enough time to collapse into a quivering heap I stumbled forward, freaking out along the way and basically, acting like a drama queen. Alcohol, sometimes is not the best guide. After asking forgiveness (although unsure if I’ll ever be forgiven), I eventually wound my way back to an old friend: the yoga mat meditation.
Yoga mat meditation has been the single best thing I’ve ever discovered for myself since my divorce.
This time it’s no different. After about three days of 10-15 minutes of yoga ending cross legged with headphones on (hey it’s New York man), a spirit of peace has begun to wash over me. A week later, and a familiar sense of grounding and belief in things happen just at the right time begins to grow. Listen. Breathe. It’s there. Let go. Since reestablishing my practice, I listen to a series, waves crashing, or nothing, knowing it’s getting to the mat that is saving me from falling apart irrationally. I pick a mantra and ask the universe to guide my heart back to grace, to myself, to the oneness of everything around me. I ask for healing and grace to find my partner’s heart, who I feel is suffering too.
I think about how grateful I am to be forced into reconnecting to a healthy habit because of my list of “I just don’t know” has reached an all time high.
In the swirling mental unknowns around me my practice has been my only moor. Friends and family have their own worries. I have to rely on my own abilities to provide everything. Me, my only certainty. Me, my support system.
Earlier this week I had moments at the fine dining establishment I’m bartending where I wondered, “Who and where the heck am I??” I’m testing the new bar menu. I’m bussing tables with a slippery, polished silver tray. I’m handing out cocktail napkins. I’m trying to find the stupid food item on the register stuffed with five thousand other food items. If it’s a martini up it’s this button; rocks it’s that button.
To round off the list of over two months of out of body moments, this one happened earlier today: On my way to work a neighbor was shocked when I answered his question about “Well, you’re only bartending until you go back to doing xyz, right?” And I replied, “Well, xyz, it’s not what I would say is the thing I’m passionate about. I mean, I enjoy doing entertainment and also bartending. But is my passion lying in an actual job or is my passion actually really doing something not necessarily getting paid to do…like, maybe, uh, more…spiritual…?”
What did I just say???