What would happen if you operated as if you were only as old as you felt, as if you weren't sure how old you really are? How old would you be if you didn't know your true age? Who would you be if you didn't know your own past, if you didn't carry your stories and hurts around from year to year, from moment to moment?
You can only shed your skin when it's ready.
There this yogic idea about cultivating your breath in the easier parts of your practice, like at the very beginning when you're lying down and gently twisting, let's say, so when your practice gets challenging (and you're trying to focus on a revolved half moon into revolved dancer) that breath that you built in ease is there when you are engaged by challenge and need breath for focus and stability.
That's what I'm doing in my life. My past skin is shed. My new skin is growing. MIXED METAPHOR ALERT: My old foundation crashed and crumbled and in the midst of the rubble, I found my breath. Slowly, I cleaned away all the debris, worked to exhaustion to make an empty lot. Now, I'm not re-building, but I'm building a whole new place, not just a new version of my old landscape. I cultivate these new places in me, grow in the ease of a flat, leveled, clean plane. I foster openness, compassion, meditation, and kindness for myself and others in my daily practice. I'm building soft skills, healthy and strong mental pathways and habits to build strength in foundation but also to lean into when my life is engaged in challenge. Unlike a skin, I'm building a whole new landscape from the ground up.
I write to figure out what I think. That's all for now.