Ever since I read the article earlier this year about the Goddess of Never-Not-Broken, Akhilandeshvari, I have not been able to shake her. She is the goddess of Surrendering to Change, who blesses grief and disaster, who rides a crocodile down the flowing river that is our existence. The image alone is enchanting. She "promises that the greatest magic is in the transformative moments: the heart-break, the uncertainties, the pause before we hit the ground...and what we do with ourselves when we land."
For the last 11 years I have lived by a work schedule that has been handed to me, from school seamlessly into a full-time job. For the last 7, though it wouldn't be fair to say I've coasted, I certainly have gotten used to the regimen, the comfortable routine of things. Monday through Friday: arrive to work at 9, leave at 5. Leave work at work. Evenings and weekends were for me to pursue whatever I wanted, with a guaranteed paycheck to cover my bills and a comfortable life. Vacation days. Sick days. A decent healthcare package. This was the formula, and it worked. That is, until I decided last spring that it was not enough. I felt stuck. How could I have spent my 20's sitting at a desk in an office when I had once envisioned such grand artistic adventures? Why was I spending 40 hours a week, every week, of my ever-so-short life doing something that didn't make me happy to my core? The question seems so privileged, selfish even, yet so important. I would pass my painting studio on the way to work and question my motives. So, under the guidance of Akhilandeshvari, I quit. The decision was empowering and altogether frightening. I so dearly wanted to get unstuck, to actively create and engage myself in a transformative moment.
And now this time is upon me. My routine of the last 7 years is now undone and I am left to find out if I am one of those people that can live on my own terms, or if i'm happier being told what to do. I can't say in any honesty that I know for sure. An acute doubt of my abilities has settled into the bottom of my gut and I keep rethinking this decision that I've made, knowing there is no turning back. Then my thoughts return to this Hindu Goddess who says that I am full of power and potential, even in my most vulnerable.
In yoga there is a constant reminder to "be present," which I try to honor and be conscious of as much as I can. Yet during this time of reinvention I cannot help but reflect on the past. Not in judgement, but in an attempt to figure out what worked, what didn't, and if I can actually follow through on all those things that I said I would do "if only I had the time."