This morning I woke up all grumpy. Well, downright depressed, actually. I could feel this sickening knot in my gut again. So I resorted to my new coping mechanism and decided to check on my terrace plants. If you’ve read “How is your inner garden?” you’ll know what that means: I was basically checking on myself. This morning a surprise awaited, though.
If you are a perfectionist and have attempted taking up yoga, you might have run into a road block just like I have. My original idea was, of course, to learn how to let go, how to just be in the present moment, to accept reality exactly as it is. That’s what perfectionists need to learn and what yoga promises (besides the perfect body). This is until you find out that perfectionism is also precisely what stands in the way of escaping from perfectionism through yoga.
I never had a green thumb. In fact, I never had a garden. Just houseplants. And few of them, for that matter. The maximum number of plants I ever managed to keep alive for more than a face-saving period of time, until recently, was five: a banana tree, a schefflera, a basil plant, a ficus and an orange tree, god bless them. Until last year that was.
In 2009 I stopped short of a burnout. For years I had been soldiering on, studying, working, managing projects, taking on ever more responsibilities, day in, day out – until my body stopped me in my tracks. I had successfully ignored a skin condition that reliably showed up whenever I was hyper-stressed. The stiff joints, I thought, came with compliments from family genes. Severe back pain made me see a chiropractic three times a week. But it didn’t make me think. A toe joint inflammation did.