Losing the love of my life taught me that inactions have consequences. My new bookkeeping job teaches me that numbers don't lie, but people do.
Sharing yoga with others is my refuge from the darkness pulling me to stay home. A ginormous pro footbal...
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Human beings are wired to be self-serving, placing wants at or above our basic needs.
In our on-the-go, interconnected, perfection-seeking lives, stress burnout rages through every level of society. Abandoning the pursuit of personal gains and sacrificing for another's benefit is almost unheard of. The number of individuals who cast themselves out into the world with goals of being selfless comprises the biggest minority on the planet, and we fail to understand that giving without expectation of reciprocated personal gain was one of the most, if not the most, virtuous acts of humanity.
I pulled back my pen and closed my notebook. Fuck, that was deep.
Like a hypocrite, I wasn't exempt from my written thoughts. My bank account was empty, leading me to accept Sam's 'new' job. When I did leave the house, I donated my time and efforts to teaching yoga for one purely selfish reason: it felt good. I also mailed out Christmas cards hoping for some mailed back. To gain likes, I liked social media posts, and I plastered fake smiles to receive one back.
My superficial goodwill had its limits. Flopping back and forth between helping rehab Sam's shoulder and dealing with his arrogant, nerve-grating existence bordered between lost cause and a stick poked in my ego. "Not the time to think about that crop-dusting weasel," I muttered as Shanti's chimes rang out.
"Namaste, Mia." She flashed her always radiant smile.
"Namaste," I returned.
Tonight's class served as a prime example of masking my selfishness as charitable. Volunteering my time leading a free class for twenty local, and sometimes forgotten, heroes appeared selfless. It wasn't.
In my limited experience, injured and honorably discharged veterans were a neglected segment of society. They were released from service with a severance check, GI support to refocus their life, and few resources to deal with a mindfuck our civilian brains were incapable of processing. Past pitfalls demonstrated my understanding's limited capacity in a painful, personal way. Fuck, I was a walking billboard for 'mental work in progress' myself.
All twenty members of tonight's class were veterans or active duty from the Army's nearby medical center. The class was flexible around physical limitations, but several people recovered from more than physical injuries. Meditation, a central component of my and Shanti's classes, offered one flicker of therapeutic light through dark, hidden, and often swept-aside trauma.
Research, including the grant that supported our classes, suggested meditation was a worthwhile tool in the battle against PTS, CTS, and anxiety. Yoga pulled me out of my darkness. If I offered someone else one sliver of a chance I wished I'd known of earlier, then my damaged spirit snacked on a minuscule reassurance of redemption.
See? Selfish. After whatever the fuck meeting I had with Sam in Michael's office, I desperately needed a mental and spiritual enema.
"Good evening, welcome," I lowered my voice to a quiet hum. "I'm so glad you're here tonight."
