One more breath

Just to be clear, because I don’t want to scare anyone, everyone’s fine here.

I’m not talking about one last breath; I’m talking about one more breath. If you practice yoga, you know what I’m talking about. I’ll come back to this in a minute. While you wait, you can take a look at the picture I took, over left there. It’s a tree that I pass every day when I drive back from my yoga studio.

*****
So: I’ve been looking for a job.

I’m not going to write too much about the career change here, for a number of reasons. Maybe I’ll write more later. But I can say that the job search hasn’t always been easy. I’ve had a job or some version of a job since I started college. Nevertheless, I’ve been lucky in so many ways.

I have the very best of partners, the one who surprises me with a copy of this book by one of my favorite authors, the one who nudges me to go for a run when I’ve got anxiety to burn, whose belief in me is bedrock to my days. I have two adorable daughters who constantly make me laugh and teach me to discover the world anew. I have the very best family who has taught me about resilience through the courage of their examples. I have the very best friends both “on” and “offline,” who bring me presents like this book and send me messages and hugs and go out for coffee, where we analyze and then take over the world. I have roots in my community, and friendly faces at my grocery store and the playground at C’s elementary school, and my yoga classes. I’ve got a house that I love in a neighborhood I love. And during my unemployment I’ve been able to do a lot of writing, for causes and people that I support. If it takes a village to raise a child, I can tell you that it’s taken my village to support me during this time, and I’m so grateful for you all.

One of the most difficult (and in some ways, interesting) parts of the job search has been thinking myself out of one career and into another one yet to be determined. I spent almost 12 years thinking myself into that last professional identity; that career seemed to carry so much certainty and forward movement. I loved parts of that job, and I will miss them dearly. But as things stand now, I will probably be leaving that career behind. I’m glad that I get to keep so many of the relationships that I developed in that time.

I’ve been applying for jobs for about four months now, and I think there’s some light at the end of the tunnel. I’m excited about the possibilities. In a job market like this one, I’m extremely grateful that I even have possibilities. But right now, I need to wait, for at least a few more weeks.

Last week, the waiting room space was just about to drive me a little insane. The suspense, the tension, the lack of resolution. I wanted to scream, or go for a run, or tear up a hotel ventolin inhaler no prescription room, or preferably all three. “Why does it take so long?” my 3-year old likes to ask. “Because you’re not being patient,” I like to answer sometimes. And last week I realized I’m not being patient. (Great: just like my 3-year old.)

For the first time in my life, I understood the idea behind Waiting for Godot, if not Waiting for Guffman. I wanted to write a play called The Waiting Room. You know: the set would be furnished with bad landscape art, and old issues of Good Housekeeping, and Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” played on Muzak panflute. The main character would be waiting, unable to leave the room until someone else unlocked the door for her. People would come to slide unexpected presents under the door, and talk to her through the windows, but she couldn’t leave until it was time.

But of course, I didn’t know how the play would end. I suspect that I’ll just have to write it and find out.

*****

And here’s where I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of “one more breath.”

Yoga teachers often say this phrase to you when you are holding a pose—let’s say, downward-facing dog, or Warrior 2—and they want you to stay in the pose for just a little bit longer. They usually say this to you when you’ve been in a pose for a while, or for a little longer than you’d like. In those poses your legs might be screaming like 1960s Beatles fans, your arms might be stretched out taut as John and George’s guitar strings, and the rest of your muscles might be protesting like Beatles fans stranded outside without tickets.

In that kind of tension, “one more breath” can feel like a very, very long time.

If the pose is especially challenging, “one more breath” is the very last thing you want to hear. Some days you’re kinda pissed, actually, that you have to stay there a bit longer. (Not at your teacher. Don’t get pissed at your yoga teacher. They can make you hold poses even longer. If you’re my yoga teacher and you’re reading this, I don’t mean you.) But I’ve decided—and this must be yoga rewiring my brain, I can think of no other way to describe it—that “one more breath” is one of the very best things that yoga can give you.

See, in yoga the breath becomes a way to measure time. The space of “one more breath” is where you’re challenged, you’re waiting, and (somehow) you’re calm. In those few seconds you hold the pose. Sometimes, it’s true, you fall out before it’s time to move to the next pose. But more often than not, you stay in the pose, and you keep breathing. Your mind and your body say together, “It’s okay. You can do this. Just a little bit longer.” You learn to inhale slowly, in, and exhale even more slowly, ouuuuut.

There, you realize it: one more breath is really just fresh life, waiting to rush in.

18 Replies to “One more breath”

  1. Wow! What a beautiful way to explore the most challenging moments in life. In reminds me of a card I have in my office that reads, “What now? We keep breathing. Everything else will evolve”.

    I can’t tell you how much this resonates. Thanks for sharing your gift. Coffee?
    With love,
    Renee

  2. This is lovely, Tamiko, and your shifting sands germane to me and so many others. In a culture that constantly demands us to live in the future, to continually plan for more getting and more spending, it is deeply comforting to remember our life is lived in the present.

    1. Many thanks, Julie! Yoga (and running) will often make me strip life down to the very-very-present moment, and I’m so glad I got to discover this at this point in my life.

  3. This is so lovely, my friend.
    A few years back, when I was going though some hard times, I realized those are the places where I learn the most–and that I am ultimately the most grateful for in the end. Now, when I start to struggle, I ask what it is that I’m meant to learn.

    I still haven’t managed to muster up enthusiasm and joy for the hard places, but I have come to appreciate them, and what they bring me.

    xox to you.

    1. Tea, heartfelt thanks. I don’t know all of what I’m meant to learn here–it may take years to untangle!–but I do feel like I’m learning a LOT.

      Since I live so much in my head (and in the past/present), stripping life down to the moment has been incredibly useful for me. Your blog does this for me, too. xox

  4. I came to you through Glutenfreegirl’s tweet. It’s so interesting since I am at a similar junction. Good to know I am not alone. Best of luck with the next stage in your life.

    1. Thanks for the kind words, and best of luck to you as well! So many people seem to be in this stage, and I think it’s always good to know that we’re not alone here.

  5. I love you. One thing that graduate school is just plain stupid about is its ridiculously all-or-nothing picture. If our graduate program painted the pictures for your waiting room, they would be absolutely blank–at times, I couldn’t believe the audacity of some professors in their narrowness. But they were scared, too, I’ll bet–it didn’t seem like there was as much pleasure as you and I take in talking to our colleagues about what we love.

    You have held camel (my least favorite) until it looks like a crane about to take flight. You’ve transformed this into something beautiful.

    1. And I love you! Yes, beauty and pleasure, always.

      I really hate camel, too. (Side-crow is just not attainable at the moment, as is bird of paradise.) But oh, a crane. Thank you, dearest.

  6. Yoga has also helped me through my most difficult year.
    Very inspiring blog!
    Can’t wait to see you and the family. We’ll do Yoga in my new Yoga room!

    Love you, Cindy

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