I Don’t Know.

Lately I’ve been feeling the pressure to be certain about things. To make up my mind, to rest on one thing, to move forward with purpose and alignment. To settle in solid foundations and work my way up from there. To say yes with absolute surety, or no with complete clarity. And I’ve realised that the desire to be sure has taken away from my ability to listen deep down, to intuition or just a “feeling”. And right now that feeling seems to be “I just don’t know”.

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In yogic philosophy, aparigraha is one of the five yamas in Patanjali’s Eight Limbs of Yoga. The yamas are essentially moral guidelines by which to live with regard to our relationship with ourselves, and the world around us. Aparigraha means practicing non-attachment – to a situation, to a person, to physical possessions, to a certain outcome, on and off the mat. Relinquishing control or possession over anything outside of our own awareness. Loosening our grip on the things outside of our control.

We tend to cling to things that seem solid and steady in nature – houses, partners, occupations. Things that give us structure and stability from day to day. Because we are desperately seeking something that says “for ever and always” or at least “long term stability” to us. It’s why we dive into relationships that aren’t quite right, it’s why we stay in jobs that we’ve outgrown, it’s why we go into debt to build a home. We invest into something we recognise as the structure of life in the hopes that it will, by default, make things more black and white.

It feels good to be certain, but is it the truth? Perhaps, if we can relinquish fear, then uncertainty becomes the colour in the cracks of life. We can never truly know what comes next, but we can embrace the possibilities of the unknown.

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But if we try to control and pin things down, to hold the inevitable ups and downs of life at arms length, we never get close enough to feel anything deeply. If we stick to the solid structure of things rather than prising open the doors of possibility with curiosity, we stay stuck in this place of fear, of “what if”.

What if it’s taken away from me?

What if I fail?

What if this ends?

It will probably end, yes. Or at least it will change shape and structure, thousands of times, and to move with grace through each transition you learn to be wholeheartedly present for each up and down, ebb and flow. Because what is the alternative?

To hold back your god-given talents, in fear of being misunderstood?

To stay in a job that dims your light, in fear of being unable to support yourself?

To not say how you feel, in fear of being rejected?

To stay in a relationship that doesn’t serve you, in fear of being alone?

To love a little less, in fear of your heart being broken?

In fear.

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I know, deep down, that I have a tendency to flail around in uncertainty for a period of time, feel deeply uncomfortable in that space, and then throw myself into the first thing that comes my way that to me represents stability and certainty. Whereas if I allowed myself to be comfortable with the discomfort of uncertainty a little while longer, I might come to a conclusion from a place of love rather than fear. I might move in a direction that feels more in alignment with me.

When I embrace uncertainty, I move with more clarity.

Through listening and feeling, in quietness and stillness, I’m realising that sometimes it’s okay to say “I don’t know”. To embrace uncertainty as a way of being wholeheartedly present. To embrace the moments in which I feel confused and unsure as moments of being truly alive.

Wholehearted presence as a way of living, and a way of being.

The only thing I can truly be certain about, is that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

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A Letter to the 25 Year Olds

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Things this year seem a little different, as if we are slowly but surely moving along a scale of continuity, where we’ve moved on from having absolutely no fucking idea what tickles us. We know now what we like to do, but we’re starting to wonder if we can make a living doing yoga on beaches, drinking coco bongos, talking to strangers and then writing about it all.

We feel we have a lot to prove. The pressure of impressing people weighs heavily, because at this age, success seems to be how many people we know, how many countries we have visited, a promising career path, an Instagram feed portraying exotic locations and beautiful people. We feel that we have to make our mark on this world, but there seems to be a wide gaping space between where we are now and where we think we probably should be, or where it would appear everyone else is. Other people have jobs and houses and partners, whereas all we physically have to show for the last few years is a passport full of stamps, and some bodily scars. Everything else, we carry on the inside.

We are still a strange hybrid between adult and child, where we are enticed by the security of these things, by being gainfully employed and going home to a family and a cupboard full of herbs and spices. But our inner child just wants to go home to mother for a night and sleep in a single bed and be brought cups of tea, and forget the big wide scary world of responsibility and “making an impact” that lurks outside. We haven’t yet realised that all of these things that externally represent security are just a facade, something that could crumble at any moment, and that we should just enjoy being young, and wild, and free. Untethered.

We are remarkably selfish, in the sense that 90% of our decisions are based on our own desires and intentions, and we sometimes forget that there’s a world outside of our little bubble of obsessions, of worries, of goals, of wants. We are the centre of our own universe, and surely that will never change?

Our parents are becoming more and more human to us. We are learning that they have strengths and weaknesses and it’s both a relief and a terrifying thing – the people we always believed to be invincible and completely ‘on purpose’ have also been 25 once, and experienced all these very same things, and made mistakes and fumbled through life with ups and downs and tears and triumphs. They created us and it was just a thing that they did as humans, and something we will probably do as well, and they didn’t know what they were doing and we won’t either, and that is just the way it is.

Our 25th birthday was the first time we had this terrifying and enlightening epiphany that it’s just never going to stop, we will simply continue to get older and wrinklier and our lives will constantly evolve and we cannot slow this process, all we can do is be present for it.

We are starting to feel overwhelming empathy for elderly people and small children, because we see ourselves in both. We were a child not long ago, yet old age seems increasingly inevitable as each year ticks past, and we recognise age as a gift, but it doesn’t stop it from feeling scary, like our life has taken on a momentum of its own, and we couldn’t stop it if we tried.

Ten years ago we were 15 and the things we were obsessed with then seem so far away and so insignificant from this ripe old age of 25. The thought of being 35 seems like an age away, and surely once we are there, the things we worry about now will be a distant and hilarious memory. And again, this is both a relief and a sadness.

We equally enjoy big nights in and big nights out, and we seem to ride a wave that ebbs and flows between partying hard and kissing boys to curling up in a blanket and drinking peppermint tea, retiring to bed at 10pm.

We’re still finding our groove in this world. We argue with ourselves, unsure of which voice we should be listening to. We start to feel we fit into a certain category, then we question and over analyse that choice of lifestyle, for we tend to over identify with the opinions and experiences of other people, who live very different lives.  We are still gathering opinions and experiences of our own, so we tend to be more malleable to those of the people we spend the most time with. Soon we will learn to hold our own, and we will probably learn it the hard way.

We thrive off of the depth of our emotions, sometimes feeling so happy that we’re sad, and so sad that we turn to happiness, because the fleeting nature of everything reveals itself, and we are learning to feel everything in its entirety, safe in the knowledge that this too, shall pass.

Love is something we may or may not have experienced, or perhaps we have fallen in love with the idea of a person as a reflection of the kind of person we would like to become.

Perhaps we have not yet experienced heart-aching, time-halting love that takes us out of ourselves and into someone else. We are curious about how that would feel, but we are also terrified, because we know how fickle our own emotions are, let alone anyone else’s. We fear love for its evasiveness, its inevitability, and its unpredictability. We don’t know ourselves when we’re in love, and that scares us, because we barely know ourselves as it is.

We are conscious of eating healthily and keeping ourselves fit, aware that we can’t rely on youthful glow as our primary source of beauty in the long run, so we practice yoga and eat our greens 70% of the time.

We equally love to party, and thoroughly enjoy wild nights because we can relinquish all responsibility then come out the other end with a terrible hangover and a vow to improve ourselves and our lifestyle, and this is how we make progress at age 25. Go wild, then focus. Unravel, then bring it all back to centre. Shake up the snow globe, then let it re-settle in a slightly different formation at the bottom. Still all here, but constantly evolving, moving, changing shape in subtle ways.

Most significantly, at age 25, we think we’re alone in all of this. That life is happening to us most intensely, above anybody else.

Or maybe that’s just me?

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SOUL HAPPY

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So you’re eating a diet of immaculate nutrition and following a vigorous balanced exercise plan, practicing yoga and meditating first thing, getting 8 hours of sleep each night and ticking everything off your to do list each day.

But,  you can’t remember the last time you properly laughed from your belly, or went outside just for the joy of breathing in the air and taking a walk with no music and no distractions.

It isn’t often you sit down and have a heart-to-heart walls down chat with someone, because its much easier to just skim the surface and have the same conversation each day, and anyway you have to get to yoga/ the gym/ a meeting/ your phone. You spread a smile on that face and carry on, finding comfort in the structure of your day. You go home, you go to sleep and you do it all again the next day.

You do this over and over, in pursuit of a sense of wholeness and completeness that constantly evades you, that is always just around the corner, because each day you are so busy planning forward and sticking to the plan that you forget to live, now. Your mind lives in the future, imagining what it will be like once you’re in a better place, when you have more money, when your body looks different, when somebody loves you.

You don’t even recognise that your bank account is full enough for what you need, you don’t notice the beautiful man who holds the door open for you every day, you don’t notice how good your food tastes. You don’t notice the innate wisdom of your body as it protects you and supports you.

There can always be more, better, bigger, richer, happier. But we never get there, unless we enjoy being here. Wholeness is here and now.

Life is messy. Happiness is messy. A whole and happy life is messy, unpredictable, it’s colourful and psychedelic and a lot like a children’s collage or finger painting of flushed cheeks and sandy toes, of sleepy lazy mornings and surprise evening visitors, of things not going to plan and being even better than you could have planned. Surely, the universe has something more creative in store than we could find in the depths of our imagination?

Happiness is when you snort tea out of your nose because your dearest friend makes you laugh so hard that you lose all decorum, and all control. When you get blisters on the backs of your heels from walking in hiking boots the wrong size, because you loved the walk so much you barely noticed the discomfort. When you get completely lost in a new city and instead of feeling scared, you feel intrepid and inspired. When you are so deeply immersed in something that bares your creative soul that five hours trickle by without you even feeling the time passing.

Perhaps theres a little something missing in your picture of perfect health, if it all feels a little too clean and concise, if there’s no room for spontaneity, for cake fresh from the oven, for the occasional ugly laugh.

Happiness isn’t all clean lines and airbrushed skin. Happiness is imperfection, and complete acceptance of that imperfection, right here and now. Happiness is believing that something wonderful is about to happen, and accepting that it will look and feel so different from anything you ever could have planned.

Happiness is here and now.

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