There’s this 2-hour yoga class I’ve been meaning to do for a couple of weeks. I’m waiting for this chill Friday night or laid-back Saturday afternoon to get to this one, as if you add to it my daily meditation, you’re easily hitting the two hours and a half mark.
It ain’t happening. My life these days looks more and more like my cousin’s 5th birthday cake.
My mom was/is an amazing baker. Barney, Big Bird, Barbie: name it, I got the best decorated cakes ever, all homemade with lots of love (and butter).
Since she’s my cousin’s godmother, she also devoted mucho time to the confection of her cake. That year, it was epic. A humongous rectangular Rugrats chocolate cake.
The cake itself was a masterpiece. What my mom did serving it was even more spectacular. Never-seen-before scenario.
She asked every kid at the party what piece they wanted to get.
Not just “Do you prefer a regular piece or the corner?” (The corner, of course. Isn’t frosting the best part? “Forget about the cake, I’ll take just the frosting on that corner please, and scrape that cake plate to give me every little bit left behind by an unscrupulous cake server.”).
You know how kids want Dil’s face, with a little bit of the blue shirt, or Angelica’s blond hair, or a piece of bespectacled, red-headed Chuckie’s glasses?
She gave us exactly what we wanted, even if it meant having to cut a piece in the middle of the cake.
I know. How wild is that?
It was a massacre. By the end, only ruins left behind on the serving plate. But oh, the smile on the kids’ faces.
So crazy yet simple you’d wonder why we don’t do it more often. Isn’t it that complicated to have the cake and eat it too, choosing only the best parts and leaving the rest behind?
I guess under some circumstances, you do have to compromise and deal with not getting the whole pie to yourself. But the thing is you don’t need the whole pie. You just need the piece with Tommy’s diaper on it.
That’s pretty much my life right now. A to-die-for delish chocolate cake with lots of icing. A life where I get to choose to eat the pieces I want when I want until I’m full but not too full, as in full enough to go back to play with my cousin’s dollhouse while she’s nitpicking bits of the twins Phil and Lil’s pants. A life full of sugar highs, confettis and love.
Over and over, it’s a life where I’m choosing the party over the duty. The people over the practice. The love over the structure.
It’s messy at times, as messy if not more than a 2-year-old having cake for the first time. But it’s too good to stop.
I thought anxiety came from having too much on your plate (figuratively and literally, in my case). I controlled, restricted, planned out to prevent myself from ever getting there. I put in place a very strict schedule and diet to deal with the angst.
I’m realizing now it’s the opposite. The more I get out of this life buffet, the more I experience, live and learn, the more I stuff my face into the colorful icing, the less anxious I get. I don’t get carried away by thoughts so much anymore: I’m just too busy with life.
I’m now embodying what my teacher taught me 10 years ago: do yoga to live your life, don’t live your life to do yoga.
There is a fine equilibrium to find out for yourself to get there, enough self-care to be of service, but you do can have it all. Kundalini and carbs go so well together. Sometimes even at the same time.
For my 30th birthday, I’m planning a big remake with a twist. I’m thinking Harry Potter, or maybe Clueless for the theme. Want in? You can get Ron’s hair or Hermione’s book, as long as I get HP’s scar, we’re in for a big party.