Change the part, change the whole
Lately, my schedule has felt a little bit like a game of Jenga.
As COVID continues shifting our collective culture, many components of my life have been rebuilding and rearranging themselves.
Studio recently 34 hired me as a permanent in-person yoga teacher for Beginners Yoga Mondays at 10am. Studio 34 is my first yoga love, the place where I learned that yoga is union, well-being and breathwork, not a public shaming ritual for the already-flexible and not a contest for who looks best in their fancy stretchy pants. I’m super excited to come back home to this space as a teacher. (Join me in-person in September for this class!)
Drexel announced that my Wellness Consultant role would likely return to campus in late September sometime. (I’ve been working from home for them since March of 2020 and have a whole new work rhythm as a result of this remote flexibility).
And as Studio 34 prepares to reopen, I’m reconsidering how to restructure my acupuncture treatment time there as my previous regular West Philly day became a part of my Center City schedule during the pandemic. (More on this soon. Thank you for your patience with me and with them.)
As I remember Jenga, the object of the game is to remove blocks without toppling the tower. As much as I love stripping away, letting go, and returning back to essence, I’m currently in a time of adding in blocks as I rebuild a solid structure in service of a life that feels just right.
I’ve sat with many clients recently who’ve consolidated their schedules, let go of past jobs or commitments, or who have added back in family visits, vacations, or even new commitments for self-care.
As we transition towards living with COVID (I’m not ready to say this virus will just magically go away), it’s essential to remember that each little Jenga brick that we add or take away impacts, and even creates, the whole structure of our lives.
It’s sometimes a little overwhelming, but by keeping an eye on my big-picture priorities, such as stable structure with plenty of space for family commitments, spiritual practice, and self-care, I’ve been able to lay down one Jenga brick at a time.
When I’m not sure about adding or letting go of something, I take a step back and check out the whole of my tower. Is it stable? Is it too tall? Too wide? Does it need some shoring up?
The great news in this metaphor is that each little action that we take, each time you eat kale, drink water, add in some movement, is like a little tiny Jenga block that can add up to a stable sense of wellbeing and care.
If you find yourself drowning in the details, as we are all sometimes prone to, take a minute to zoom out and take an aerial view of your Jenga tower. What little action will next serve you best?