My flippant attitude towards life is being seriously challenged. A girl who cheekily named her blog "breathe in, breathe out" (a punch line from my favourite blonde joke), I've been convinced that I'd breeze through life. Plenty of people (many whom I rather consider dumber than me) have done it, so there's no reason I won't be able to.
However, this lifelong belief is crumbling around me, and I'm not sure what I'll be replacing this cherished philosophy with. My academic fervour (which I'd hoped would magically reignite upon going back to school) shows no signs of return, I seem incapable of maintaining a routine (read: my waistline is expanding), my disgust at both of the above is mounting. Oh, and the fact that I’ve been well and truly DUMPED is beginning to sink in. Most disturbing of all, it seems the one thing I’ve taken for granted is not what I thought at all. It’s enough to make my head spin. Let me explain:
My housemate, an avowed environmental(terror)ist and my new life coach, swears by a yogaic breathing technique. Whenever I ask her how she manages to audit a billion other classes on top of the regular workload, she says, “it’s the breathing technique!”. When I complain about my headache, she replies, “try the breathing technique!” So, it seems I haven’t been breathing right all along, when all this time, I was convinced it was the one thing I had down to a tee. Does this mean that I’ve been doing it wrong from Day 1? Can I trace the wrong turns of my life back to Dec 25, 1986?
Interesting thought, although probably not one worth pursuing. I like the “blame it on the parents” approach just fine, thank you. However, because I have made a conscious decision to grow up (when I realized that I had my last growth spur quite some time back, both literally and figuratively), I’ve decided to be honest. The problem is most likely me. I. Am. The. Problem. I can’t keep using the breakup as an excuse to mope around. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not the worst thing that could ever happen to me, and if it throws me off my groove this much, I’m not going to be breathing through life, let alone breezing.
I love writing. It’s so therapeutic. It really helps clear things up. I know what I need to do: breathe. And breathe well at that. The moments in between inhaling and exhaling will work themselves out. I think. I won’t hold my breath waiting to see if I am right.
