Is this what growing up is like?

Crying in public? Also, a fall retreat...

One of the things I’ve noticed about getting older is that everything makes me cry.

I cry when I sing.

I cry when I hear harmonies.

I cry when I look at my dog, Wanda, and feel her velvet ears. I cry when I remember that, despite my best efforts, she will almost certainly die, long before I do.

I cry when I see a young person helping an old person, or an old person helping a child.

I cry when I think about how far away my mom lives, and how much I love her.

I cry when I think about having my own child, and how, if everything goes well, they, too, will grow up to be independent, and we will spend most of our adult lives apart.

I cry when I think about how short life is, and how long it sometimes feels. 

Usually, it’s just a tearing up, not a full-on weep. Sometimes, though, it’s a flood. It starts with the muscles in my face and throat tightening, my chest squeezing. Then, when I let the tears fall, I feel everything release. It’s oddly comforting, as long as I’m not in the middle of doing something, like public speaking. But even then, I’ve become more okay with it.

Is this what growing up is? Crying in public?

If so, I guess I’m ready.

Sometimes, I even tear up when I’m in the middle of teaching a yoga class. It’s usually when I pause to look around the room and see my students moving their bodies, slowly and kindly. There is something about the simple humanness of movement, of breathing, of witnessing other humans simply being alive…

It makes me remember.

I remember sitting by the hospital bed, watching my father’s chest rise and fall as I held his hand, both of us in that moment, still alive.

I remember holding my first dog, Cody, as he panted, just after we’d seen him get run over by a car; none of us understood how he was still alive, still breathing.

I remember the first moments after taking off my back brace, my undershirt still sticking to my skin. I would put my hands on my belly and ribs, feeling my own breath, unrestricted, for a few hours.

I remember holding my friend’s new baby, a baby she had tried so hard to have, seeing his little eyes find mine, his tiny mouth grin as he stretched his arms.

I remember laying in bed, my hand resting on my boyfriend’s ribs for the first time - the boyfriend that would later become my husband - feeling his breath move as he slept…

When you think about it, it’s a wonder we don’t all cry every time we breathe, or move, or see someone else breathing or moving. These little signs that we are alive, that we can, right now, see each other, hear each other, hold each other… How can we expect to get anything done where there is so much life to witness?

Social psychologist, Devon Price, commented recently that “self-care” has become a misnomer for simply being alive: “[This is] how divorced we are from our bodies: that we see eating, breathing, walking around, [taking time] away from the computer, time for ourselves or being a participant in our communities as ‘self-care,’ rather than that’s what being a living human being is.”

Maybe this is why I cry when I witness such human moments: I’ve spent so much time suppressing them. To actually witness these things brings so much relief. It is the release, the welling over, after holding so much, so tightly.

My dear readers: I hope you’re giving yourself time to be a human.

I hope that, even when you’re at your busiest, you can feel your breath, your heartbeat, and that you remember that everyone you encounter holds within them a similar rhythm.

As of this week, registration for my fall retreat is (finally) open. Retreats are one of my absolute favorite ways to be human, together: the people, the practice, the laughter, the friendship, the food… It’s hard to describe; you just have to be there.

The dates are Fri, Sept 20 - Sun, Sept 22, and we’ll be returning to the absolutely majestic, fabulous and wonderful, Buckhorn Springs. Buckhorn Springs is a 124-acre retreat center, nestled in the mountains of Ashland, OR, ~5 hours south of Portland, OR, and ~5 hours north of Sacramento, CA. Early bird pricing is on until June 15; read more about it all here.

In the meantime, if you want to get a taste of what retreat-life can be like, check out this sweet little video my friend Dillon Vibes made. It won’t surprise you to learn that every time I watch it, I cry. Seeing these beautiful humans doing their human-things - moving, laughing, dancing, singing… Well, you know how I feel about all that stuff by now. ;)

From my heart to yours,
Abby

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Upcoming Events w/ Abby:

Come for the singing, stay for the tea & friendship!

Registration is now open, and early bird pricing is on through June 15! Yay!