don’t cry over spilled coffee

I love my Saturday mornings. I wake up far too early than one should on a Saturday, and head over to Burn (“feel it burn”) studio in Gahanna for an 8AM hot vinyasa. We pump the heaters and what’s really only 88 degrees feels like a sauna on days like today. I love teaching. I’ve only been teaching for a handful of months, but I love it. Sometimes I have out-of-body moments wherein I hover above the space and see myself taking the seat of the teacher, moving about the room, voicing instructions, and it doesn’t really feel like me in that 5 years ago I’d have laughed if you said I’d be a fitness instructor of any sort. Same with teaching teaching – when I taught kindergarten I had these moments a lot, too.

My friend Adrianna and I lost touch for a few years (years back) and she ran into my mom one day. When she asked what I was up to, it must have seemed like a joke… “Jamie is teaching kindergarten.” Huh?

I find myself in these moments a lot, but I believe you have to be open to them. I’ve never understood the 3- or 5- or 10-year-plan question: where do you see yourself? I clam up. I’ve tanked entire interviews over that question. I don’t think that way, and I don’t say I don’t think that way to sound interesting or free-spirited. I really don’t.

Which is why I found yoga, found teaching, found teaching yoga, moved back to Ohio, and did a lot of other things I never “saw” myself doing. And overall I’m pretty grateful for that.

Back to spilled coffee. I’m sure we all have things in our life that we keep reliving and recreating, no matter how hard we try to stop. I have several, perhaps the most annoying of which is spilling my coffee everywhere. And it’s always a direct result of perching the coffee precariously on the couch. Today I perched it on my iPad (case), which was resting atop a couch cushion. I don’t know why I do these things. I see it happening before it happens. But every Saturday and Sunday morning, I do it anyway. I pretend as if the coffee cup has a balancing system of its own that defies gravity. I know it will spill. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Sorry for that odd confession. This is why I don’t like the concept of blogging. Strange sense of false anonymity and the urge to force something to be insightful when it’s not. That type of self-conscious over-analyzing behavior is also why I’m forcing myself to write. TMI. Time for a refill.

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