Have you ever told yourself a story about yourself that wasn’t true? I was chubby as a kid in a family of striking beauty. I’m talking Gorgeous. I often felt like the tubby other. It probably didn’t help that I was one of two Black kids in my neighborhood during elementary school. Oh, and I had an African name. I felt like an alien on most days. On others, I felt even stranger.
It doesn’t really matter what others thought and that I lost weight etc, etc. Our inner voice is more powerful than the external chatter. I told myself a different story. I looked in the mirror and saw a woman I loved looking back.
And we all have better days than others. I just started running again. I still have my yoga practice which is my life. But I think I had told myself that I was a runner in my 30’s and I can’t run now that I’m 40 (41ish). That’s kinda crap. One might even call that an excuse. I hate excuses. And I’m not someone that likes to be told that I can’t do something, especially when I’m the silly person saying it. Sheesh.
I can run and have my practice. So, I’m writing a new story. I’m a yogini who runs. I like that story better.
This is yoga. And I can write whatever ending I choose. That’s pretty dope.