I’ve been studying the way memoirists write about their pasts with brave acceptance and total ownership of their life. I applaud the way they can write about their murky pasts without a slight hint of shame. As I read my non-fiction short stories, I realize that I fall awfully short of brave acceptance and total ownership, so far, my adolescent stories are written in tones of shame and embarrassment, even a little bitterness. My stories aren’t so much stories as they are whiney rants on how I wished my life were different. I was always dreaming about the future, just waiting for the next phase of my life to arrive because it would have to be better than that moment. As I wished for things to fit my mold of a perfect, happy life, I caused myself a great deal of unhappiness. I began to think about how acceptance effects me now. Do I accept my life just the way it is, or is there resistance? I’ve realize there are definitely areas that I need to work on. Thanks to my writing practice, I’ve learned that I need to practice acceptance.
Recently, my intention for my yoga practice has been acceptance. As I practice yoga, I’m learning to accept myself and my limitations. Instead of wishing I were thinner, I’m learning to accept my body. Instead of wishing I had more time to practice yoga, I’m learning to appreciate the time I do get to practice. Instead of wishing I had more time to write, I’m appreciating every moment I get to spend with my daughter. Instead of wishing I could change the past, I’m learning to accept it, appreciate it, and honor it. If I resist the present, then I’m not fully present. I can choose to be happy by accepting each moment.