The Beautiful Affliction of Drive

Looking back at my younger life, I definitely had one or two diagnosable mental imbalances. For many years, I could not focus on what was really important- such as my own well-being. Instead I would spend my days hyper-focusing on something (or someone) that was ultimately destructive. I spun out in pain for many years. I was brilliant at obsessing. I literally spun out of control.

In my late 20’s an acupuncturist told me: You need something to ground you. He was right. When I finally met my husband at 30 years old, I felt like for the first time in my life, my feet touched the ground. I’ve often said my husband saved my life, and I do believe it’s true. Sure- I was ready for it, I choose a healthy partner and I let him in. But against the likely advice of any therapist I will say my husband “fixed me” and that was a good thing. He brought out the best in me. (He still does 22 years later. )

I feel like I am the same mental mess that I always was, just reined in and pointed in a healthier direction. Anchored by my entire family actually, I’ve used my “mentalness” for good and for growth rather than self-destruction. For the last near quarter century, I’ve grabbed onto things, so many things, with tenaciousness, verve, obsession. Always passionate to become better. Everything from parenting to strength training. Songwriting. Gardening. Mastering yoga poses. Purging and beautifying our home. Eating clean. And growing my own business. Even seemingly smaller challenges like knitting have kicked my ass and kept me coming back over the years to do better. My newest obsession is backpacking. I just never stop. I’m never bored. I’m tired at the end of the day. I get up early on the morning of my day off and write this blog.

Sometimes people ask me how I do it all. I’m mental! That’s how. Always have been. On the healthy side, I’ve learned that in order to do all the things I’m driven to do, I have to take care of myself so I eat well (obsessively, of course) and try to get as much sleep as my body and mind will allow.

A few weeks ago on a Sunday (my only full day off from clients) I woke up and did some yoga on the living room floor. As I rested and stretched, with no solid plans for the day, I had a very strong sensation overtake me in which I knew that everything I had done up until that moment, was for that moment. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and for the first time in my life I actually looked forward to a time when I could, with frequency, chill. Sit and knit. (And knit well.) With a cup of tea.

Yesterday my younger daughter wanted to try out a hot yoga class. Deep inside, I was not game. I HATE hot yoga and I don’t find it particularly healthy (for me.) But I didn’t tell her this- I said, let’s go (remember, I have worked very hard on being a good parent.) I did give her fair warning that stemmed from 30 years of experience in the world of yoga. I told her the truth: it will be very hot, very sweaty and you will never have sweated more. There will be hairy shirtless men sweating in close proximity to you. The yoga poses will be hard. Overall, it will be a highly uncomfortable experience. Should we not go? she said. We should absolutely go, I said.

It was worse than I warned. The instructor had the room up to 95 degrees! It was packed full. The shirtless man next to my daughter had water coming off him like a faucet. (How could he have any water left in his body?) The teacher slipped in the sweat. People left the room in droves. One woman said she was going to barf or faint if she didn’t get some air. The teacher told us to pour our water bottles on our head. We listened.

A few times my daughter and I left the room for a few breaths of cool air and more water. My daughter said “this is so hard.” Really hard, I said. We went back in. At one point, towards the end, about 20 students were lying like starfishes on their backs in pools of water. A few of us were still hanging in there. I looked at myself in the mirror, holding onto my eagle pose, drenched in sweat, 52 years old… I looked strong as shit. I had brought myself here. My tenaciousness. My drive. My hyper-focus. It was pretty fun, actually. And also, I knew I would never take a hot yoga class again.

A friend said me last week she wished she had some of my drive. Part of her felt purposeless. For me, challenge kills purposelessness. Pick a challenge, use it for good. Know your limits, of course -don’t be stupid. But, make yourself rich with passion. If you think you’re not passionate about anything, you’re wrong. Sit with it. It will come. You’ll take it on, you’ll learn as you go. Later in life, you’ll be a master. Shredding your eagle pose amongst a sea of starfish. (Oh, and it’s never too late.)

One day. When the backyard landscaping I’ve so long envisioned is finally finished (and started.) I’ll be doing yoga by the long tall grass. Planning a backpacking trip. Maybe knitting a tiny sweater for a grandkid. Good at things. Enjoying the fruits of my labors. I think I’m starting to see it happen already- just a little bit. Yep, I can just barely feel it: the payoff. Like the very first sliver of the crescent moon.