I’m Back… And I Have No Idea Who I Am

I was listening to the audio version of The Untethered Soul, a beautiful book by Michael Singer, and I welled up with tears when I heard him say:

Living a spiritual life means that you decide to never stop trying.

I knew with all of my body what he meant when he wrote it, and it’s something that I think will stay with me forever.

He didn’t say – ‘Living a spiritual life means that you never stop striving, or achieving, or kicking goals.’  Just, trying.

And in the context that he was suggesting, this is what I know to be true: I have been trying.  Quite a lot, actually.

Let it go on the record: I don’t believe that ‘trying’ always looks pretty or enlightened or even balanced.  It’s highly likely that if any of us were caught in the act while ‘trying’, from a fly-on-the-wall perspective, we could look like anything from a hot mess, to a dishevelled bundle of confusion, or worse- we could be totally mute; frozen in frustration as we watch the back and forths in our mind as they swing from branch to branch.

We can make this conversation even more absurd, when we understand that ‘trying’ is in effect the very opposite of the literal meaning of the word.  To try (in the way that Singer meant it, in my opinion), is to detach.  Is to shed. Is to dust yourself off – with non-judgement – and carry on.  It’s paradoxical, and – as I’m discovering right now – incredibly difficult to write about.

I took a few weeks off blogging because I felt compelled to try a little more. To dedicate a little more time to being a pro, to sinking further into my practice, and to being more present with my creative projects.  I’m glad I did.

One of my clients recently said to me: Tara, I just want to be as balanced as you.

Another of them was under the impression that I gently caress myself out of my inner struggles with ease and a million dollar smile.

I literally laughed out loud.

If only they could of seen me a few mornings ago!  I stood at the door, holding the handle, about to head on over to the beach to write (I get cranky if I’m inside for too long) , and before I marched on out the door, I stopped.  And the war inside my head started to rage.  Do I go to the beach?  Or not?  What am I doing? Maybe I should lie down a little, I feel like shit.  Or finish reading that book? I felt like my friggen head was about to implode.  And of course, what was most difficult about the whole situation was realising entirely that THIS IS NOT A BIG DEAL.  Are you going to the beach or not, Bliss?  First world problem, anyone?

I literally had to step away from the door, sit on the couch, and breathe.  I almost bawled my eyes out.  It felt like there was a pressure within me and that two opposing forces were playing tug of war; one was trying get me out of the house and the other was trying to drag my sorry arse back to bed.  I can’t be certain, but maybe that’s what anxiety feels like? Pressure in the chest.  Fire in the mind.

This is what happens when we start turning inward;  when we sit with the struggle, and breathe through it, rather than bee-lining to the fridge and stuffing down the funk with left-over raw dessert.

When we sit in our struggle, essentially, we’re asking the most significant question we could ever, ever ask: Who am I?  Who’s feeling this?  Who’s digesting and processing this?

I don’t know who I am.

I know that I’m light, I know that I’m love. But I don’t know who I am.

I know what makes me feel good.

I know when I have something important to say.

I know when something resonates with me.

And I guess what’s been most useful for me recently is observing those around me and identifying who I’m not. It’s been so incredibly insightful, and it’s taught me a lot about how I show up in the world.

Knowing who I am is not entirely important to me right now.  The importance is in being curious enough to at least make the ask.  It’s what makes us willing students of the world.

Having this time off, I’ve been able to sink further into the space of ‘I don’t know’, and to be completely honest with you, I’m really comfortable there.  Of course the more time we spend online, the more we attach ourselves to our online identity (I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. We’re all guilty), so I found the whole experience of peeling away from the ‘puter a refreshing one.  Danielle LaPorte often speaks of how she continuously feels a nagging pull to burn all her life’s work and shave her head.  Again, in all honesty, I kinda know what she means.  For me, that urge (a similar one that sent me off to a silent meditation retreat) surfaces when I’m sick to death of the sound of my own voice. When the Tara who I see on the internet doesn’t quite match up to the Tara I feel is inside of me.  Makes me wanna say: BURN THE LOT!

In a moving and deeply touching meditation last week, I received some beautiful guidance: Write what’s going on for you, now, in the moment, always.  Thank god!  You mean to tell me I can show up, on my blog, authentic and real and present?  This is something I feel I already do, but still, hearing the affirmation to keep going gave me a sense of purpose.  So, moving forward, you can definitely expect more insights from my noggin of mine, and narratives of awkward situations in my life, which at times should just be left private, but hey, I’m an open book.

Speaking of book, and speaking about what it means to live a spiritual life, this Thursday is the launch day of mine and Rach’s eBook, Spirited: Soulful Lessons on Connection, Clarity and Coming Home (to You).

It the culmination of a collaboration that’s truly been drenched in love and if you’re not already signed up to the newsletter (above), get on it, because you’re getting a sneak peak first chapter tomorrow, in your inbox.

It’s freaking gorgeous.

‘Coming home’ is what Michael Singer’s definition of ‘trying’ means to me.

We hope you’ll make the journey with us this Thursday :)

Oh, and it is so very, very good to be back. Hola!