Hatching

Happy spring, dear reader!

My last post showed tiny quail eggs (held in the hands of my youngest daughter) that my family was in the process of incubating in our living room.

And guess what? 9 of the eggs actually hatched!

Out of those impossibly tiny speckled eggs, the absolute cutest creatures cracked through and burst into life full force like horses out of a chute.

And they knew exactly what to do.

Almost immediately, they began running around, eating, drinking, napping. They instinctively knew how to grow, thrive, and become fully themselves.

Honestly, witnessing this was one of the most hopeful, reassuring things in the world.

Watching these quail hatch reminded me that things always continue. They move on. New life is always on the horizon.

It also reminded me that all of us hatch and grow and develop in our own unique ways. But we don’t do it nearly as effortlessly as quail do.

Personally, sometimes growth scares the crap out of me. Even when it is positive growth, it is still scary because it is different, new, and unfamiliar.

As I move forward into this new spring I am excited. But I will admit that I am also a little bit scared.

Things are so different now than they were a year ago. Last year at this time, everything was in lockdown. Going anywhere felt like a risk, and the most innocuous things suddenly felt threatening.

So much has changed in a year. There has been so much loss, so much heartache.

And here we are at the start of a new spring when we are (hopefully) emerging into a something better. To me, it really does feel like a sort of new beginning.

And that is so fantastically awesome. But also quite scary. We are moving into new terrain. And I personally am finding that I am very cautious about my footing. It’s like I don’t quite fully trust the ground beneath me. Truthfully, this is a feeling I have grappled with for much of my life, but right now it feels heightened.

But yoga helps.

One of the great things that yoga teaches is how to always connect with the ground underneath you. It reminds you to consciously feel the floor and to let your body soften into all of the things that are already there supporting you whether you recognize them or not.

Perhaps the greatest support that yoga elucidates (at least for me) is the power of a simple inhale and a simple exhale. These are especially vital for me during periods of change, even when the change is for the better.

When I feel my mind racing ahead to all the What if? scenarios that my imagination can conjure, I can consciously ask my mind to come back, and to follow the sound of my breath in, and the sound of my breath out. To feel the depth of expansion of my inhale, and the full complete release of an exhale. The breath gives my mind an anchor to return to. And I can challenge myself to do this over and over and over again whenever I need it.

Doing this helps me stay present. And I need all the help I can get with that. I have a mind that likes to run away, that lurches, and searches frantically for things to worry about.

But if I recognize when I am falling into my very own traps, I can ask myself to pause, turn back to my breath, and remind myself that I am right here, right now, one single breath at a time.

And if I can be present, beautiful things can emerge. Change can happen exactly as it needs to.

And even though it isn’t instinctive for me like it is for the tiny quail, I can consciously give myself whatever I need in order to grow, thrive, and become fully myself.

And I must do that the only way that anyone ever can: one single breath at a time.

Want to practice yoga with me? Check out my 21-Day Calm Your Mind Challenge! All levels, abilities, ages, and experiences welcome.