Like a Fish Out of Water

How it be Sometimes

It’s a rainy Sunday morning in Nashville as I begin writing this. I was glad to have a reason to put on my rain jacket and go out in the cleansing drizzle. My next door neighbor is out of town, and I’m caring for her dog Boomer. Boomer and I were content to walk in the mist and the cool breeze. I had prepared a pour over coffee in my kitchen before going over to give him breakfast and walk with him. I listened to some music a best friend sent me while I heated the water, ground the beans, wet the filter, poured the grounds into the filter, and slowly spiraled the steaming water over the fresh grounds. The aroma ascended into my nose and delivered the awaited joy of the morning.

I recalled some acute memories from yesterday. Dom and I enjoyed a walk around Couchville Lake Loop Trail in Long Hunter State Park. The weather was beautiful with warm sunshine and a cool April breeze. As always, we packed our portable hammock in the backpack with some snacks. We made our way around 95% of the lake loop and then pulled off the trail to situate our hammock spot by the water. This is one of our favorite ways to spend time together in the spring and summer. We’ll lose track of time just swinging in the hammock and gazing at the canopy of trees and sky above.

We watched what seemed like a father and son, several years older than us and our parents, slowly rumble by in their fishing boat. The one I narrated as the father, in his 70’s maybe, let a cigarette hang from his mouth. Right as I was about to say how cool he looked, he caught a fish and pulled it up. Of course, it was flopping out of the water like crazy. He reached for it, but it slipped away back into the water from his grasp. His voice echoed against the water: “Son of a- !”

I made these photos black and white on my phone last night because that’s how I was feeling. After the beautiful, peaceful day at the lake, we got back to the house, and I felt a heaviness come over me. Do y’all ever experience that, when mean voices just come out of nowhere and start having a loud conversation in your head? Naturally, my first thought was to turn around and the leave the house again in order to not feel any uncomfortable emotions. Deep down, I knew that going out and getting Taco Bell and Crumbl cookies was not going to help anything. I played the tape, and I knew it would ultimately make me feel worse. I’m not saying there won’t be times in the future when that’s my choice, and that’s perfectly fine (Crumbl forever lol). But last night, I really felt like I would miss something if I distracted myself like that. I had this strong sense I was supposed to see these feelings through. Besides a chicken chalupa and the Oreo chocolate peanut butter Crumbl cookie, I was also craving a milkshake. My compromise at home was a smoothie.

The blender, bags of frozen fruit, and containers of oats, yogurt, spinach, peanut butter, flax seed, cocoa powder… all felt like one million pounds to lift and bring to the counter. It felt like I was moving in slow motion. I’ve found that doing the next right thing often feels like this.

I managed to get everything in and blend up the smoothie. I stood in the kitchen and drank it down with the same countenance I used to have as a young girl taking a cup of medicine from my mom when I was sick. It was honestly delicious. I felt some relief that I went with fresh, real food, and my body thanked me too.

[it] all felt like one million pounds… It felt like I was moving in slow motion. I’ve found that doing the next right thing often feels like this.

I went over to let Boomer outside one more time. I breathed in the fresh, night air while he did his business. I was once again thankful for the reason to step outside, looking up at the gorgeous night sky instead of a fluorescent Taco Bell menu. We stepped back inside and I sat where I always do to give Boomer goodnight pets. He pushes against my legs and I drape my arms over him to give him pets all over, especially his back hips. I forgot all about the dark cloud, and he made me smile.

When I got back inside our house, I knew there was nothing else to do for the day. I was ready to be under a blanket for the rest of the night, and that’s exactly what I did. The mean voices in my head were quietly chattering still… you’re not a good friend, you’re not a good family member, you’ll never actually be good enough to teach yoga, this writing thing is just a phase…”

Deep breath. Inhale love. Exhale fear.

After watching a Netflix episode together, Dom and I made our way up to bed.

As I sealed the safe cloud of covers around my neck, Dom expressed a thought.

“Did you know that a fish is only wet when it’s out of water?”

That’s all he said, and I laid there for a moment thinking about it.

I finally responded, “Yeah, I guess that’s true. When it’s in the water, it’s in the water. It’s not wet or dry. It’s just in the water.”

Suddenly, I related to the happy fish in the water as I was happy in the cocoon of my covers.

Last night was a night when my spirit was having a difficult time with the human experience. It’s no wonder I wanted to stay under a blanket. I felt like a fish out of water again. I felt like that fish the cool fisherman was trying to catch. It’s not always like this, but sometimes I’m reminded in challenging ways that my original, natural essence did not begin in human form. I acknowledge that others might not agree with me here. But I do believe my spirit, soul, Higher Self, has always been part of the cosmos, connected to God, the universe, the Source of all that is. I was gifted a lifetime here on Earth as Jeannie. I came into the world like that fish flopping out of the water. I’m sure if the fish could scream like I could as a baby, it would be screaming too. I don’t scream like a newborn baby anymore, but I do struggle through basic things society has taught us to do sometimes. I know how to make a smoothie and save my money. But it was really hard to do last night. I know how to care and love for the people around me. But that feels really hard to do this weekend.

Before we’re humans, we’re not good, and we’re not bad. We’re in the ocean of the heavenly cosmos, just like the fish in the ocean when it’s not wet or dry. It just is. I just am. It is. I am. I’m so thankful for this writing process because, by writing this out, I am reminded of the simple fact that it is perfectly acceptable, if not to anybody else with expectations of how I show up in their life, at least to me and the God of my understanding, that I need time to myself to come back to my centered essence. Once I am anchored in that place, I can move with more ease and love with those around me in this human experience. After all, they’re just fish out of water too.

I received the certificate of completion for my 200 hour Registered Yoga Teacher training two weeks ago today. Again, social norms expected me to be happy and excited and celebratory. Of course, I was glad and felt fulfilled that I completed the training. However, I know that the real accomplishment will be that I carry this forward and follow through with sharing Yoga with others. I let myself have a breather and continued with my own practice, while also considering my next steps. I signed up for an orientation to teach yoga in the park with one organization. I scheduled a call with an outreach coordinator of another non-profit group. They hold classes all around Nashville, at places ranging from breweries to jails to recovery centers to local libraries. I have also expressed my desire to try out with the owners of my home studio, whenever our schedules can line up.

There is a lot up in the air.

Historically, my tendency is to jump into the air, out of the water of my essence, to reach and strive to wrangle all the moving pieces together.

I finally recognize myself as the fish out of water when I do that, when I try to fix, manage, and control my life.

I think this time, I’ll stay in the peace under the surface. I’ll wait for the elements that are meant for me to drop down to my ocean floor.

I don’t have to jump. I don’t have to give into the bait of achievement or approval of others, which hangs on a hook that ultimately carves away at my insides… my heart, my soul.

I realize there is another way.

I can be like a fish in the water.

I can be how I was created to be.

I can be.