My intention is not to cause concern for my mental health or well being. I promise, I am not going for click bait either. In a recent conversation with my dear friend Jenn, the above sentence came out of my mouth. She was driving through Cleveland and stopped for the night for a quick catch up. Typical for us, we dove into hard questions and hard conversations straight away. I relayed to her that my current struggle is centered around the fact that I don’t know what I am living for. I don’t know what my goals are. I don’t know what the point of life is.

I said it through tears, but upon reflection, and several therapy sessions, I’m able to expound upon this sentiment in a less dooms-day, scary way. My musings below are some of the tenets that lead to my comfort with not having an answer to the above question. I didn’t learn the meaning of life or my purpose on this planet. But I’m realizing the changes that are slowly, and at times painfully, occurring.

Yoga & being in the moment

In 2018 I went through my 200-hour yoga teacher training and certification. I began teaching yoga at Cleveland Clinic as well. So many yoga texts, meditations, and classes I took instruct to be in the moment. Don’t look back to the past or into the future, but be content with where you are. Yoga poses aren’t about contorting the body into different shapes, balancing on rocks or any other Instagram nonsense. They are about moving the body, shaping it differently and, most importantly, being able to breathe throughout that movement with a quiet mind.

There is no prescription for what a pose has to look like and every body is different. If you’re holding your breath, you’ve gone too far in the pose. If you’re thinking about how it looks rather than how it feels, you’re missing the point entirely. If all you can think while practicing is that you’re doing it wrong, take a big ol’ step back.

A quiet observant mind, not a blank one

A yoga teacher explained meditation and a yoga practice to me once by stating that the mind is not a clear blue sky. The goal is not emptiness or nothingness. The idea, the goal, the practice rather, is to equate thoughts, feelings and observations as clouds. And you watch clouds enter, move across your vision and dissipate or float away. In other words, observe the feelings you experience, the emotions that arise, and the thoughts that come into view but don’t follow any of them, don’t fixate, don’t ruminate. As Ted Lasso would say, “Be curious, not judgmental.”

In early 2020, I was able to design a yoga/reading/massage room in my home that to this day is still one of my favorite rooms. I use every prop imaginable. More than vinyasa flows, I now gravitate towards restorative classes. I can self practice better than any other time in my life. And, for the first time ever, I’m actually in the moment because so many of my distractions are no longer options. I can’t run, heck some days I can barely walk. I can however, sit, observe, breathe, stretch, and notice how my body feels and how I feel towards my body — two very different things.

My body work and yoga training lent itself to a better understanding of the onset of my disability, the imbalance of my body from MS, and the recovery from multiple bouts of paralysis. It’s a valuable tool I have to perform regular emotional and physical audits.

What was I told to want?

During the pandemic I binge watched TV shows (like the rest of the world). In addition to Bridgerton, Ted Lasso and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, I watched shows from the 90s and 00s that I had never watched in their entirety. I watched West Wing, Friends and The Mentalist. The shocking thing watching these shows now, decades after their release, is the blatant misogyny, the inappropriate sexual harassment that is endured and accepted, the marginalized female characters, and the utter vomit-inducing agenda of marriage, babies and strong men who rescue needy women. I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on what I grew up exposed to and what I thought was “the right thing” to do, while trying to extrapolate what I actually want and how I truly feel now.

It’s a bit overwhelming to say the least to analyze what the expectation for your life was. I thought I would be a mother and have my own children. It never occurred to me to ask if I wanted that life. I thought you had to be married in order to have children because that was the proper thing to do. I thought marriage was the end goal of a relationship, losing sight of the journey while focusing on the destination. Now, I see chosen families, single parents, and an entire conversation happening around how single, childless women are in fact, some of the happiest on earth. “Other” is not bad.

So now, I’m actively taking the time to wonder what I want, what makes me happy, what fills my cup, and how I want to spend my time. It’s uncomfortable to think about bad decisions from my past, or what if’s but it’s liberating to feel that going forward, I’m pursuing my agenda, for me.

I’m attempting to remove should and supposed to from my inner monologue.

There’s no guidebook

Through chronic illness, the onset and dissolution of my marriage, and the complete upheaval of life in the last 15 months, I realized for the first time in four decades that I don’t have a plan. I’m not going to school in pursuit of a degree, searching for a partner, trying to start a family, or striving to climb the corporate ladder with a job title/promotion in mind. I’m being not striving. I’m pensive, no longer in perpetual motion.

Ten years ago when I was diagnosed with MS, I wanted to be told what to expect, what to look out for, and all the things I should do to prevent disability. As I cycled through doctors, I wanted someone to have the answer to my health problems. I’ve learned a painful lesson over the last year of literally being a living, breathing science experiment, that there is no answer, no guidebook, no one way. No matter how many doctors I see, they don’t have the answer.

Our health is a complex equation of genetics, environmental exposures, and lifestyle management and choices. There are socioeconomic factors at play. There is access to healthcare. There are professional choices to ensure health insurance. There is deciding, on an individual level and repetitive basis, what I value and building a life centered around those values.

My values

I value access to top-notch healthcare. There is a reason I work for, and live near, Cleveland Clinic. This was not an accident. And while I didn’t always love Cleveland, I have fallen in love with this city and the people in it.

I value deep connection and trusted friendships. I spend valuable time, energy, and resources to maintain relationships with people around the world.

I value hard work and reflection. I have to put the work in to better understand myself. I need help from family, friends, and trained professionals to be mirrors into my actions and thoughts. I applaud others for being self reflective and taking action to improve their circumstances. And I’m more than a little jaded and judge-y towards those that say “therapy isn’t my thing” or “I don’t need therapy.” Trust me, we all do.

I value my body. I ignored signals of distress for too long. Now, I am incapable of ignoring them as my body quite literally stops working. At the mere hint of distress, I stop, rest, recuperate and try again once recovered.

The only constant is change

Change is uncomfortable. The nervous system wants predictability. It will gravitate towards what is predictable every time over what is uncomfortable even to its own detriment. I didn’t write this and wish I knew who to attribute it to: Your nervous system will always choose a familiar hell over an unfamiliar heaven. I stayed in a bad marriage too long. I’ve stayed at toxic jobs too long. I’ve kept things status quo because ruffling feathers required work. Hard conversations had no guaranteed outcome.

So, I’m getting comfortable with being uncomfortable.

A quieter life

All of this is to say that my life is smaller and quieter than it used to be. I’m spending less time comparing old me to new me. I’m focusing on moments of joy and happiness. Travel is exploratory and pensive not a mad rush to cram it all in. Reading is rest not escape. Cooking is celebratory not perfunctory. House hold chores are movement not drudgery. Walking is a god damn privilege.

I don’t know what the point of life is, or what my next move is. I don’t have a plan. Maybe for the first time in my life, that’s ok.

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