I was browsing through an old notebook and I had part of this written in one of the margins. Actually it said, "...years that answ." It took me a minute to decipher my own scrawl and then to remember the quote (from Their Eyes Were Watching God - Z. N. Hurston). I'm not sure why I wrote it in that margin at that time, but it got me thinking.
Last year was a year that answered. I came to understandings about myself, what I want, my happiness, and my disposition. I also came to understand some of the people in my life a little bit better. Some of the answers I got were things I didn't want to hear. Others were so obvious that I don't know how it took me so long to arrive there. It was a year that made sense in a mad way. I made some decisions that seemed lunatic but that were the sanest things I've ever done. In all, it was a highly satisfying year.
This year - not so much. This year is an asking year. How do I balance my marriage with friends? How do I deal with new family members? What am I going to do with my life that I now share with another person? Do I want to be a lawyer? Do I want to be a writer? Is there any way that I can do everything that I want to? Will I get to do the traveling I want to do? Why do I feel inadequate sometimes? Can I finally hold standing bow for the full time? Does the world need another yoga studio and if so, could it be mine? And finally, why is it that candy can't be one of the food groups?
With all of these things (and more - believe me, this is the short list) simmering away, I feel that the next few years will be questioning years - even if they turn out to be asking only, "How do I get that done?"
I have to admit, I prefer the years that answer, but only a little. The years that answer are the years that we apply our growth, I guess. The years that question let us do the learning we have to do to get on with things. There's fun in that struggle. And there's always a let down after the answers come. Sure, you got a couple of things scratched off your list, but there are always more waiting around the corner. There is no moment of completion - which I guess is a good thing, because I'm pretty sure that's death.
I don't often write about yoga. It's a strangely personal thing to me, but I have to thank the practice for letting me have an occasional second of presence where the seesaw is perfectly horizontal. When Q=A. And now that I'm developing math equations that I have no hope of ever solving because my math skills are complete shit, I will rest.