I’m traveling by train to Miami from Boston, Mass.  It’s a 36 hour ride and I’m psyched.  I haven’t taken the train since I used to commute from Providence to NYC to go to Columbia for my Dual Masters in Psychology.  In those days I was 28 and life was “hard.”  I made it that way.  I commuted 3.5 hours to NYC every week—sleeping in the city for a few nights while I took classes from morning till night—and then took the train home, working feverishly all the while as the train moved through “Old Saybrook!  New London!” and so on.  I never napped, I never listened to music, I never read “for fun.”  I worked.  I’d get on the train and quickly scan the seats for “the outlet seat,” and snag it if I was lucky enough.  This was before WIFI and outlets at every seat.  This was before there was a “quiet car” on the train.  This was when the conductors scared me a little bit as they asked me for my ticket in their gruff, loud voice.

This is a whole new train ride.  And what a metaphor it is.  I slept very little last night while tying up loose ends for our four Prana Power Yoga studios, The Prana Raw Café that we are opening in about 8 weeks, all of the details of my three kids’ lives while I am Miami bound—until they meet  me there—yet, I am wide awake with excitement and joy.  A train ride!

The Universe hooked me up and had one of my Prana Super-mom Consulting Clients tell me I needed to get an Internet Connection for the train, and my husband hooked me up and got one for me from AT & T so I could work from the train, at my leisure.  No distractions, no disruptions, no pick-ups or drop-offs, no classes to teach, no laundry to do, no meals to prepare—total focus.

So once I boarded, got settled in “the quiet car,” and had a snack, I was ready to begin my internet adventure while speeding down the tracks at 100 mph toward the sun and sand.
 
My internet connection didn’t work.  I texted my husband.  He didn’t respond.  I called him—“It should work,” he explained as our two-year-old yelled for me in the background, “call AT&T.”

My stomach dropped.  That is HIS thing—calling tech support people and talking to them for sometimes hours to figure things out.  I have always honored and marveled at his ability to do so—and never had any desire to do so myself.

An hour, 2 snacks and asking 2 passengers for help later, I faced my fear and called tech support.  To my surprise, they were super-nice and helpful.  I breathed and told them what was happening.  Sure, I was transferred to four different people, and just when they were about to figure out what had gone wrong with my internet connection, I lost my cell phone signal, and the call.

But I’m calm and I’m happy.  Still loving the train.  Still loving the ride.  I decided to take the Universe’s not-so-subtle-suggestion and write this article on Word instead.  Paddling downstream, enjoying the ride.

What changed between my train rides at age 28 and my train rides now?  A lot.  But the most dramatic thing—that continues to influence how I feel in each moment and flow through each day—is my daily yoga practice.

And yes, I brought my mat on the train and will practice tomorrow morning in my sleeper car.

One thing that I never would’ve expected, besides losing my baby—which caught me totally off-guard and unprepared—were the responses I’ve gotten from people after my loss.

As I shared in “The Support” (Archives June 1, 2009), the outpouring of support and love I have received and continue to receive was and is beyond incredible.  The gratitude I feel for this support is beyond words.

But another energetic response from many, many people was also unanticipated and quite interesting, indeed.

What I’ve noticed is that in general, the loss of my baby has brought me “closer” in many ways (some energetic, some more palpable) with many, many people.  People with whom I was already very close, friends, people whom before were acquaintances, students, fellow Super-moms—on and on it goes.

My husband Philippe and I were talking about this phenomenon, because he too noticed it.

“It’s as though people can relate to you now.  It’s like before they thought you were ‘perfect’ and had never experienced anything difficult in your life,” Philippe said tonight after we noticed today at a soccer game yet another Super-mom connect with me deeply around my loss—a Super-mom with whom I had attempted to connect countless times at our kids’ activities and had always been met with an unequivocal “no dice.”

After he said the words, we both broke out into laughter—at the mere thought of my never having experienced anything difficult.

The funny (pun intended) thing about grief is that grief and humor are intricately connected.  If you’ve ever grieved, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  It’s not uncommon for me to be sobbing one minute and laughing a few minutes later.  It’s a healthy–albeit odd–way to shift and move energy.

The reason Philippe and I started to laugh is that I actually have endured more than my “fair share” of grief and loss in this lifetime.  I’m OK with it all now-have healed my heart from the many heartbreaks suffered in my childhood and in my twenties when I chose to deal with “reality;” and have actually come to a place where I have found forgiveness and I am grateful for what I went through, since it made me the person I am today.  My pain and suffering made me able to connect/understand/empathize/ and just “get” where pretty much any student I teach is coming from.  So deep, varied, and far-reaching were my experiences of loss that I can quite literally “feel” the pain of many, and they can “feel”—they “know”–that I feel it.

I never teach from my mind—I teach from my heart and my spirit.  Two things that for many years were broken, but now shine brightly–proving that complete and total healing is possible—for anyone.

“Why am I being so vague about what I actually went through?” you ask, curious about what I could have possibly experienced and still walk around saying “have the best day ever” daily. 

The answer is that it doesn’t matter.  The details don’t matter to me at this point and in fact, I made a choice many years ago to let the details go.  More specifically, to let the darkness go–and focus on the light.

I had a choice.  I made it.  And I never looked back.

That was a big crossroad in my life.  For years, I bravely told my story/truth to all of those people in my life who “mattered” to me.  I let go of the initial shame that accompanied my history and found the courage to speak my truth and ultimately, to heal.  All of my relationships—except two—(see “The Betrayal” in the archives…yes, it’s the same two “friends”) grew stronger.

I was going to write a book to tell the world what happened to me and help the many out there who went through the same trauma(s).

But then one day it became clear.  To really help—to really heal myself and help others to heal themselves (I believe that we all heal ourselves—that “healers” are only “helpers” in this process)—meant to walk toward and in the light.  To spread the light.  To teach the light.

I survived my pain and soldiered on by remembering who I was and being the light that I was/am and that you are, Super-mom. 

And I chose to teach others how to do the same.

So now, many, many years later, as I endure the pain and heartbreak of losing my baby, it’s interesting to notice that somehow, through my teachings of finding the light and following it—even in the worst of circumstances—I have come to be the source of a great deal of projection.  Most of which I was completely unaware.

I suppose that people have made me what they need/needed me to be.  I guess that they looked at my joy and the light that I live and assumed it was always this way with and for me—that I was born into the best home ever and ‘had it made’ from day one.

Not so, Super-people. 

Things are not always what they seem.  In fact, one thing that I learned from my pain is that most often, things are not what they seem.

But now I do live in the light, and therefore, radiate that light.  Because I have chosen to do so.

So today as you walk your path, be mindful.  Tuck this awareness in your heart and notice if you find yourself projecting something onto another Super-person who may have a story you know nothing about.  The biggest gift you can give them—and anyone—is not just your open heart, but your open mind as well.