And my spirit is crying for leaving…

I spent the holiday season watching old Led Zeppelin videos on YouTube. I watched obsessively, which it seems is the only way to study Jimmy Page's magic hands and Robert Plant's golden... everything.
My video binge isn't out of the blue. I'm pretty sure I was conceived while a Led Zeppelin album played in the background (mom would have to confirm this, but it's an educated guess), and Zeppelin has continued to play a starring role in every mixtape and playlist I've ever made, because I confidently believe they are they greatest rock band of all time.
Still, I'm not sure what spurred this particular episode. However it began, it eventually led me to my knees in front of the record player, listening to "Stairway to Heaven" and sobbing deeply to the refrain,

"Yes, there are two paths you can go by,
but in the long run
there's still time to change the road you're on."

To admit that any song brought me to tears is no big surprise. My husband can confirm that I cry easily and often. I'm a mushy Cancer whose motto is "better out than in." But this was a real cry. It was the kind of cry you feel throughout your whole body. It was energetic, cathartic, uplifting.
It marked the end of a long and lost year. 2018 was gasping for it's last breaths in that cry.
And when my tears had run their course down my cheeks, and the needle had made its way into the center of the record, I felt free.
I was free to change the road I'd been on.

And it makes me wonder…

2018.
Or maybe I should choose different punctuation, for better accuracy:
2018?
I began 2018 with a lot of question marks. I felt restless, and wanted a change. The problem was, I didn't know what to change. I started a page in my journal titled "How I Want 2018 to Feel," and left it blank. I didn't know the answer.
I was antsy though, so I just started changing things, because they say that unless you change the way you do things, you'll keep getting the same results.
I changed my yoga practice. I did more Pilates. I amped up my running. I spent more time on a paddle board than on a yoga mat. I thought maybe I’d been missing out on something by spending so much time in a quiet room.
I swapped out morning meditation for morning writing. Perhaps I'd find more clarity in writing than breathing.
I put down the self-help books and read more novels. I wondered if what I needed was to go back to the storytelling that had inspired me most as a kid.
Overall, my plan was to ease up on the discipline, break the routine, let myself have free, unplanned time to see what else might happen. When friends asked me what my plans were for the year, I told them I didn’t have any; I was leaving it open; I was setting myself free to follow my whims.

They’d look at me questioningly, head cocked slightly to the side, as if assessing whether or not to intervene for a friend who was clearly not herself.

If that is in fact what my friends were wondering, they know me better than I know myself, and they were right.

Stripping myself of the very practices and routines that meant the most to me did not make me feel more free. By the end of the year, I found myself feeling lost and uncertain. The only thing I did feel certain of was that I'd rambled too far away from some of the practices that brought the most value to my life. Not that it was a total fail. It seemed like the best thing I could do for myself at the time, so I'm glad I did. I gained greater clarity about what really matters to me. I benefited from a more balanced relationship between my personal devotions and my relationships with family and friends. By emptying my schedule of so many solitary practices, I opened up time to spend with the people I love. Still, I missed the clarity that came with a mindful daily routine. I wondered if there was a way to go back, not all the way, but even just to the middle somewhere.
Enter my dramatic "Stairway to Heaven" energetic crisis.
The lyric, sung like a prophecy by the Golden God, felt like a promise. The truth is, these periods of vacillation are part of the natural rhythm of the journey. We sway from side to side in our work for a balanced life. There's nothing lost in a temporary (or year long!) exploration off the road you're on. If anything, think of all the treasure you bring back with you when you return.

To be a rock and not to roll…

I began 2018 with a question. I wanted to know if I'd be happier on another path. The answer is yes and no.
My happiness is in the middle.
My happiness is knowing that whatever direction I turn, I'll always be able to find my way back home.