I’m currently working on three substack essays that are incomprehensibly long and personal and deep.
If it’s not immediately obvious, this is not one of them.
In a 1:1 session with one of the incredible women in my soft business mentoring program, we were talking about writing.
She’s a writer, too.
I can’t remember the exact way she phrased it, so I’m likely doing her genius a disservice (she has a real way with words), but it was something along the lines of writing is like…. masochistic, isn’t it?
I laughed because I feel it.
It is.
The week before, I was voice noting my friend Clare (hi Clare!)
I talk about Clare often. She has an excellent substack. She owns a yoga studio in Batemans Bay. We are, weirdly, born a few years apart, but on the exact same day.
We actually met on a Yin Yoga Teacher Training with Sarah Powers back in 2015.
The thought of that makes my body ache a little bit for the good old days. Teacher trainings that went on for ten days straight, a room filled with fifty plus people, brain fried from new information, body aching from eight hours a day on the floor.
My memory is like this: we were both riding our bikes home from the training. I had this super kawaii (and probably super useless) green bike I ADORED. I was also an extremely nervous and unskilled bike rider. The 20 minute cycle home, almost completely on the bike path (you are more likely to find a bucketful of four leaf clovers than a useful bike path in Sydney) was a very simple ride, but making it there and back each day felt like a victory for me.
One day, we were preparing to ride home in the rain. I was nervously getting ready to go, psyching myself up, checking everything was in place, probably mentally reciting feel the fear and do it anyway, feel the fear and do it anyway, while Clare swings up and onto her bike and starts simultaneously riding away, waving, looking back over her shoulder and shouting see you tomorrow!
As I white knuckled my way home, I realised.
She wasn’t even wearing any shoes.
So cool.
🪷
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