the beehive inside my heart

Honey of my Failures

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt – marvelous error! –

That I had a beehive

Here inside my heart.

And the golden bees

Were making white combs

And sweet honey

From my old failures.

-Antonio Macado

A friend of mine sends me lovely little messages every day. They come from a book called The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo. It has daily entries – poems, quotes all sorts of thoughts and each one is followed by a short note from the author. Two weeks ago, I received this one. It was October 18th – a Tuesday actually. The day after we sent out the email that we were closing the studio.

That Monday night Nick and I sat up later than we normally do going back and forth over the wording of that email. We were both exhausted – I’d been crafting the email for days, but didn’t have the nerve yet to get it out into the world. You see, I was still holding on to some odd thought that we could make this whole thing work. Somehow. So, at the end of our back and forth, when the final copy was decided on, I sat in front of this damn screen – like I have so many times before – and I hesitated. The online marketing system we use has this picture of a big monkey hand (it’s called MailChimp) with its finger getting ready to push a big red button. I watched that big hand try to push that button for 5 minutes or more. Like if I didn’t hit the send button, somehow we would miraculously not have to close. Like my waiting could change the course of things.

When I finally hit the send button, I broke down into sobs. I just sat there on the couch with Nick and cried my face off. These past 2 years have been such a struggle, with things we never even dreamed we’d have to endure and yet, there were bright spots too. So many amazing people have walked through our doors, people we never would have met if Cycle Swami never was.

One of my life goals was to have my own yoga studio. To close the doors on this dream I’ve held so close for so long feels like total and complete failure. Like I wasn’t motivated enough, I didn’t try enough or work hard enough or I wasn’t good enough. Failure, failure, failure, and failure. And then, I got this poem in my inbox. Perfect timing, right? We have all stumbled on this path. We have all failed at one time or another. There is no clear way through life. One day we’re going in one direction, and the next, that path is consumed by wild fire and there’s nothing to do but turn around and try another way. Sure, we all know fires are devastating. What we don’t know is that they’re necessary too. Fire cleans out the underbrush, cleans the forest floor, opens it up to the sunlight and nourishes the soil. Having burned out that low-growing underbrush, the trees that are already established can grow stronger and healthier.

Failure is like that sometimes. In the onset it seems like all is lost, like everything you’ve ever held dear is going up in flames; the ground shifts and all at once, you’re standing in the rubble of something you worked so hard to build. But, if you stand there long enough, in the cinder and the ash, you will soon feel the warm sun on your face. And, if you look around, you can see the strength in the things that the fire didn’t destroy.

As Mark Nepo says in his book: “Just know, when everything is falling apart, that you are preparing the ground of you for something ripe that can’t yet be seen, but which, in time, will be tasted.”

The sweet honey of your old failures.

Letters Home

Earlier this week I went to my parents’ house to clean out some old remnants of stuff I’d left behind when I moved out. There was a ton of old paperwork; they’d saved all my report cards, even my first grade ones with Mrs. Lathrop. There were old letters strewn in there too, old notebooks filled with writing and drawings I’d done, and, perhaps best of all, old school pictures. The school pictures were the kind that you wish you could scrub from your memory, the kind that make you feel awkward for the kid in it. Mostly though there were boxes and boxes and boxes of my old photography prints, from high school to college. My senior thesis was in there too – a 20 ton box of square color prints on big chunks of plexi.

My mom and I sat up in my brother’s old bedroom (a closet now) for hours (my dad too, when he wasn’t chasing Sebastian around) and we laughed at all the ridiculousness that was there, we reminisced too as we read through old papers – some of which were my brother’s (don’t worry Jon, we saved those for you). It was like a trip down memory lane and a trip into my most intimate moments all rolled up into one. While I was driving home, my 2yr old in tow, I thought back on the girl I was. The girl who wrote those desperate poems, the girl who drew all those images, the young woman who struggled to find her voice through crazy self-portraits in empty hotels. Where did she go? It felt as if she’d vanished, or maybe she’d just been eaten up by a life in constant forward motion.

As I shuffle through those same pictures now, I want so much to reach into them, to grab the girl inside and shake her. I want to tell her so much. So I’m going to try now:

Dear Kate,

You cannot possibly begin to understand the life you have before you: the promise you hold, the potential, and the limitless opportunities. You don’t see it yet because you’re too wrapped up in trying to be something to everyone. You believe that you are what people think of you. You work so diligently to keep quiet, to be steady and non-disruptive. You strive to gain the respect of those around you, but don’t demand that they require yours in return. I know. You may not think anyone does, but I do. I know you struggle. I know you laugh too, and I know how you shine – but not too much, can’t shine too much. I know you wonder if you’re ever going to find your voice and if you’re going to have the courage to use it when you do. I know all your quiet heartbreaks and your amazing mistakes.

I want to tell you something: I see you. You may feel alone, but you are not. You will step out into the world and against the advice of people you respect and love, you will find work that will lead you to a position of leadership and though you may hate it at the time, it will make you the money and give you the time you need to chase the life you want – the one you only think about when your head is on your pillow late at night. You will marry a man who loves you – the whole messy package – and he will be the support you need when things get tough, and believe me, they will. You’ll have a baby! Two, in fact. You’ll have the courage to leave the security of a good job to take care of your son and pursue your passions. Through hard work and love you will be successful.

When the time comes, you’ll have the courage to once again leave what is comfortable to forge ahead into a better future, not just for you, but for the family you love so much. You will once again work to realize a dream you’ve kept quiet in your heart. Hold on tight, because it’ll be a bumpy ride. This time however, hard work and love will not be enough and you will watch your dream fall apart and everything else around you will start to slip. You may think it is the death of everything you’ve worked so hard to create, but it is just a reorganization of the way things are meant to flow. This is a conclusion that will take time to sink in, so be patient. Ask for help because you’ll need it. Take all the hugs that are offered, cry into the shoulders of the people you love and then strap on those work boots and get back to it.

You are capable of great things. You are a wonder to behold. You are stronger than you ever imagined. You are enough. I wish I could reach out to you, give you a hug and tell you that over and over again: you are enough. I can’t wait for the day when you realize it for yourself.

I know I threw some spoilers in here, sorry! Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. You’re on the right path so have courage. You’ll make some ridiculous decisions – try to laugh them off when you realize the scope of the ridiculousness. You’ll make some great ones too, so stop second guessing yourself. Have faith in your intelligence (I read those report cards!) and you will end up right where you should be.

Oh, and let loose a little every now and again, the world won’t fall apart if you do, but you may if you don’t.

Ever yours,
Kate