I’ve read two articles about being “sober curious” in my hometown paper in the past month. As someone who chose to stop drinking in April, I feel buoyed by the fact that there are others who are curious about living this way. At the same time, I feel as thought I’ve caught the latest fad, like Whole 30 or mom jeans.

In April I was working with the concept of “awake” in my classes, asking my students to be fully awake to their experiences – not to push them down, deny them, numb them. To meet anything that came up in their bodies, mind and spirits as a gift – a ground – in which to find a path to calming the fluctuations of the mind.

Meanwhile, each weekend, I drank alcohol. Monday morning classes were hard. By Wednesday, I felt better, slept better, had more energy because I didn’t drink during the week (and that was hard!) But then I systematically dismantled this sense of well-being with each glass at Happy Hour on Friday, cocktails on Saturday, and glasses of wine with Sunday dinner. It was a pattern of behavior it took me quite some time to recognize and then even longer to stop.

Each sober curious person has a story about how well they feel when they finally stop drinking alcohol. Mine is this: When my diagnosis came, I received my news with the equanimity that comes from being awake. I’m already practicing letting go and being honest and these practices are really handy in  the face of challenge. I am comforted that my intuition had already started me on a path of healing.

To prepare for healing through art-making post-surgery, I have been practicing with watercolors, something I’ve never quite liked to do. (Kind of like those nemesis poses we hate to do, but those are the ones we need so badly.) With watercolors, you have to plan for the light before you start. A good practice for healing — find the light then work with it as your focus.

When I saw this picture by Tom McCorkle in the in the Food Section of The Washington Post on Wednesday, I wanted to paint it because of the light.  I didn’t want to drink it.

All is well.

A good friend gave me this tee shirt off her back. I’m going through a health challenge right now which will mean that I will have to stop teaching yoga and art for a just a little bit beginning in August. My friend is a bit older than me, as are the people I have the privilege to know through the classes I teach for Iona. Older friends have taught me well. Health challenges are part of living with the body as it ages. These challenges don’t define who we really, truly are. They are best met with a “La Di Da.”

My yoga practice of only 14 years is as comfortable and comforting as a worn-out tee and is there when I need it most. I feel grounded and calm, though I’m having to make tough changes in my life to accommodate healing. Every time I find myself worrying about these changes or predicting the outcome of my diagnosis, I label it “thinking,” and return to the beauty of the day outside, or the preparations I’m making for my art class tomorrow; making blueberry muffins or enjoying conversation on the porch with someone I love. Letting go of predicting the future, making plans for the worst or the best or the unforeseen, is a bit “La Di Da,” but it is necessary to healing and wholeness.

Since my life’s work is about helping people find healing and peace through yoga and artmaking and I won’t be in the studio for a while, I’ve decided to turn back here to an online community. It’s been a while since shared connections I found between these practices (like this, and this and even this.) If my energy allows, I plan to teach from the heart right here. Who knows, I might find myself recording the fantasy class I’ll take when I’m able and share it with my friends here. The theme? Living the “La Di Da.”