The why of it all.

Seven days.  One week.  Nearly 1/4 of the way through the 30-day journey.

But, who’s counting?

Not me.  I swear.

How are you all feeling this Monday morning?  A little sugar sick?  A smidge hung over, still, from your shenanigans on Saturday night?  Perhaps you’re even a little bruised and battle-scarred from falling down, tripping, running into corners, and suffering other such calamaties that can happen when you’re in costume? 

Me?  I hurt, too.  But more in the “I’m so damn tired even my eyelides are in pain” kind of hurt.  If I could sleep for an entire day, I still don’t think I’d feel rested.  And this isn’t a “I partied like a 19-year-old rockstar” exhaustion—no, it’s more of a “I’m an old lady who’s trying to juggle a full-time job, a part-time project, a daily yoga practice, and an active social life” exhaustion. 

Thrilling, I know.

The beauty of this yoga challenge, though, is that it almost feels old hab.  My body fully recognizes all of these feelings—this low, throbbing ache, the crack and pop of joints, the tightness just waiting to snap and release.  I’m going through the usual highs and pitfalls within each class, but it all feels customary, even a little comfortable.  And, interestingly, my mind recognizes it all, too.  Sure, I’ve had my moments on my mat where my face has scrunched into a mess of frustration and tears—for all of five seconds.  And then it’s the deep breath, the refocusing, the reminder that I’ve been here before, and the class carries on. 

Last night, when my roommate asked me how the challenge was going, the only response I could give was a one-shoulder shrug and a slurred, “Ehh, ’s okay.  Same old.”

She looked at me a little funny.  And I continued, “I mean, the excitement’s kind of gone from these things.  This is the third one.  I know I can do it.  I’ve already proven that to myself.  So, now it’s just…eh.  You know?”

Understandably, she didn’t quite know.  And I couldn’t quite explain it any better myself.

I couldn’t quite pinpoint the why—the why I’m doing this, and the why it isn’t more exciting, and the why I’m not more invested.  The why of my entire life right now. 

We do all sorts of things that we can’t fully justify or rationalize.  I look back on ages 22 to 25, and it’s one big head shake of “What the hell was I thinking?”  I know we can’t always have an answer. 

But, I will admit, when I laid down in bed last night, my body buzzing and twitching, my head swimming with the laundry-list of tasks to accomplish this week and my conscience kicking in and reminding me of all the things I didn’t get done this past weekend, I couldn’t help but sigh and want to burst out in tears. 

Because, at the end of the day, I do want to know why I overburden and overcommit and push myself over my limit.

It is a fair question. 

Now, if I could just find a freaking answer.