Let’s laugh about it.

Wah wah wahhhhhhh.

Blah blah blaaaaaah.

Boooooo freaking hooooo.

Yeah, I’ve heard it, too.  All the whining, crying, complaining, huffing and puffing around here.  It’s been a bit of a shit show, hasn’t it?  I’ve lost that lovin’ feeling, haven’t I?

[Sheepish smile.  Shy, hopeful eyes.  Open arms, offering an "I'm sorry" hug...]

Well, don’t you worry.  I gave myself a talking-to.

In other words:  “Hannah, shut up!”

That’s what I said to myself multiple times yesterday, even leading up to last night’s yoga class.  Actually, a little profanity slipped its way in there, too.  Sacrilege!  Swearing in yoga class!  (Truth?  I curse left and right in my head all fucking day, on the mat and off.)

But really.  Enough.

My life, in all its craziness, is not THAT bad.  Come on now.

My job has taken off like fireworks on the 4th of July.  The items on my to-do list are diverse, interesting, challenging, and more unique than ever before.  The relationships I’ve spent the last year and a half making with coworkers around the world finally feel real, comfortable, strong.  The stories I’ve heard, from colleagues in Dubai, Seoul, Paris, Shanghai, and Abu Dhabi, are fascinating and funny and eye-opening.  This is a good job, a good place for me right now, in this strange stage of my career.  Must I really waste energy bitching about it, just because I’ve been entrusted with new responsibilities?

My friends continue to offer support, encouragement, care, and a listening ear, even though they’re as beleaguered as I am come day’s end.  Whether through e-mails or Facebook posts or text messages or comments on this here blog, the sentiment is the same:  They are thinking of me.  I am loved.  They are proud.  We are all trying our very best.  Why indulge in any thought regarding these precious relationships other than, “I am blessed“?

This yoga practice—what would I do with out it?  Really.  How dare I berate the very thing that’s given me so very much?  I had my yoga when I had nothing else, when I was broken and stripped bare and seemingly beyond hope.  I am a little ashamed, embarrassed even, at my lack of gratitude lately, at my indifference, my resentment.

And Boston—my Boston.  Each evening, I drive back int0 its skyline, murmering a little hello, as I wind through its cluttered, chaotic streets, horns honking, sirens squealing, my stereo turned up high.  I can feel the city wrapping me in its cold, steeled arms; but, it is a gentle, loving embrace, a welcoming home.

I have a good friend who’s asked me to help with an amazing project—and, in doing so, has offered me an incredible opportunity.  One of my dearest friends is newly engaged.  I’m going to meet a slew of Boston bloggers in December. My two favorite holidays are on the horizon.  This weekend, I get to drive south to Pennsylvania and visit my family.

Life is great.

I have not forced myself to do this in quite some time—to pause and to practice thanks.  I’d like to think I give myself regular reality checks.  These last few weeks?  Not so much.  Somehow, I’ve settled for wailing and wallowing.  God love you all for putting up with it.

Change is here, though, friends.  Don’t worry.

You want proof?  It’s okay—I would, too.

Yesterday, I made it to the 4:30 p.m. class for the first times in ages.  Day 8, ready to be conquered.  I arrived roughly 20 minutes early, threw down my mat, then proceeded to get ready for class, wander around the studio, talk to a few regulars and teachers.  With about five minutes until class began, I went back into the hot room.  Only to find it absolutely packed with yogis.  Like only two inches between each other’s mats kind of packed.  And nearly a quarter of them were newbies.

Uh oh, I thought.  This could be brutal.  The panic began to mount.  My stomach rumbled a little.  My gaze drifted rapidly back and forth over the room.  My mind started churning up the negative, doubtful thoughts.  And then, I looked into my eyes in the mirror and remembered.

Shut up, Hannah.

Inspiring words, huh?

But, it worked.  I proceeded to rock my way through a ridiculously humid and intense 90 minutes, without breaking concentration once, without skipping a single command in the dialogue, even when the mirrors steamed up so badly I could no longer see my reflection.  I just worked.

And when I laid in savasana afterwards, absolutely bathed in sweat and grinning, I thought: Nothing is ever as bad as I allow it to be in my head.

Now, I know I’m a fool most of the time.

But, come on—those words, that truth, is quite inspiring indeed.