Living from the Inside Out

8 minute read time

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the value of a rich inner life. Probably because my own inner life has been my anchor during the past twelve months of social distance and varying degrees of lockdown. There have been many pandemic-related losses, time with loved ones, income, career, travel, but one thing I have not lost is the sustenance my inner life provides. I suppose by that I mean to say that I’m at home in myself, am aware of how I feel and what’s going on inside and know what gives me a sense of meaning and purpose. I know those things that enrich me.

I value my relationships tremendously. They enhance the meaning in my life, adding depth and nuance. There is nothing quite like the beauty and wonder of loving and being loved in return. But to love is to grieve. When we love, we are vulnerable to loss and termination. Friendships end, people move on or move away, and we feel their loss just because of how much they meant to us. My Mam died nearly twenty-two years ago and there’s still a hole inside me where she used to be. I know that one day my husband will die and I will be left to mourn him, or my death will precede his, and it will be he who will grieve. I don’t know which is worse.

But I do know that this is golden. That being lucky and knowing you are lucky are two different things. It’s the knowing that adds extra value, the special sauce. When I think back on my teenage years I had no idea how fortunate I was in so many ways (typical, I know). But over the years I’ve become more thoughtful, more appreciative of everything. Reflection yields clarity and I’ve had plenty of time to reflect and notice. I see more beauty now, it uplifts and nourishes my soul.

Our back garden is an oasis in a very densely populated neighbourhood in the heart of Los Angeles. There are several fruit trees, apple, pineapple guava, wildly abundant key lime and banana. All of which yield lots of fruit. A shocking pink bougainvillaea covers one wall and climbs over our upstairs patio and we have lavender, rosemary, cilantro, thyme, basil and oregano, as well as geranium and other colourful plants and shrubs. This garden gives me so much joy. We are incredibly blessed to have it always, but particularly during the pandemic. We have been able to be outside and even have friends over for socially distanced outdoor hangs.

Just having this green space is rejuvenating and relaxing and there are other delights that feed me deeply. Our garden attracts many bees and, while I once got inadvertently stung while picking lavender, this is a beautiful thing. Bees are crucial in the food supply chain and for ecological health. My granddad used to keep bees, seeing them makes me happy and makes me feel connected to him even though he died twenty-five years ago. This is the kind of thing that money just can’t buy, contentment all of itself.

And there’s more. The garden is a veritable hummingbird playground. They are everywhere. Do you know how mesmerising these little guys are? Just watching them, wings flapping faster than the eye can see, their colourful leaves glistening in the sun, fills me with joy. I can be feeling down and depleted and when I look up and see a hummingbird close by my heart skips a beat and my day changes. This is the juice, the added value, the richness I just didn’t get when I was younger. This understanding that happiness is attainable, even if only momentarily, in almost any circumstance.

A couple of years ago, I remember going several days through my ordinary routine, driving to a private client’s house to teach yoga, then to the studio to do my practice, home for lunch and administrative work and maybe an afternoon meditation before going back out to teach in the evening. You know, nothing wrong but just kind of going through the motions of life and not really tasting the sweetness I was looking for in anything I did. And then I sat with a cup of tea on my patio and a little hummingbird flew very close and hovered for moments sipping nectar just feet away. And that was it. The elixir I was seeking was right there in my garden, all I had to do with notice it. And that gave me a happiness that filled me inside and was all mine to treasure.

Being present and available for the richness is crucial, not just mindlessly scrolling through social media feeds and numbing out, or being so caught up in the emotional maelstrom that nothing else registers.

Clarity is important, the ability to reflect and assess. What is it that I love? What makes me happy? Makes me feel more like me? What makes my pulse quicken while at the same time making me feel more at home in my own skin?

For me, a big part of that is reading and immersing myself in the world of ideas. My dancing ground. It’s not coincidental that I started studying philosophy aged seventeen; engaging with ideas helps me navigate the world around me. I’m not an artist, can’t draw or paint for shit and my musical skill is lacking. But words and ideas? That’s my domain baby and the glove fits. Give me a good book and all else fades away. I can be happy reading alone for hours, if not days.

For almost a year now I have been studying online with a brilliant academic and yoga philosopher three times per week. We meet Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday at 2 pm. My weekends now revolve around these sessions, I kid you not. Yes, I’ve always been that geek. But here’s the thing. Doing this deep study, being in the community around it, learning new things and being interested and engaged is giving me myself back. I am loving it and it’s making my eyes sparkle a little more. Because it’s who I am and who I was before I was married, or even met my husband and before I ever started practising and teaching yoga. I mention this because in some ways my marriage and my yoga practise (and teaching) are the most important parts of my life. And this sparkle in my eye and lightness in my step helps both my marriage and my yoga teaching because when I feel more satisfied in my inner life and sense of self, I have more to offer both.

This is important because I assume like everyone else, there have been pandemic-related pressures and strains. My husband and I live alone, which is lovely and we have spent more time together in the last year than ever before. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing but it does force each person to fulfil many roles in the relationship – spouse, friend, main interlocutor and companion, nightly dinner date, cuddle partner and lover.

That’s a lot to ask. Having a rich inner life helps.

I don’t expect my husband to figure out all of my problems or to be a constant source of entertainment and amusement. Sometimes that happens but there are lots of evenings alone and that’s okay. I have plenty to do and plenty to think about. Having an inner life that sustains me takes the pressure of the relationship.

Teaching yoga is more complicated in some ways. I’ve been teaching for almost eighteen years and It’s no exaggeration to say that my yoga practice has come before all else in my life for two decades. I have put everything into my teaching and to be honest, I’m not really sure how that’s panning out or where any of this is going. It’s been tough teaching online. At first plenty of people were coming but over time there has been a lot of attrition and sometimes there are only one or two people in the class. It’s hard not to let this affect my confidence. Hard not to take it as a referendum on my popularity. I know I’m a good teacher with advanced practice, so where are my students? Do people not like me? Are my social media posts bland, my newsletters uninspiring?

The truth is I don’t know. Maybe people are just tired of being online, or the schedule doesn’t suit them. Maybe they’ve stopped practising yoga altogether. But I can’t let it affect my self-esteem. That has to come from elsewhere, dare I say from my inner life. I don’t mean that nothing external matters. Of course my relationships, the communities I’m part of, my interests and endeavours all give my life meaning and purpose. As does my yoga practice and running and enjoying a good meal with a glass of wine preceded by a strong cocktail occasionally. It’s the fact that I value these things and know they make my life better that lends richness.

I’m present to the treasure that surrounds me. Re-engaging with deep and sustained study in the past year under the tutelage of a master is reconnecting me to a vital part of myself. This matters. And so does the socially-distanced outdoor dinner my husband and I had with another couple a few days ago. The conversation was varied and rich, at times hilarious but also with a surprising level of honesty and intimate vulnerability.

Watching a hummingbird sucking nectar from a flower in the banana tree in my back garden yesterday was priceless. Maybe my career as I’ve known it is over, I don’t know. But I do know that my life is abundant and rich in many ways. The knowing is everything. In my inner world, I’m a millionaire.