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Death Cleaning, Emails And A Late Vinyasa

1. Death cleaning

I read about this Swedish initiative and having always been in awe of their maternity AND paternity leave, their schooling, their height and the not-so-secret crush I harboured on a certain Swedish musician many years ago I decided to take this on board as gospel.

Or at the very least, a new life rule that will serve me well at the grand old age of being half of a hundred and also having to move house. Again.

What better way to do this than get rid of everything under the guise of saving my daughter the job one day in the far, distant future (hastily crossing fingers, toes and decrepit old knees). I was put off the Kondo method due to how long it would take to hold every single item I own and ask if it brings me joy. Good grief. The tee I brought from a Buddist convention I went to under the mistaken belief I was going to a Lloyd Cole concert, for example, is musty, old and full of holes and doesn’t exactly make my heart soar but it’s staying because it’s the softest cotton ever and Happiness Will Change the World!

It’s just the whole getting started thing. For me at least. Might be something to do with my physical makeup, genetics, childhood dramas or possibly that I’m a procrastinator from way back and if I could I’d put everything off till tomorrow including tomorrow.

Biggest issue for me on this death cleaning ritual is our books. And art. And anything my daughter wrote, drew or gifted me including a small empty box of wishes, wads of vouchers (free hugs galore when really Mummy could have done with a massage…) and photos; the real ones.

I’ve got a few weeks. Whether this does me in or has me wafting about in a capsule wardrobe like a lifestyle blogger is yet to be seen.

It is possible I’ll still be thinking about getting started on moving day. But in a hard-out organised, taller Swedish way.

2. My relationship with email

It falls under ‘it’s complicated’ and also, ‘I despise you’ and actually, ‘I wish we’d never met, I’m going to cut all the arms off your shirts’. Ahem.

My inbox is full. Which means my life is full.

I have folders under folders under folders and it’s become so complicated that everything is red flagged and although I do batches daily and answer everyone sometimes something gets missed and then I worry I’ve missed more so I scroll through all those folders under folders in case there was some mistaken placements and answer those before the ones I should be sorting through first due to a very high sensitivity to Guilt which plagues me like, well the Plague.

As it so happens today I managed to write a List of Urgent Emails in my notebook. It took quite a while and yes, I do appreciate the irony in that.

I feel I’ve achieved something though and that’s what counts.

And yes, I know it doesn’t.

3. 6.30pm Vinyasa, baby

That’s right. Six-thirty in the pm. That’s the time I went to class this evening.

Me, who used to consider any class other than a 6.15am or 6.30am to be absolutely unacceptable. I had to be in that hardcore group of early bird A-types who raced in and raced out (after SHARING a shower) and the sweet satisfaction of knowing we’d started off our days like goddesses. Not to be smug or anything.

Now I’m all about the more casual, chilled approach (as in, on too many drugs to wake up early) and the self-inflicted pressure I’d put on myself every night feels oh, so much better. I do need to double-check the timetable a bit closer and not rely on my innate sense of crap memory but otherwise I’m loving this zen situation I’ve got going on.

The only thing I do miss is that the early classes have quite a tight little community feel to them and unless there are more than a few newbies the teachers tend to provide evolving classes on a tougher level which is satisfying when you practice regularly.

Which is probably just another thing I need to get over. I’ll pop it on the list.


What time do you practice? Or prefer to?
Emails? Thoughts? Advice???
And Death Cleaning… I mean, the name itself means business, right?

Photo by Nik MacMillan


© The Yoga Connection 2017

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