Becca. Downtown L.A.
I've been thinking about the movie Fight Club lately. If you've watched the film, perhaps there are scenes that linger over a decade later for you as well. The most vivid image for me is the characters circling one another like a penned animal. Increased autonomic responses kicking in; fight or flight, hackles raised.
Relationships can often be like fight club; the wary circling, the dance of making nice when it's anything but. I don't often understand the game until I recognize my competitive streak permeating my thoughts and actions.
I've come to know myself enough to know that no good comes from competitive me. When I've begun to feel adversarially, I've learned it's time for me to take a big mother may I step backwards. Gracefully, without rancor, I diffuse the part that's become too concerned with everything other than myself.
I like to think of it as me and my yoga mat. (Which is a bit of a joke if you know me and yoga.) When I've done yoga in the past, I've had to quell my competitive streak and remember that all that matters is what's happening on my rectangle. When I've compared myself to others, when I've pushed myself because I'm flexible and can, those have been the times when I shouldn't have and I end up injured.
The analogy holds true for me as I navigate this life. If I toodle along on my mat, doing my thing, I'm golden. I know my path. Even when it goes wonky, even if I find myself on a detour, it's because of my own direction.
