In my morning yoga practice, I saw a peice of my skin on the floor that fell off of me during my practice the day before. Lying next to my yoga mat, my old skin told me “You are not the same as you were.” Even after this realization, in the moment that followed I felt different. As I hinged deeper into my forward bend, I recalled the words of my professor Diane L. Moore at Harvard Divinity School. She advised an anxiety ridden version of me during my writing process: “As soon as your paper is done, it is obsolete.” What? Even before I turn it in? Yes. I felt myself teetering on the precipice of an existential downward spiral – one that would question every reason for thought and creativity all the way down. I was unexpectedly greeted by the soft comfort of reason: At the cellular level old life is dying off and new life is beginning more times than a person blinks in a minute. It is hard to notice as we humans have become so accustomed to living on auto-pilot. Not even having to think about breathing, the acts of rebirth and renewal have become commonplace. When I [...]![]()
