One minute, I'm driving in my hot, soccer mama, road-salt-covered minivan. I am a 32 year old, self-respecting woman who probably envisions herself a little younger than she actually is.
For instance, the minivan that screams "I AM A CHAUFFEUR FOR SNOT AND MUD COVERED KIDS WHO STILL PEE THEIR PANTS," in my mind, is a peppy little Kia Soul.
It helps when I crank the music up really loud.
I'm inching down the winter-y road, still covered in slush and tire grooves, moving slow as to not roll my precious Soul.
Uh, I mean van.
In my mind of course, the windows are rolled down, it's summer, the sun is beating down mercilessly. My thick, long hair waves like the flag of youth and enviable, yet approachable, cool-ness.
Oh, and I am wearing aviators.
One song ends, and another begins with a haunting and familiar bass line. And just as if someone has announced to me that "there are no more coffee beans left ON THE ENTIRE PLANET", my breath is knocked out of me.
Music is a teleportation device, capable of bringing me right back to the scene of some of my most treasured, or not so treasured memories.
I'm no longer in my Soul... van... WHATEVER!
I am in the halls of Port Dover Composite School. The walls that hold some of my most shameful and awkward memories. I'm in grade nine. Next to me, is my grade eleven boyfriend, looking wretchedly unhappy.
I'm wearing a bright orange, fuzzy GAP sweater. With slippers.
I wish I was lying. This aspect of the memory stands out because, well, how could it not, right? I look like a pumpkin meets Joy from My Name Is Earl. (At the time I was proud for not giving two fucks about what people thought. But really, I did. Really the rebellion was because I did really care what they thought).
This boy and I- we'll call him Earl (HA!) We are impossibly miserable. Always fighting. And when we aren't swimming in teen angst, we're engaging in activity guaranteed to bring about teen angst.
So here we sit, Earl and I. Our backs against the wall, legs out in front of us on the cold tiles. Classes haven't started yet, and so the school "radio" plays music over the loud speakers. Every day, the same playlist. It's like Ground Hog day- same spot, same people, same music.
That bass line.
Earl is giving me a hard time about my actions at a party a few weeks back. Same spot, same people, same music...
And so this one particular song begins to represent to me so much of who I wish I wasn't and how I wish I wasn't.
Fast-forward to all these years later. I'm back in my minivan. I am thirty-two. I am a mother of three. Earl has long since left my life.
I no longer wear incandescent coloured fuzzy hoodies!
I have done a lot of work around forgiveness and understanding patterns in light of compassion. But those patterns, they're as sticky as the tree sap my snot and mud covered kids sometimes get all over their hands.
(Snot, mud, and sap all mixed together- you are so welcome for that image).
So, when I am shot back in time by haunting bass lines, I use meditation and breath to release that sticky sap. Because I am NOT those shameful feelings, nor do I deserve to live my life as if I am. The music and feelings are indicators that there is more love to give myself and others. More love, more forgiveness, more spacious acceptance.
Feeling haunted by any bass lines in your life? Shame sticking to you like sap from a tree? Try this technique.
Let me know what it does for you! Or if you had any brilliant style combinations that might top my orange sweater and slippers. Hit me up in the comments or send me an email!
PS. Confession... I also had a pair of black tear-away pants with white paint stains. And I wore them. Possibly with the orange sweater and slippers. I doubt you could top that, but try me.
Laura Biddle, also known as Tera Sundri Kaur, is a certified Kundalini Yoga teacher, spiritual channel,
and birth junkie. When not cleaning dried cereal off of the floor, she can be found cleaning coffee grounds
off of the counter. Laura loves her kids and partner the most, coffee a close second, and is
determined to run another marathon one day.
Find more about Laura and her offerings at www.rootsforwingshealing.com