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It is my birthday and a week before I travel to Nairobi for the Africa Yoga Project teacher training. I want to be in my best state physically and mentally. I have read the suggested reading material, written the required essays, I am meditating daily, I am clear on my intentions of what I want to achieve from the training. I am physically strong from a disciplined self practice, I mostly know the Baptiste sequence.

I leave the house, step down the stairs to put out the waste veggies for composting and boom go over on my foot. I am in agony and should be teaching in 30 minutes. A million thoughts go through my head, have I broken it? Am I being a drama queen? Is it okay? Shit it really hurts. A little protrusion is sticking out from the side, it is fiercely hot. I give it a rub and decide to toughen up. I will be okay. Beside I have a class to teach and no time to get hurt or sick.

I set up the mats and limp my way through the teaching, trying to disguise my pain is easier then trying to ignore the swelling foot which is slowly turning blue. It's not my best class but I get through it.

Later at home I am angry at myself for getting injured, this was not in the plan, what about the perfection I was striving for? I sit quietly on my mat (not in comfy seated position as this is certainly not comfy) legs extended, coming into a place of acceptance. What is perfection anyway? Who am I to know what the future holds or what bigger gift and lesson lie in me being forced to slow down? I know I am going to have to practice humility as my practice is going to be significantly weaker. Maybe this is perfection...not the perfection I was trying to create but the perfection for me in this moment.

I begin to let go of my preconceived ideas of what the training might entail, I let go of my idealisms and fantasies. I let go of all I know and empty myself to possibility and transformation. It might just be the new perfect.

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