When you read my upcoming memoir, Apple In My Truck, A Pathway To Inner Peace, you’ll get the juicy, gritty, unpleasant, spicy and sweet sides of my life.
Below enjoy a bite of Apple In My Truck.
The following is the Introduction and a short bite of Chapter 1.
Introduction
This book is the fulfillment of a promise I’d made as I’d sat amongst peers one evening in a yoga teacher-training class.
Within the safety and support of that intimate setting, I spoke aloud a promise to both myself and the group that I would write a memoir of my life.
Through that writing process, I discovered an arc to my life’s story. In my younger years, I had been very yang-like, in that I was easily angered, narrow-minded, hot-tempered and reactive. Then, during my midlife, in 2011, I had discovered a yoga teacher training program which taught me how to embrace a yogic lifestyle, and, at forty-two years old, I completely changed my life. I learned to become yin-like: calm, soft, accepting and able to find my center when necessary. Through this journey, I’ve learned that I feel best when I am able to balance both the yin and yang sides of myself.
This memoir takes the reader back in time. The chapters begin with the year 2014 and drift back to conclude with the year 2007.
Embedded within these backward-flowing chapters are flashback stories which begin with the year 1973 and progress to 2005.
Most of the names of people, institutions, and places where I’ve worked have been changed in order to protect their privacy. Also, some events have been compressed, and some dialogue has been retold.
Crafting and editing this book over the years has nourished my soul. The writing process has helped me to both recognize some of my triggers and contend with my uglier parts. Throughout it all, I have sought balance and a pathway to inner peace.
My wish for you when reading this book is that you find a pathway to your own inner peace.
Chapter 1
Search
2014
Neither the gold-blond carpeting nor the four mint walls had contributed in any way, shape, or form to my finding a flicker of creativity.
Just last week, I’d pinned up photos on an old corkboard which belonged to my husband, Peter. I’d dug through past memories, mined through old journals, and chuckled about my younger years, but still-- no luck. As I listlessly pecked at my cardamom-colored keyboard, the words that I wanted to express seemed to be trapped in a net. Nothing new is coming out of me. The staleness of the room had become suffocating, and I felt as if the walls and chair had folded in on me. I stood up and shook off my frustration and hoped this would stir my creative juices. I’d learned to shake like this from many years of watching my dogs.
I considered driving out to seek inspiration in a nearby city park, but decided instead to sit back down in the garage-sale chair and crossed my legs and feet. My yogi friends called this sitting in sukhasana, easy-seat posture. I had learned that in the ancient Indian language of Sanskrit, sukha means happiness, pleasure, ease, joy or bliss, and asana means sitting down. So, sukhasana means, a comfortable seat. I thought it was funny as my ankles and calves were crossed where I sat, up on the seat of the chair, rather than being seated down on the floor in sukhasana like most yogis do. I attempted to keep my mind in a state of calm so I could regain forward writing momentum, but was again stumped; the words had dried up. I asked myself, Are you hungry? Thirsty? Was that a hot flash? Do you want a different chair to sit on? How about the exercise ball? Maybe if the dust on the ceiling fan shared its secrets with me, I could make some progress with my writing.
A beep from my phone pulled me back into the present moment. I’d hoped the text would be from my son, Tony Joe. It was.
Mom, meet me at Brew For You, downtown at 2 pm.
Lovely, see you soon, I responded.
I grabbed my bag of homemade chocolate-chip-peanut-butter cookies from the freezer. Not wanting them to melt in the well-over-100-degree heat, I placed them on ice, then into my small backpack.
On my way out the door, our Labrador Retriever, Gus, gave me a half-lidded look that said, I am comfy, I have everything I need right here. When you return, please come in quietly, so you won’t wake me. I kissed him goodbye and left for my rendezvous with Tony Joe.
As I reached into the bag and pulled out a cookie it was already beginning to melt. I made sure to eat my gooey treat before I turned out of the neighborhood.
My thoughts drifted as I drove the familiar roads. I passed a popular yoga studio and memories from my last birthday came to mind. Oh yes, that was the winter solstice day that I’d turned forty-five and felt younger than ever. I loved giving myself a yin-gong yoga class. I’d invited Peter and Tony Joe to come along, to help me celebrate my birthday.
The yin-gong teacher approached me as we made our way one by one into the cozy room and loaded up with warm yoga blankets.
“Good afternoon, how are you feeling today?”
“I am feeling wonderful, as I have brought with me two special guests to help celebrate my birthday.”
The yoga teacher began the practice with a soft breathing technique as beautiful gong vibrations filled the room. Next she guided us into a nourishing hibernation posture. My body immediately released its armor. Ahhh, if this is what a bear feels like during winter, safe in its cave, the feeling is delightful.
The vibration of the gong had struck deep inside my heart.
At the end of class, to my surprise, she started to sing Happy Birthday to me. The other students in the class joined in with the singing: “Happy Birthday dear Alicia, happy birthday to you.” I was so happy, my cheeks ached from so much smiling.
My mind then wandered into another shared memory with Tony Joe as I continued driving through town. Recently, we’d played a round of golf together to celebrate his twenty-third birthday. Out on the greens he has enjoyed teaching me how to perfect my golf swing, and I’ve enjoyed reminding him to find a smooth, steady breath. I learned that yoga and golf are similar, in that both activities can bring me into a state of meditative bliss.
My trusty pickup continued ahead on Roosevelt Street. This area was once primarily residential, but has now been converted into a series of small businesses. Many of these buildings were built during the 1940s. This entire city block, comprising approximately 25 acres, is now referred to as the historic Roosevelt Row.
Tony Joe and I had decided to meet in this neighborhood at an eclectic coffee shop where we’d revel our inner coffee-lover. Brew For You had once served as a simple family home. I bet they had coffee every day. Perhaps all day long in wintertime.
I parked along the street but didn’t see Tony Joe’s car yet. Memories from my past continued to stir within my mind. I made sure to jot them down so I’d remember to include them later. Finishing note-to-self!
I was immediately immersed in the aroma of freshly ground coffee and espresso beans as I made my way up the coffee-house steps. The dangling bells clinging to the door announced my arrival to the barista. The clanking of dishes being scrubbed drowned out the hip-hop music humming overhead. Empty burlap coffee sacks hanging above made for unique ceiling tiles.
Before I knew it, Tony Joe had walked up and was now standing beside me. I took the opportunity and hugged him.
“Hi, Mom.”
Our strong bond had kept us connected through the few weeks since we’d last gotten together.
*****
Stay Tuned for the RELEASE DATE OF
Apple 🍎 in my Truck, A Pathway To Inner Peace
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Namaste.
Alicia
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