After a week of much needed vacation, followed by an unwelcome, but probably also needed in some weird way, bout with a stomach flu, I got back to cleaning out.  This time it was my daughter's room - that scary teenage place behind a door that's been closed since she left for camp.  The first thing I had to do was open the door.  This was not the mental or emotional exercise you might expect.  I actually had to shove the door against the pile of old notebooks, laundry and who-knows-what-else on the floor until it opened wide enough for me to get in.  That accomplished, the next challenge was deciding where to begin.

It took me ten hours and four very large garbage bags, but the bedroom looks like a bedroom now.  The bed is made.  The closet doors and dresser drawers close.  From the bottom of a pile of what I suspect were clean clothes, I recovered three pairs of my socks, and a pair of pants which are a bit too big for me and therefore would fall down around my daughter's ankles if she actually tried to wear them.  I spent a few minutes contemplating why I hadn't missed them sooner.

It is always difficult for me to decide what goes and what stays in her room.  I know she has memories attached to some things, including many I am not aware of.  She also hoards things just to have them.  I could tell, by how thick the layer of dust was, how long it had been since she'd touched some things, yet I felt sad adding them to the garbage bag.  These things represent a childhood that is rapidly coming to an end. 

I tossed cotton candy pink lip gloss and sparkly silver eye shadow.  These remnants of playing dress-up have been replaced by black eyeliner and lipsticks in more sophisticated colors.  Into the bag went old stuffed animals and leftover accessories for dolls that have already been passed to younger cousins.  In one drawer I found her cassette walkman, which hasn't seen the light of day since the iPod was invented. 

I wasn't heartless.  There is a row of stuffed animals smiling down from the shelf in the closet.  I resisted flipping through the various journals I came across, and tucked them into the drawer next to her bed with a few pens, so they'd be ready when the first boy breaks her heart.  I didn't remove a single book from her room, instead finding storage for them all in a trunk that used to house beanie babies and crayons.  Letting go of books is a difficulty we share.  We will have to discuss the book from the school library, though.  I believe it's a bit overdue.

When I was finished, I flopped onto her bed and watched a swallowtail flit from flower to flower in the butterfly garden outside her window.  The stale air that had been trapped behind the closed door was moving out, replaced by a breeze blowing in the open windows.  The room smelled fresher, felt more open, and looked brighter.  I know she won't appreciate it when she comes home, and will probably have it messy again in a few days, but for the next two weeks I get to enjoy looking at it.  And maybe, just maybe, she will make her bed once or twice, now that she can see it.

I am fairly certain I am not sane.  My husband agrees, and so does my mother.  I've always been alittle off, but turning 40 seems to have pushed me over the line into the "clearly insane" zone.  I'm not complaining.  It's much more fun over here, and the last eleven months have been more interesting than the 40 years that came before.  In case you don't believe me, here's what I've been up to.

After fifteen years of thinking about it, I got a tattoo.  It's on my back, by my shoulder, and not very small.  I couldn't see any reason to go through the trouble of getting a tattoo if it was going to be some teeny, hidden thing.  I chose a butterfly with a crescent moon, to commemorate this very transformative year.

This picture was taken a couple of hours after it was done.  It doesn't look quite so gooey now.  It didn't hurt nearly as much as I had expected it to.  I focused on my breathing, and for awhile I was close to going to sleep.  The tattoo artist, Jamie, was very gentle, and she has a very comfortable table.  I think she does great work.  You can check out her stuff here:  www.jammerdesignz.com.

I've taken on a second weekly yoga class.  The second class is on Sunday mornings, and it is very gentle and meditative, which is a very different style for me to teach.  I find that I have to be more creative with the gentle class than I do with my regular hatha class, to keep it interesting while limiting the asanas to the easier twists and stretches.  I've been trying to come up with a theme for each class, tying the mediation and asanas together.  So far I think I'm doing okay. 

Working full time and teaching two yoga classes a week should be enough, right?  Well, it's not.  I miss the pressure of yoga teacher training, and I need some kind of challenge to motivate me to exercise.  This week I came up with it.  In 2009, I am going to do a triathlon.  I've put together a training plan for the next ten months, which I think I can squeeze in with everything else.  For the first one, I'm not hoping to be competitive; I just want to finish.  So next week, I start running again.  In a couple of weeks, I will add biking once a week.   The county college where I teach yoga has an indoor pool which I can use for $10 a month, so I'll add the swimming in a month or two.  When I am running 2 miles, twice a week, biking five to eight miles a week, and swimming 200 yards without stopping, I can move to the beginner triathlon training plan I found at www.trinewbies.com, which is the best site I found for a beginner.

My husband told me to go for it.  He'll be on the sidelines, cheering me on.  I am looking forward to the workouts, now that I have a goal in mind. 

In less than a month, I'll be 41.  The day after my birthday, I am flying to Colorado for the Yoga Journal Conference.  I'm going a day early for a pre-conference all-day intensive - yoga and rock climbing.  I've only climbed on an indoor rock wall, and I've always wanted to try on real rock.  I can't think of a better way to usher in the next year, which I know is going to be great.  More transformation and growth is on the way, and maybe I'll slip further into the insanity zone.  Sorry Mom, but sane is just way too boring.