Embracing the Hustler

letting myself strive, go-get, and be who I truly am

This morning I stared out my window and saw a group of western tanagers hopping in the branches of the not yet leafed maple trees. It’s a thin strip of large trees which separates my apartment from I-5, the eight-lane freeway. I’m perched on a hill and a multitude of sounds saturate my apartment: the birds chattering to each other, truck horns, the ocean-drone of traffic, the planes in the flight paths overhead, and the long, mournful trains announcing themselves as they roll through the city.

This weekend I finished my yoga teacher training (please pretty please join my Patreon!). It was a beautiful and heartfelt and bittersweet weekend, and when I closed my laptop last night I felt immediately sad, as if I had closed the door on a sacred container which had held so much vulnerability and truth and openness. In our group we spoke frankly about racial justice, fat bodies, and personal experiences. All of us cried at least once. The energy of that group help propel me through winter, and I am so excited to take everything I’ve learned out into the world, and to continue learning (I am doing a yoga nidra training starting in August and am also currently training with Bonnie Bainbridge Cohen). Without financial accessibility, I wouldn’t be able to do these trainings, and I am so grateful.

The moment I closed my computer I also thought of my book, which has taken a backseat as I focused on yoga and needs to be brought to the front again. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel overwhelmed. My editor handed me back my book without any feedback and asked me to revise it, and I feel confused and a little lost. But I am doing it. And also working a full-time (and sometimes more than full-time) nanny job. Two full time jobs rather than three full time jobs, though maybe it’s more like two and a half jobs, because I’ll be tending to my Patreon and other yoga offerings.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the word “hustler” and how that applies to me. It’s interesting that I founded this newsletter on the concept of anti-striving. Looking back, it’s silly that I thought I could stop striving. I had my first babysitting job when I was ten. At twelve, I cared for twins full time over my spring break. I’ve always been working— trying to make money to help my mom out, or money for myself. Trying to stay afloat. I am a striver, a hustler, a go-getter. There is no other way for me. I love doing things. I want to be seen. I want to help people and turn my own traumas and hardships into stories that may grant others a feeling of being seen.

There has always been a lot of tension inside me surrounding this performative (is performative the right word? No. Maybe Extroverted?) part of myself. When I was little I remember begging my mom to take me to acting classes. We had no money, but I did go to a free one at the Boys and Girls club. I loved it. I loved performing. I was in school plays and I sang in Christmas performances. I forgot this part of myself for a long time. My mom didn’t like that performative part of me. She didn’t like it when I needed attention, or love. So I slowly stopped, and somehow, over a course of some time, I became someone who pretended to need nothing. I didn’t meet people’s eyes; I didn’t smile at people; I pictured a funnel of light coming out through my crown connecting me to the heavens, I feigned superiority. I didn’t need people, was what I told myself. Fuck them.

Needing people has been a challenge for me. First of all, I’m scared of people, or I have historically been scared of people. Scared of being ridiculed, made fun of, rejected. All of those things have happened repeatedly in my life. Being the perpetual new kid, moving around constantly, and having family members who flaunted their money and possessions around me while I stayed on with my single mom who blew all her money on her own wardrobe— I got used to hiding so I wouldn’t be seen.

I remember once when I was twenty-one, living in the Hudson Valley, I hung out with a bartender after a night of drinking, at his house with his friend. They were poking fun at me, and I excused myself to go to the bathroom, then left through the front door. The bartender followed me, worried he had hurt my feelings, and when I heard him open the door I jumped behind a bush. In that moment, I was scared he was going to hurt me in some way. Instead, he tenderly found me and said he wasn’t going to hurt me. He didn’t hurt me. But many had, and would.

What I’m saying is, this newsletter was founded on anti-striving, but maybe I am now embracing my inner hustler. Maybe I’m allowed to post on social media about things I know. Maybe I’m allowed to be a teacher, to be some sort of authority on some things, especially when it comes to my own lived experiences. Maybe it doesn’t matter if someone ridicules me or thinks badly of me. Maybe (most definitely) I will make mistakes, and maybe those mistakes will be public, and maybe, hopefully, I will learn from them.

Sometimes it feels like people think it’s easy for me to be vulnerable. To be frank about who I am. It’s not. But it’s part of who I am to speak out. It is a drive inside me that I have, for a long time, tried to stifle. To share myself with others, publicly and privately. To be seen. And in being seen I give others permission to be seen, just as others before me have given me permission. See how that works?

Today is my last day off before another week of nannying. I work 41 hours in 4 days every week. My apartment is a mess, and today I’ll clean it, under the newly gray sky after days of sunshine. I like the gray. I want it to rain, to cleanse, to saturate. I’m grateful for all weather patterns, and for you, my dear readers, truly. I am so, so grateful for you who read my words and support my voice, and I hope that in some way my words fill you up and give you courage to be yourself, because we need your voice, too.

With love,

Stacy