“Therefore if I don’t know who I am, then I cling to my story, and fear exists within that clinging because at that moment I am the sum total of my story, and if my story evaporates, then I will cease to exist. That is what is known as extinction.” — Eddie Stern

December 17, 2015, my last day at FDA, I felt completely ready to move on. No doubts. Out the door and onward. But, when I turned in my badge, walked out, got in my car, passed the guard post, and exited the parking lot it hit me — there was no going back. A strange sort of skin-shedding feeling washed over me as I thought “I am no longer Dr. Cory Bryant, International Food Policy Manager, Food and Drug Administration” (an introduction I had been given, and had offered up, so many times in preceding years). That story — MY story — no longer existed. In that moment it evaporated.

A short time after someone asked me what I do for a living. I replied “I’m a yoga teacher, I teach yoga” and was met with a blank, somewhat dumbfounded, expression. I immediately felt the need, which I did not manage to suppress, to follow up with more story — as if I needed to explain and justify myself with something more robust. I said something like “well, I’m a scientist and recently resigned from FDA, now I’m opening my own yoga studio.” This then elicited a response along the lines of “oh wow, that’s great, good for you!”, yada yada…).

After this I swore to myself that I wouldn’t succumb to my inner pressure again — that I would overcome the need to justify my choices — that I would suppress the clinging to my story for self worth — that I would walk my own talk, take samasthithi, and be strong in where I stand. That I would be OK with the extinction of my story.

It’s been a challenging practice, made easier to some extent because so many folks I’m around in DC knew it (the story). Over time though, impermanence has done its job, and I am able to inhabit more fully this new story — a story that feels like the right one for me.

The thing is, our story is always changing and if we let go of the past and cease to project into the future then our mind — our being — can settle into the now — ATHA — the present moment. And the essence of such a moment is free, universal and peaceful. And if we manage to string some of those moments together, well, that’s bliss — unconditional, always available, equanimous, spacious joy.

The Sanskrit word SUKHA is typically said to mean happiness and can be translated as “good space”. It’s not the usual fleeting human concept of happy, but rather a lasting happiness that comes from being steady and easy in one’s own space. It’s fascinating to recognize (1) how difficult it can be to allow ourselves to occupy such space; (2) how much we cling to anything and everything that fills our space, supports our story and gives us identity; and (3) how powerful even one spacious moment can be.

Our stories are ours to edit. And the unexpected happenings along the way are ours to incorporate. Each moment is presenting itself with its own unique potential. If we can get out of our own way and be with our true Self life’s moments will carry us through.

Or something like that…. ;-)