Page 1 of Check the Halls
CHAPTER 1
MADDY
“Clear your mind.”
A laugh rises in my chest, begging to be released, but I clamp my lips shut to stifle it.Clear my mind?My mind is more cramped than an elevator at maximum capacity. It’s stuffed fuller than any turkey’s ever been. Overflowing with more thoughts, ideas, and anxieties than it has space for.
Marie Kondo couldn’t tidy my mind with an entire Netflix special dedicated to it.
Still, I do my best to at least appear to be thoughtless as I lie on my thin, well-worn rubber mat. Yoga has been my exercise of choice since I discovered it in University. More than helping to strengthen my body, it helps quiet my mind. Now, lying in Plow pose, my legs stretched overhead, ass in the air, and toes hovering an inch from the floor above my head, I try to focus on my breathing.
I fail.
The instructor’s soothing voice floats through the studio, her words meant to guide us toward stillness. “Let your thoughts pass like clouds in the sky,” she says.
A sky right before a thunderstorm, maybe. The more I tell myself to stop thinking, the more my brain seems to kick it into overdrive. It’s like telling a child to behave only to have them respond with, “Or what? You’re going to turn the car around? Go ahead.”
I’ve been this way all my life. My mom insists my first word was “why?” Growing up, I had more questions than my teachers had answers, which made me both an excellent student and a pain in their asses.
At thirty years old, I may not have gotten better at questioning everything, but I’ve perfected acting like I don’t. Outwardly, much like in my yoga practice, I go with the flow.
I let out a sharp exhale and recommit myself to this yoga class. I am going to be the calmest, bluest sky imaginable. There won’t be a cloud in sight.
Not ten seconds in, and already my mind threatens rain.
Am I in over my head at my new job? This position carries so much responsibility and I barely have any leadership experience.
I exhale. Let it pass.
Was it really the right decision to move to Ottawa with Derek?
Exhale. Let it pass.
You’ve barely spent time together in the past three weeks. And admit it—you miss home.
Exhale. Let it?—
Oh, screw it.
With a sigh, I surrender and let the storm take me.
“Your home is Derek,” his mother had chided me when I confessed to missing Nova Scotia. “As long as you have him, your location is irrelevant.”
Comforting as always, Kathleen.
Yes, I have Derek. I mean, as much as I’ve ever had Derek. We haven’t seen one another much since I moved in. But that’s always been our dynamic. We both work long hours and see one another when our schedules allow. Still, lately, he’s felt more like an out-of-town roommate than my boyfriend whom I live with.
Fiancé, I mentally correct myself. Derek is your fiancé and has been for nearly a year. Why is it so hard to train my brain to call him that?
I drum my fingers on the yoga mat to release some of my frustrated energy, ever-aware of the large diamond weighing down my left hand. I used to take it off before I went to classes, but once I’d forgotten to put it back on before accompanying Derek to a work event. When a senior partner at his firm asked to see my ring and I wasn’t wearing it, Derek was embarrassed.
Since then, it’s never left my finger.
At the instructor’s request, the class gently lowers ourselves out of Plow pose. I exhale, lowering my back and then legs slowly until my heels touch the floor just beyond my mat. The floor is smooth under my feet. Too smooth, unlike the scuffed wooden boards at Trina’s I always found oddly comforting. Even the walls here, painted a calming sage green, feel foreign compared to the cheerful sunflower yellow of Trina’s. I miss the way the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows back home, casting warm stripes across the mismatched yoga mats. Here, pot lights are spaced evenly across the tall ceiling. The space is chic and modern, but feels cool and clinical.
I place the soles of my feet shoulder-width apart and lift into bridge pose on my next exhale. Physically, I’mhere. Flexing and tightening all the parts I’m supposed to be. Mentally? I’ve left the building.
“Focus on cleansing your mind of thoughts and concerns,” my teacher instructs and even though there are twenty other bodies in the room, I’m certain she’s talking only to me.
