A year ago, the international development sector collapsed. There were casualties, lives lost, and many more quietly upended. On the scale of human tragedy, my damage was minor. Still, the external structures that nurtured my identity disappeared in a matter of weeks and that generated some fallout. I lost my career, my vocation, my social network, my professional home. A year on, and I’m still reflecting on the connective tissue that tied all my work experience together into a neat narrative. All the disparate job titles and achievements that have been rendered meaningless, requiring translation for different sectors that don’t appreciate them. That connective tissue is my identity, and it took a beating.

At first, in a pique of hubris or delusion, I thought the damage was superficial. I was ready to pivot into new areas, optimistic even. Reality kicked in pretty fast and hasn’t stopped kicking since. And somewhere in the middle of this angst, it started to feel like I had lost too much. I had lost myself. I started planning escape routes where I could transform rather than recover. Phoenix-from-the-ashes stuff. Packing-up, child in tow, and starting over under an alias. Fantasies of tropical countries, a simpler life, living off the land, making candles for a living (never once have I ever made a candle). 

“And now Yoga” is how Patanjali starts the yoga sutras. When you finally realize that there is no external source of fulfillment, the practice begins. So perhaps it was inevitable that after 25 years of practicing yoga, I embarked on a 200-hr yoga teacher training. Twenty-five years ago, I came to yoga for physical alignment to support my crooked spine. Today, I’m finding alignment elsewhere, within my being, within that connective tissue. I’m learning how to live while being rewired.

Before the blast, I thought I had myself figured out. Now I understand that there’s no end state of completion. Like damaged connective tissue, I first had to move through the inflammation before anything could begin to remodel. And remodeling rarely looks like regeneration, it comes with scar tissue. That’s pretty much who I am on the other side of this year. I got hurt, I healed, and I’m not the same person anymore. For the first time, I’m okay with that.