breathing room

So, I'm not a good breather.

I don't know any other way to say it, really. When I'm stressed, I have to stop and follow my breath, all the way down to my core, to where it begins, full and lilting, at the bottom of my lungs, coming all the way to the top and expanding my ribcage, helping to uncurl my fists and drop down my shoulders. When I'm stressed and trying to sleep at night, I wake myself up in the night, pitched forward on the bed, gasping for air; I've stopped breathing. And when I'm underwater, I stop breathing. Well, that last one is probably for the best, but you know what I mean. You go underwater, you hold your breath, things are still flowing and you're calm and trustful and relaxed and oh look, a shiny quarter at the bottom of the pool.

I go underwater and panic seizes the tiny amount of air in my small lungs, I flail, twist this way and that, and come up sputtering. This even happened while I was learning to scuba -- I'd have a breathing apparatus, pumping air into to my lungs...and I'd still panic once I was under water. The scuba instructor would just shake his head at me and motion for me to come up to the surface.

"You need to relax," he'd say. "Or just quit trying to do this."

"But I can't quit," I'd tell him. "I love the ocean too much. Even though I'm terrified of it."

What kind of girl loves the things she's terrified of?

Me. I do.

Southern California is on fire. Don't know if you've heard. It's now threatening Mount Wilson, home of an amazing hiking trail and incredible observatory; it's creeping along the edges of some of my favorite hiking trails, trails that I walk and explore and visit when I need a little breathing room.

Today it feels like I'm running out of breathing room, just a bit. My weekend was busy, and I worked most of it, and while some parts were very enlightening and a good investment in my future acting and writing careers, none of it was relaxing and now it's Monday, I didn't catch my breath over the weekend and my hackles and boundaries are up a bit. My teeth are bared a little bit more than usual and my hands are closed a little bit more and my breathing is a little bit shallower, the full breaths that I usually take to deepen it and drop it down and let it go are leaving me full of ash and smoke and impatience.

I'll blog more later today about the good things that happened this weekend, including having a great time at the UCLA Writer's Faire and spending a good portion of Saturday morning with a casting director for a hit television series; just had to get this post off my chest and clear my lungs a little. You know how it is.