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Dear Brilliant Breather, Most Sunday nights lately at sunset, I venture to Pitney Farms to volunteer as part of the Community Composting Program, and each time I leave feeling lighter. There’s a grounding element to bringing air to a one-week-old banana peel by pushing an electric auger into the woodchips to aid the decomposition of fruits and veggies. Each time I unclip the plastic lid and look down at the rinds, shells, husks, and coffee grounds mixed with wood chips, I am reminded of impermanence. Not only of the decomposing nourishment but also of the stories and narratives that I tell myself. I love to practice a conscious breath before loading in the materials people dropped off during the day to cement this visual of change into my system (but not too deep, given compost's cologne). Staring down at the discarded food, as it surrenders to the system, a lesson lingers on my inhale: A corn husk doesn’t break down as quickly as a cherry tomato. The melon rind of self-distrust, the avocado pit of anxiety, and the corn husk of overwhelm can indeed shrink, but each on its own timeline. Tending the community compost reminds me to put down urgency when tending to my nervous system. To stop forcing patterns to change or sweeping anxiety under the rug. To say hello and let them ride the breaths. This week, as I augered the compost in Bin #1, I set the intention to tend to my avocado pits of anxiety with less judgment and maybe even a smile. How might you lean into trusting your body's system in your breathing practice this week? Let's start by softening our brows, together. Happy slow breathing, Sarah
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