This is the 13th new word document I have started today to write this piece. For some reason it is just not happening. I don’t feel particularly clear at all. I’m not sure if it’s the incoming eclipse, maybe the humidity in New York diluting my brain or the fact that mercury has just gone retrograde, but I have literally got nothing. And time is ticking on. There are other things I want to do – organise the meditation class happening at 6.30 tonight. Clean up the yoga studio. Do some mindless internet searching – really important stuff. And yet these words will not come out and let me be free. So right now I am stuck here. With a blank page and no idea.

I hate when things are vague. I hate feeling wishy washy. I hate not having a plan, structure or a clear direction. Without it I feel aimless, uncomfortable and awkward. I hate not being able to understand or make sense of things. I especially hate it when I want to push forward with something (anything!) and it feels like some unseen force is holding me back.

Sometimes life is easy to accept and sometimes it feels like a bitter pill to swallow. You may have the best intentions to create and manifest and conjure and sometimes none of it is going to work. You may feel like your engines are revving and you’re ready to soar but for whatever reason, you’re metaphorically driving through a bloody school zone and you can only go at about 20. When you feel like that, what are you meant to do? I went for a run this morning. I’ve drunk a copious amount of coffee to fire up the synapses (that’s what coffee does, right?). And all I want right now is a clear thing to write about with a neat structure and wham bam thank you ma’am, to get on with the rest of my day.

It’s hard when life is not clear, easy to navigate or responsive to your particular whims. More than hard, it’s frustrating. Right now where I am sitting here staring at my computer, I am frustrated. I am frustrated that things that I want take time to get. I am frustrated that seemingly everything slows down in New York in summer. I am frustrated that despite practicing yoga and even bloody teaching it, I still can’t accept where I am and the nature, rhythms and cycles of life. I am frustrated that I can’t get more profound words out than these ones right now.

I don’t know what to do about the frustration. I have gone on and on about it to people who will listen. I have prayed to God and to my grandparents for help over and over again. I have felt and lost and felt and lost hope more times than I can count. I have rethought and reviewed my beliefs about our power and ability to create and manifest and choose the lives we want. I have embarrassingly thrown tantrums and hurled things and yelled and stamped my feet. A few times I have turned to a glass of wine just to take the edge off.

Frustration feels like such a juvenile emotion. It’s petulant. I keep trying to tell myself to grow up. Get over it. Be an adult. Being frustrated seems to show a lack of control and tolerance. It’s just not cool to lose your cool. It’s an uncomfortable thing to acknowledge because it feels negative or challenges that part of us who always wants to be positive and able to see the bright side.

But denying it or pretending it’s not there probably isn’t the answer. Telling yourself over and over you are grateful for everything you have while secretly seething under the surface doesn’t really seem to work. I don’t know what to do about it other than acknowledge it, at least for yourself. Allow yourself to be frustrated and try not to judge or criticise it. Honour yourself for doing everything you can do and remind yourself that there is a lot that is out of your control and power. And sometimes this will help and sometimes you might just have to punch a wall. And that’s ok.