F**k "Type A"

I took the tests in Cosmo and Working Woman - "16 Signs You Might Be Type A".  My score always rocked the charts.  Are you driven? Impatient? High Stress? Yes, yes, yes. Do you get things done?   Yes!   I wore my scarlet Type A like a badge of honor.

Writing speeches on  luncheon napkins minutes before I was to address the audience.  I never met a crisis I couldn't handle.  All that stress was 99.9% self inflicted.  There was no boss or  company requiring long hours or demanding performance, only me.  My best New Year's Resolution one year was a new mantra - "My resolution this year is to not take on any more projects".  I used that line well into December.

My family tried interventions.  My father-in-law gently broached the subject, "Sometimes, you only need what makes you happy." and my own dad saying "You don't have to be a millionaire to live like a millionaire."  Both are true.  It's not a sellout to  s l o w   d o w n.  But why does it feel like a "sell out"?

Lately, I have been practicing Bikrim Yoga.  Twenty-six poses at 104 degrees while focusing on little more than your breath.  Meditation has always been a challenge for my racing mind.  Now, I have the time to  s l o w  down and only push myself to meditate, stretch and breath for 90 minutes.  How things have changed in this encore phase of life.  And how liberating, fuck Type A!