Changing the construction

Tags

acceptance, change your mind, judgement, life choices, life lessons, meditation, yoga studio

Why doesn’t yoga always feel this peaceful?

Last year, our yoga studio moved to a new location. It’s in a shiny new building with nice bathrooms and freshly painted walls with no fingerprints on them…

…and it’s also got construction.

Lots of construction.

The space above us is being renovated, so there are drills and hammers and all kinds of loud things I can’t even identify. Sometimes I suspect they are doing shot-put with bowling balls for the hell of it. The yoga studio walls shake in savasana. It’s not ideal.

So, I sigh loudly. And I cringe. And I think This studio is my happy place where I come to finally get quiet and de-stress and why isn’t it all calm like doing yoga on a peaceful beach and DEAR GOD WHY???

The other day, one of my yoga teachers – who, not coincidentally, is one of the most enlightened people I know – commented on the construction. She said it made her crazy for a little while, but she just thought about the person who was on the other side of that drill on this Saturday morning. She sent out a little love and gratitude to them for doing their job, so that she didn’t have to work construction and she could be down here, teaching yoga.

Holy shift, Batman.

I was instantly dragged out of my own whiney issues and with such beautiful simplicity, the situation morphed into something positive. It was an opportunity to practice sending some compassion to another being that I don’t even know.

You know what’s really crazy? I don’t even hear the construction anymore. It was like flipping a switch in my mind. And when someone mentioned that the construction was going to be continuing for the next 6 months – I though, well, that’s not too bad.

Because really? In the grand scope of things, what is 6 months?

A mindful, open-hearted comment like that can cause such a shift in perspective. Instead of getting cranky about the construction and therefore ruining my own yoga practice, I can choose a different choice.

Of course, as with everything with yoga, this has been working beyond the mat, too. Instead of rolling my eyes when the lady in front of me at the grocery store wants to fight about the sale price of pretzels – I can change my mind and just be present and feel my feet on the floor. When I have to get blood drawn for my annual check up, I can change my mind and do some deep breathing instead of tensing up my entire body, and almost passing out for lack of oxygen.

Every moment is a choice and you are always allowed to change your mind. It’s shocking to see how often my initial instinct is to make something harder than it needs to be. So much of life is completely out of my control, it makes sense that I should at least choose to make my responses a little more pleasant. It is clear from experience that sending out bitchy, negative energy to a difficult situation is only going to make it worse. For everyone.

The construction is going to be there, whether I am ruining my yoga practice over it or not.

Not seems like a way better choice.

————–

You might also like:

• Hippos on the floor
  
• If you’re terrified, you’re doing it right: authenticity
  
• Why you should meditate even if you suck at it

Advertisements

Missing the rabbit: the challenges of Beginner’s Mind

Tags

Bikram yoga, gratitude, life lessons, Monkey mind, present moment

“Hey, you skipped Rabbit pose!”

I stopped just short of saying that to my yoga instructor after class.

I suddenly realized that I had the foggiest memory of wrapping my heals with the towel.

She didn’t skip Rabbit pose. I skipped Rabbit pose. My mind had completely floated out of the hot room and I had been reenacting an annoying conversation (complete with the witty comeback I should have used) at the time I was supposed to be thinking about lifting my hips to the ceiling.

My body had done the pose, but my mind hadn’t.

My mind has wandered before, with one side of a posture, maybe one set — but BOTH sets?! I was AWOL for the entirety of Rabbit? Not good.

This is why Beginner’s Mind is so important, especially with Bikram yoga. We repeat the same 26 posture and the same 2 breathing exercises. The dialogue is pretty much always the same. But every time we practice, we need to enter the yoga studio with fresh eyes, taking each individual moment as it comes.

When we forget to use Beginner’s Mind, we anticipate the next posture and shorten our savasana just to get to the next set up. When we forget to be completely present, we let our minds monkey around, just because our bodies can be on automatic pilot.

It’s a huge challenge. But it’s one of the main reasons we come to the hot room and make funny shapes.

Because that automatic pilot mode can take place outside the yoga studio, too. Days, weeks, months can pass, while we just float through, assuming we know how the days will go and not really plugging into life. We close ourselves off to the wonder and possibility of the present moment.

Beginner’s Mind allows us to find joy in the routine and make discoveries about ourselves and our capacity for gratitude. The sunset is no less beautiful the 7,000th time we see it. It’s worth appreciating every time.

You might also like:

• Letting go in the back row: when yoga habits hinder
  
• What I’m reading: Everyday Sacred
  
• Life lessons from a dog: accepting the past
  

What I’m reading: Everyday Sacred

Tags

Bikram yoga, gratitude, life lessons, mindfulness

I recently finished reading this book.

I began reading this book two days before that.

It took two whole days because Husband made me come to bed.

Everyday Sacred has been on my shelf for a while; I picked it up at a library book sale for $1 and then promptly forgot about it. It’s a beautiful and simple book. Sue Bender captured my heart as soon as she started talking about her love of throwing pottery. I share such a love.

But she made my stomach flip when she spoke of making shattered pots. These are bowls that are lovingly thrown and fired, then smashed intentionally. The pots are then glued back together in an homage to change and impermanence, each one even more unique and stunning because of its cracks and damage.

She tells a story of participating in a sweat lodge ceremony. The leader told her that you go there “to die.” She said she was completely overwhelmed and afraid at first, then, as time passed, she felt calm. Deeply calm.

“Having no place to hide, I had felt my fear and the fear cracked open…the more I was able to stay with, not move away from, uncomfortable feelings, the more I was also able to feel happy and alive.”

Sounds just like a Bikram yoga hot room to me.

I was intrigued by the icon of the begging bowl that keeps coming up in the book. The idea of begging sounds terrible to me. Begging is what you do when you are desperate; when your boyfriend leaves you sobbing in the driveway or you are incapable of taking care of yourself.

But this begging bowl is about receiving, with gratitude, whatever is placed before you.

What an important idea; receiving all of life with grace and thanks, regardless of what is placed in your bowl.

That’s how I want to live my life.

You might also like: 

• Let the pitcher be a pitcher: accepting what is
• What I’m reading: The Artist’s Way

Life lessons from a dog: feel the fear

Tags

acceptance, life lessons, mindfulness, suffering

We’ve had some challenging times around here lately.

Spring in Virginia means thunderstorms. Grace is terrified of thunderstorms.

She panics and trembles and is only partially consoled by wearing her Thundershirt (I know it looks silly but it’s based on the fact that babies and autistic folks feel better wrapped. Did you see Temple Grandin? Remember the Squeeze Machine?)

I don’t know exactly what is on her mind, but judging by the fact that she plasters her ears to the side of her head — it’s not good. She is worried. Really worried. So, I wrap her up and try to tell her it’s all going to be O.K., even though she doesn’t believe it. She thinks the world is ending.

I must admit she comes by this dark outlook honestly.

I have the tendency to get overwhelmed by the world, too. I try to stay informed about the state of the planet; famines, wars, appalling stories out of everywhere from North Carolina to North Korea….then I just wish I could stick my head back in the sand. Even the first 15 minutes of Whale Wars: Viking Shores sent me into a spiral of despair.

When I spiral, I re-run all the suffering in my own life – the friends I’ve lost far sooner than I wanted; to cancer, lupus, AIDS and for no known reason at all. I worry about the terrible things that could happen to the people I love and I wait for the other shoe to drop. How do we live in a world full of so much pain?

There is no easy answer. The best one I can find is the Buddhist’s reply.

The First Noble Truth:

Life is dukkha.

What is dukkha? It’s pain. Stress. Suffering. Anxiety. We all have it. It’s an integral part of life and it ain’t going anywhere. Ignoring doesn’t work; trust me, I’ve tried.

I think I’m still in the phase of stomping my feet and whining “Why?? It’s not supposed to be like this!” I think that’s the step Gracie is at, too, as she pouts and stares out the window, cursing the lightning.

It is only when we have the courage to face things exactly as they are without any self deception or illusion that a light will develop out of events by which the path to success may be recognized. 

-I Ching

So, we deal with ourselves gently and try to accept that First Noble Truth. Once we get a handle on that reality, we can mindfully chose how to react and then we can work to improve our own little corner of the universe. We can appreciate the moments that are dukkha-free and we express even more joyful gratitude for them.

But it’s a challenge to get to that point of acceptance. So, while we work on that, we just wrap ourselves up tight and wait for the storm to pass.

You might also like: 

• Price negotiable: bartering with the universe
• Life lessons from a dog: accepting the past

Get real: 18 reasons I am a bad yogi

Tags

acceptance, Bikram yoga, life lessons, meditation

Let’s be honest, everyone lies on their blog.

O.K., that might be an exaggeration but only a slight one. Everyone leaves things out or pretties up the truth.

I realized something disconcerting the other day. My blog makes me out to be a pretty enlightened, kick-ass yogi.

So not true.

I am trying to be an enlightened, kick-ass yogi and that is why I write about the things I do. This blog has kind of become my version of those dorky manifestation boards. But between the back-bending and the advice (hey, she asked!) I am sort of strutting around here.

So, let me clear some things up and let you in on the ugly bits.

But first, here’s a photo of me falling down.

Failed photo-shoot. Falling out of standing bow…almost to my death.

18 Reasons I am a Bad Yogi

18.  There are a lot of yoga postures in which I look like a disoriented octopus, however, you will never see photos of those. I only post pictures of the postures that look pretty and I can do kind of well. You will never see a photo of my awkward pose.

17.  The yoga tops I like best are the ones that make my cleavage look good.

16.  Sometimes I wiggle my toes a little and pretend to have a cramp so that the teacher will give me a little foot massage during savasana.

15.  I have to set up my mat and towel on the other side of the room from a certain yogi at my studio because otherwise I spend my whole practice rolling my eyes.

14.  Sometimes the only reason I go to yoga is because I want to avoid explaining to people why I didn’t go to yoga.

13.  When I do yoga at home, I get bored in about 10 minutes and can’t think of any other postures to do. Then I sit on my yoga mat and watch TV for a half an hour so it feels like I did a decent amount of yoga.

12.  If my husband is traveling, sometimes I am too lazy to shower after class and I just go to bed all sweaty.

11.  For every 20 minutes of sitting meditation I do, I have spent the previous 10 minutes having a lively internal debate about whether or not I should meditate.

10.  I’m envious of the people who come to the studio looking all cute and put together. I come to class looking homeless because I’m just going to get those clothes all sweaty, anyway.

9.  Sometimes when I do Separate Leg Head to Knee pose I look up at the rolls on my belly and I think thoughts about my body that would not count as Loving Kindness.

8.  When I go to other types of yoga studios I don’t take my Bikram yoga branded water bottle and when they ask if I’ve done yoga before I say “I dabble.” I am tired of getting shit for doing Bikram and I’m also worried they will expect me to be really good if they know I have a regular practice.

7.  I think Rabbit pose is pointless. Probably because I have made zero progress on it in two and a half years.

6.  Sometimes, Husband and I will be planning to go to yoga together and at the last-minute he has to work late. I’ll sigh really loudly and then say, “it’s O.K., no, no, I’ll stay home and we can have dinner together.” I make it seem like it’s for him but I am secretly glad and it feels like I just got a snow day.

5.  I take a month off from my Bikram practice in the summer.

4.  I get jealous when Husband gets a complement or foot walk from a teacher and I don’t.

3.  I can’t do Dancer pose and don’t think I ever will even though I really, really want to.

2. I talk about going to teacher training but I worry I am just not strong enough and that my social anxiety will kick in with a vengeance and I will have to quit.

And finally, the number 1 reason I am a bad yogi –  because I wrote this entire post in my head during class and then ran out after a very short final savasana so I could write it down on one of the little cards intended for anonymous comments.

Forgive me, Patanjali, for I have sinned.

Anyone else want to confess anything and help me feel not so alone in this?

You might also like: 

• Yoga: the good person and the bad person
• In which I explain the difference between yoga clothes and underwear

The Jehovah’s Witness of yoga

Tags

Bikram yoga, health, life lessons

A while ago, my friend –  let’s call him Roger* –  hurt his back. I am intimately familiar with back pain, as I had a spinal injury and yoga has been a miraculous gift for me.

So, all I want to do is jump up and down and scream in his face –

YOGA!
DO YOGA!
DO YOGA NOW!

But that would have been ridiculous, so I tried a subtler approach that apparently was not much more subtle. He rolled his eyes at me while he slowly backed away and found a less opinionated party guest to talk to.

But this is not about him – it’s about me and my unyielding desire to MAKE HIM DO IT.

I’m starting to feel evangelistic.

I don’t mean to proselytize. Intellectually, I understand that just because it works for me, doesn’t mean it works for everyone. I know that the best way to lead is by example. I know you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make them drink. There are any number of saying and proverbs telling me I need to shut my face and mind my own beeswax and I can’t make my friend do yoga.

But emotionally and physically, yoga has been so life-saving for me that I find I am desperate to share that with others. I know, I know…that’s what they say when they are trying to hand you a bible at the airport.

I tell myself my intentions are good. And they are – I want him to be healthy – but that doesn’t make me less annoying than those people on the side of the road who hold signs aloft, informing us sinners of the impending apocalypse. They lie in bed at night and think their intentions are good, too.

Why is it so challenging to refrain from forcing copies of Bikram’s book into the hands of reluctant republicans?

*Name may have been changed to protect the non-yogi. Or not. 

You might also like:

• Ten days of silence: losing and finding my voice
• Yoga: the good person and the bad person

Bikram yoga for panic attacks

Tags

Bikram yoga, life lessons, meditation, panic attacks

I’ve heard several people say that they don’t like Bikram yoga because it’s not meditative or spiritual. I suppose on the surface it looks like boot camp, but it is not purely physical; it is an incredibly deep meditative practice.

I get panic attacks. I have been carried out of restaurants, bars, house parties and art galleries because I am a hyperventilating, sobbing mess. For a time they were so debilitating it was difficult to leave my house.

I thought Bikram might help me manage stress but I was very nervous about trying it. It involved going to a place I had never been and staying in a room for 90 minutes with people I didn’t know. This is a terrifying prospect for someone with panics like mine. I literally had an entire therapy session dedicated to discussing if I could survive my first Bikram yoga class.

I did survive. In fact, I thrived.

It is all well and good to meditate in a candle lit room with soothing music and people using gentle voices. It does feel great and I enjoy those types yoga classes, too. But they didn’t help me with my reality. I need to learn to relax when my brain throws some serious, hardcore panic at me.

Bikram has trained me to breathe and meditate when I am trapped in a room that is really bright, a million degrees, packed with people who smell and a teacher who is loud. That’s why I can now survive life in my head.

When I panic, it is bright and loud and I’m dizzy and nauseous. I can’t run away from that situation, either, but that’s fine because this yoga has taught me that there are options beyond fight or flight.

I rarely get panic attacks anymore. I have the same stress and the same triggers. The panics rise up and threaten me; they insist that I can’t breathe and I am going to die immediately. Then, I hear my teacher:

Meet resistance with breath. – Lizzie.

Don’t meet panic with frustration or defeat or anger. Just take a moment. Then, I hear another teacher:

This is going to hurt like hell. It’s O.K. Don’t be scared.  – Kirk.

I know I can do it, I can make it through this just like I make it through class four times a week. Then, I hear another teacher:

Deep breath in. Let it out slow. – Amy

And that’s exactly what I do.

The hot room is my training ground for the real world. Those instructions – seemingly about my physical practice – are the deepest, most spiritually profound lessons I could imagine.

Maybe it looks like boot camp to you, but to me, it’s church.

You might also like:

• Lock the knee: locking it out off the mat
• Letting go in the back row: when yoga habits hinder
• Bikram: the red-headed stepchild of yoga?

Life lessons from a dog: accepting the past

Tags

gratitude, life lessons, mindfulness

My sweet rescue dog is haunted by her old life.

Literally.

She has frequent and terrible nightmares.

My other dogs had active dreams. The feet run, the jaws twitch excitedly; classic chasing-the-bunny dreams.

This is different. Grace trembles and shakes. She snarls and pulls her lips back to bare her teeth. She barks and cries out. It’s heartbreaking to watch and we wake her gently, calling her new name and bringing her back to her new life.

As someone who suffers from nightmares that send me running screaming out of my bedroom, I can relate.

We all have things in our lives that our subconscious stubbornly clings to. We can think we are fully immersed in our new reality but often, something from the Bad Old Days remains. Whether it’s as common as the frantic feeling of being lost and late to class or something deeper and more painful, our dreams love to delve back into those memories. Wound, open. Salt, everywhere.

We are all wounded, by something.

That’s why we need to do the hard work of acknowledging the past for all it’s joys and disappointments and let it go. Accepting our lessons and grieving the losses. Forgiving and moving on.

Everything that has ever happened to Grace – or to me, or to you – has gone into the wonderful concoction that makes a unique soul. When we can thank these experiences for what they brought, both good and bad, we can heal and begin to trust the moment we are in.

Because this moment is exactly as it should be, just like all the others before it.

We can all get there, with some time and patience. Grace, too.

You might also like: 

• Let the pitcher be a pitcher: accepting what is
• Life lessons from a dog: gratitude
• Just now now: my dying orchid

Life lessons from a dog: shifting light

Tags

Gracie, life choices, life lessons, meditation

 

Gracie lies in the sunny spot.

As I sit in my writing room, my muse curls up next to me. But the sun slowly drifts away from her every twenty minutes or so.

She opens her eyes when she realizes she is in darkness. She sighs. She looks around for where the sun has gone. Ah, it’s over there now, by the chair.

She’s been in a deep sleep, so getting up takes some effort. She shakes, stretches the front legs, then the back legs and moves over to the sun.

She digs, twirls and gets her spot just right. It takes effort. It takes time. Sometimes she will settle and the light will be too directly in her eyes. She needs to adjust again.

But it’s worth it. It’s worth the time and effort to move out of the darkness and into the light. She only needs to be aware that it’s time to shift. She is not annoyed that the sun doesn’t stay on her permanently, she will sacrifice some energy to make it better for herself. She doesn’t wallow in the shadows. She just shifts.

She knows the light is still there, it’s just in a slightly different place.

She knows she can find it again.

You might also like: 

• Life lessons from a dog: gratitude
• Life lessons from a dog: joy

Thoughts on 33: a birthday meltdown

Tags

life lessons, meditation, mindfulness, writing, yoga

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in our heart and try to love the questions themselves. Do not now seek the answers which can not be given you because you would not be able to live them and the point is to live everything. Live the questions now.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

I turned 33 a couple of weeks ago. It put me into something of a tailspin.

It was not a freak out of the Holy Crap, I’m Getting Old variety – I don’t do that. I see death as the only other viable option to ageing, so I never complain about it.

Nevertheless, a few days before my birthday, I was sitting on the couch blubbering about not knowing what I am doing with my life, while blowing snot bubbles at my husband.

Having a birthday in late December means all my ideas about what I should have accomplished by now, coincides with everyone else making resolutions and talking about starting fresh etc., etc. Now, I love me some reflection, but this double dose is enough to make a girl go fetal with self-analysis.

So, when the sputtering stops and I can get some perspective on my first world white girl problems, I say –  I’m going to refocus. Recommit to my writing. Get my meditation and yoga back on track. Make something beautiful with my life. Don’t take things for granted. Be present. Live authentically, without fear of judgement. Stop eating so much sugar.

There. Life crisis averted. Right?

But then my brain chimes in. My brain (who is, quite frankly, something of an asshole) says things like “why do you need all this renewal yet again? Why didn’t it stick last time? What is wrong with you? If you were an authentically present and grateful and passionate person it would all just come naturally. If you were really a writer, you would just write.”

See? I know. Asshole.

But here is the thing. Of course I need to refocus. Of course I need to nourish my soul again. One wake up call never lasts forever, you need to reboot all along the way. It’s like saying that one rain should have nourished the land completely. No one says, “Why does it need more rain? Didn’t it get it the first time?”

There will always be questions and the answers will come in their own time. But I can only drink in so much at once; I can only take in what I am ready to receive. When the feeling of being lost comes again, I need to clear a space, still myself, and trust that the rains will come again to renew me. I try to live the questions, even be kind towards them, until the rains wash away what is no longer needed and breathe new life into what remains.

You might also like: 

• How do you spend your time?
• Accurate not arrogant: admitting your strengths