Not (and) praticing

This will blow your mind.

I feel better when I do yoga, move and work out, than when I don’t. I realize that hearing this from a yogi is completely and utterly shocking.

(Sarcastic yogis have more fun.)

For the umpteenth time in my 36 years, I have again rediscovered how much better I feel when I get into my body and move. When the clock went off at 5:15am (I know, right?!), it was the first time in weeks that I didn’t roll over and say, “Not today. I need to sleep.”

The thing is…for a while, I just needed rest. I needed to not:  do, try, go, care.

I needed to:  let it go, wallow, indulge, sit, be.  So for almost two weeks I gave up regular trikonasanas and chuttarungas for wine, munchies and sleepin’ in.

Now, I don’t recommend this for everyone all the time. And it's not like I became a gluttonous hermit or something. But after thirteen years of practicing yoga, I’ve learned that I sometimes skimp on my regular physical practice. (Gasp, what?!? Yes.) I’ve also learned that I always return (Phew!). (Hint: This cycle is part of the practice).

It took many years of practice to gain the confidence I needed to let this flow happen organically. Letting go of judgments and “shoulds” has been quite a trying learning process. But I’ve come to find that though asana, meditation and yoga nidra is almost always restorative, and though “clean” eating and ginger teas are delicious, sometimes you just need beer, nachos and a rom-com (or several of each, for several days). Sometimes that's just where you are. And that’s OK.

Quick disclaimer: my perspective includes several important personal facts: 1) I’ve never struggled with alcohol or substance addictions (and trust me, by now, I would know).  2) I have a long history of disordered eating and body dysmorphia, but have been ED free for three years now. 3) I’ve practiced yoga (not just asana, but yoga) regularly for thirteen years.  4) I’m spiritually rich, emotionally sound, and wholeheartedly human. 5) I own my shit, even when it really, totally and completely sucks. 6) For me, falling apart is often necessary par for the course to get myself back together (see my last post, "A Gifted Perspective").

The last few weeks were emotionally draining. I responded by painting, drinking wine, witnessing my thoughts, meditating, laughing, sitting around a fire, practicing gentle postures and watching TV. I took walks and cried a lot. I talked to friends, recorded my dreams, skipped yoga class, ate crappy, missed the gym and drank more. I saw a movie. I pondered my life’s calling(s). I was fine with all of these things.

My practice has taught me that I still practice even when I don’t. These phases of indulgence and escape—they come—and they pass—regardless of whether we beat ourselves up or not. It’s a very human thing—as is yoga. It’s taken me far too many years to learn and accept this. During the last two weeks, I made very conscious choices about how I spent my time, even when I was on beer number four. I stayed present and honest (albeit tipsy). I just didn’t want to care. And I understand now that I deserve to not care sometimes. So I let myself have it. (It was awesome.) 

Another element to this (see disclaimer above) is that I still feel an inordinate sense of empowerment through choosing junk food over salad. Going on three years of being ED free, I'm no longer scared of a binge fest or follow-up-starvation-day after a dinner of nachos, jalapeno poppers and beer. Instead, I now enjoy it and move on. I get off on not beating myself up about food and feeling genuinely appreciative of my body's curves and softness. Odd as it may seem, an integral part of my healing has come from taking time off from the gym and eating fried foods.

Life, health and yoga do not flourish from attachments to (our own made up) absolutes. I've resigned my own absolutes around what constitutes healthy relaxation, diets and yoga practices in favor of self-reflection and self-acceptance. In short, I work to take ego out of the equation and prioritize presence. It’s not an easy practice. It takes patience, trust, trial and error, and a willingness to both fail and succeed. It's ongoing. But it helps to create a lifetime practice of being where we are. And isn't that the point? 

I spent years feeling that I couldn’t be taken seriously as a yogi without practicing asana every day. But years of trying led me to realize that I usually don’t make seven days per week—though I often make most. Even during longer stints “off,” I’ve come to know that I always come back. And that knowing allowed me to get through the last few weeks with love and kindness towards myself. Six years ago, an “off” week would have induced feelings of extreme judgment and shame. Over yoga. In what world does that make sense?

Sometimes, we need days off. Everything in moderation. During the past two weeks, I never once felt as if I’d let myself or my yoga go. I didn’t hate my body or myself. I didn’t always feel great—but I didn’t tailspin into loathing and doubt. I was tired and wanted an escape. So I rested and took one.

And as it turns out—rest led me to feeling rested (what a concept!)—and once again I’m back into my practice. On the whole, more regular physical practices make me feel better in body and spirit than days off, and I prefer this side of the coin to the other. But. I took an important reset that I also needed. As teachers, we often tell students to not force postures, and it's important to remember that "off the mat" as well. So last week, when I started feeling yucky about all those days off, I waited with open arms for that moment to arrive when my body and energy would say, “it’s time!” ... and that moment came. I listened, and shortly after got back to a stronger asana practice and hit the gym. Today it feels great. But I didn’t have to endure my own wrath to get here. It wasn't based in ego. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: negative energy cannot lead to positive change. So here I am. Positively and presently, me.

A Gifted Perspective

The last three weeks have presented a series of considerations I hadn’t planned for — some wonderful, others extremely challenging. I’ve been ebbing and flowing through intense highs and lows, and the force of the flux has been difficult to manage. My marred attitude towards my job and my desperation for change is wearing my patience thin. I’ve experienced heartfelt reunions and goodbyes with friends and family full of reminders about the limitlessness of love and gratitude present in my life. I’ve continued to settle into my new home and life here in Asheville, and have dreamt beyond imagination while working through paralyzing fears and stagnation. To what does all of this boil down? For me, it’s been a constant lesson in perspective.

Perspective. For me, the word “perspective” immediately conjures images of people giving annoying advice about “glasses half full” and “silver linings” on shit far more complex than glasses of water and shiny fabric. And though I tend to lean towards optimism as a way of life, I’m talking less here about choosing positivity over pessimism, and more about the idea that sometimes we have to accept that the good, bad and ugly are going to just coexist within us. In full fucking force.

I’m holding a lot. My head and heart are tired, and my exhaustion has manifested itself physically, so I’ve been verging on the edge of a cold for about a week. Self-doubt has managed to get caught in the same tree where my infinite possibilities are perched. And though my self-confidence has finally 180’d back to trusting my own smarts, capabilities and hella potential, my vision is muddled on how to work out the logistics to make what I want to happen, happen. I feel terribly stuck.

So I’m left with this question: can I sit with it all of this (and more) without spinning out of control and into madness?  The answer, of course, is “no.” Why “no?” Because oftentimes, in order to get through the uncomfortable, melancholic, soul wrenching crap, the only thing we can do is relinquish control. Madness is necessary par for the course.

For instance, last week, I had a “breakdown” in my driveway after a frustrating day at work. Having just come back from vacation, I went from feeling light and free to trapped and disappointed.  I felt defeated, heartbroken. How did I end up in a job that’s so un-me, doing stuff I care nothing about?! I thought I was smarter than this, better than this. What did I do? How did I find this job, this awful, easy, fine job that pays well, gives me health insurance, paid time off, a chance to have evenings and weekends totally free…?! Why can’t I see the forest for the trees?! Why does something that’s not so bad feel like the end of the world?

I had a pity party that night. Al saw me in the driveway crying, came outside, and literally picked me up out of the car. We went in and I curled up in my favorite place—her chest—and let it go. I cried and cried. Miserable, worried, disappearing.

Later that week, I said goodbye to a dear friend who is leaving Asheville for a new job up north. She’s one of the most real friends I’ve ever known, and certainly the only one of her kind I’ve found since moving here.  Within ten minutes of meeting the first time, we were family. I have a great friend. Today I miss her. I miss having someone here besides Al that knows me. That “gets it.”  

This weekend, I painted something totally unextraordinary for no particular reason. I drank too much wine and had too many beers and drowned my sorrows. I skipped yoga. I got quality time with Al. I woke up hung-over more than once, and on Saturday night had a new friend date with some people we had a perfectly fine time with. On Sunday, I visited parts of my past I'd not confronted in many years, and it brought me to my knees. I sat in the sun, cleaned the house and made soup. On Sunday night, Al and I made a fire in our perfect backyard, drank more beer and played with the dog. On Monday I went back to work, and after work that evening, I broke again.

The point for me, today, is not to make lemonade out of lemons (though I’d certainly take a margarita), it’s to figure out how to sit with it. To not fight, and to just let it all be. Yes, it's exhausting. It's doesn't feel good, and my tears are continuing to fall. But I’m laughing too. I’m still grateful for my life. I love so deeply, and I'm so deeply loved. I have a great wife, amazing friends, big aspirations and a great house in a city I love. I have money to pay my bills, and because of my job I can afford dinners out, paints and canvases, wine and other things no one needs for survival. I may not always love my work, but I’m lucky to have it. 

The only way through something is through it. Not over, not under, just through.  

I am magnificently and simply human, and I’m open to experiencing the fullness of what that means.  I deserve to be happy—and I am—but I also owe it to myself to face the darker places too. Each moment is a gift (that’s why it’s called the “present,” right?), and sometimes we receive gifts we never knew we needed. Some gifts are gratitude, some are grief. Healing comes through tending to wounds—not by ignoring their existence. So these wounds—this fullness of experience—are gifts. But if and only if I allow myself that perspective. If I take that approach, within these gifts, I'll find strength. I'll conquer the logistics. I'll find more compassion for myself and others. I'll gain wisdom.

Gifts. Sadness, madness, love and joy…I’ve got a rainbow of experience right here in my hands. An infinite amount of life in something no taller than 5'3". Miraculous isn't it?

Perspective is what you make of it. I guess I’ll always be a glass half full person. But not because of naïve optimism—because of courage and perseverance. I’m taking these gifts head on, with honesty, love and openness to what comes. I’m getting out of my own way and walking through it all with eyes wide open. And maybe, just maybe, with some lemonade (or a margarita).

Crushes

I have a crush.

For me, there are two main types of crushes. The first is the kind that you don’t tell your parents about because you doubt the relationship will evolve, so it feels pointless.  The second is the kind that you don’t tell your parents about because you realize you’re about to fall madly in love, and you need time. This is the crush that blows your mind so fully that you have no words to describe what’s happening (and quite frankly, you’re so caught up in feeling incredible, you don’t care to find them).

I’m having a type-2 crush, so I’m not ready to talk about it directly, though speaking in metaphor feels perfectly fine. I’m in that daydreaming-too-good-to-be-true phase of bliss, and I'd like to stay a while. I like it here. For instance, though to look at me, you may assume that I'm currently working: I'm at the office, sitting at my desk, typing away on the computer. In actuality? I’m with her. Sweet her. She and I, hand in hand, me smiling ear to ear, her with her perfect and natural earthly beauty. I picture the scene as if I'm there now: we're running barefoot down the beach, waves crashing, children playing. The sun is out, and the clouds are picture perfect. The seagulls are squawking and the cool but humid breeze blows my hair into my mouth. The tide, white and frothy, is rushing up to greet our toes, and when the water reaches us, we squeal with delight as we run away from the cold that swallows our size 5 ½ impressions. We make a mad dash for the warm, dry sand, leaving the icy water to retreat back to the world’s ocean. We laugh and giggle, knowing all the while that the cold water was hardly a surprise—the burst of excitement is the feeling of falling in love. The giggle: extreme warmth. The laughter: kismet and true joy.

Beautiful isn’t it? Can’t you just feel it? 

Suffice it to say, I’m in secret mode, holding her tight. I’m staying here in my moment: daydreaming, confident, all knowing. Explanations at this point seem superfluous.  Sometimes passions don’t have words. For now, my secret is not a "keeping from"—it’s simply a "sitting with." A moment of certainty. My intuitive self is perched high on her throne, with a deliberate smirk curling up around her mouth. She winks at me. She understands, and better yet, she fully approves. 

It’s the best kind of crush. No attachments, nothing to prove, everything to feel.

I’m falling. 

Once I land, once I have words, I’ll let you know. For now, I’m enjoying the sitting, the pause. The calm before the storm. The darkness before dawn. The days leading up to a birth before everything changes.

For today, I'm heading back to the beach, Crush and I hand in hand.

Wait, what...? What's that you say? 

Oh, yes, I mean it...you'll have to wait for an introduction. But don't fret dear friends. You'll meet her soon enough. I'm sure of it.

Yoga Shutdown (But have no fear, we're back open!)

Call me crazy, but the upside to a government shutdown is an unprecedented opportunity to practice some seriously intense yoga.

WHAT?!?!? Yes.

And no, I don’t mean immediately heading to your next local hot and sweaty vinyasa class, or signing up for a blissed-out  yoga workshop. I’m not suggesting a vipassana retreat or a master cleanse.

When I say there's an opportunity to practice some intense yoga, I’m talking some intense, for real, self-reflective, off the mat yoga. That’s right. Yep, that kind.   

It’s hard. So hard in fact, that I almost didn’t start writing this post. It feels next to impossible to practice contentment, self-reflectivity and nonattachment while being currently full of anger, expletives and negativity. 

... 

And then it hit me: what I'm full of. I can‘t create positive change with negative energy.

But I'm entitled to it! Government shutdown are you kidding me? I want to rant. I want to blame. I want to tell this one and that one how unfair this is to those whose jobs and livelihoods are being affected. I want vilify them and make them pay. I want them to realize. To say their wrong. To change. I want. I want. I think.

The government shut down has filled me with an intense sense of my own righteousness. My own entitlement. Attachments, judgments, moral ideologies. In short: I AM RIGHT YOU ARE WRONG.

Surely it doesn’t take a genius to realize that this line of thinking is exactly how we got into this mess.

Self-reflection is a bitch.

But how to change? I mean, they are wrong (right!?). What am I supposed to do? Find compassion for John Boehner?!?!?!? Honey, please. I'm a yogi but I ain' Buddha. I can’t. I mustn’t. I won’t.

And suddenly I get it. Government Shutdown? Yoga Shutdown.

Time to practice.

In yoga, many of us work to practice a set of moral observances outlined in the Yoga Sutras known as the yamas and niyamas. These observances ask us to practice yoga in a morally sound way as to promote things like: compassion, honesty, contentment, self-reflection and peaceful interactions with others (and more). Typically, the yamas are thought of as interactional practices whereas niyamas are considered to be individually directed/self-practices. Of course, the yamas and niyamas are interconnected and equally important.

Most days, integrating the yamas and niyamas into my thought habits and interactions is not extremely difficult for me. That’s not to say it’s not a challenge—or more specifically, a conscious practice—but it’s a practice I’ve been engaged with for many years, and in most circumstances has become somewhat second nature. For example, practicing these yamas: aparigraha (non-greed/non-attachment), ahimsa (non-violence/compassion) and satya (truth/honesty), have become far more than moral observances for me, they are a part of my way of life. Same goes for the niyamas such as santosha (contentment), swadhyaya (self-study/reflectivity) and tapas (discipline/directing energy).   

Yesterday, when the government shutdown began, I didn’t realize it would lead me to confront the intense challenges associated with this very specific and demanding yoga practice. Compassion. Non violence. Contentment. Self-study. And so on….

So the question becomes… Can I do it? Can I practice these now? 

I abashedly admit that this morning, while standing in my kitchen, I was trying to think up an appropriate Facebook status about this government shutdown ordeal. I wanted to show my discontent, my outrage—while demonstrating that my belief that we can navigate our way through this. I witnessed my thought patterns torn between reconciling the outraged activist, the compassionate yogi, the emotional sadness for those out of work today. In my very own human way, I couldn’t figure out how to get this "status update political commentary" into 120 characters while living up to everything I am and everything I want to be: smart, wise, yogic, positive, politically astute, intuitive, feminist, lovable, etc.

Phew. That’s a lot to hold. Especially when all you're trying to do is think up a Facebook post. (I've subsequently come up with, "Now I understand why Obama still smokes.")

Anyhoo... 

This whole ordeal has it inspired a really important inner dialogue for me. Who am I? What do I live for? What do I stand for and promote? And right now--how do I reconcile my yoga (i.e., “me”) with the rest of me (i.e. “the same me”). How do I demonstrate disappointment, sadness and anger —while still feeling drawn to a desire to make more room in the world for compassion? I mean.... compassion for the Tea Party? After all this? (I'm the daughter of Jewish lesbians and currently in a very queer marriage for God's sake.) How is compassion here possible?  

And then it hit me. This is my practice today.  

And what have I learned? That I have no answers today. That my practice is not—ever—over. Today, I have no reconciliation. And instead I have to sit with it. Contentment. Nonattachment. Truth. 

Accept.

My practice matters more than they do, and my practice is political. My compassion is revolutionary. It is so much larger than me… and my negativity will not foster positive change. In order to believe that the House and Senate can come to a resolution—I must come to my own. I want them to accept one another, so I must do the same. I have to be the change I want to see in the world.

In my kitchen today, I did at least remember to tell myself that compassion is not the same as understanding. I don’t have to understand them. I don’t have to agree. I don’t have to let go of what I think is right in order to not be attached to it. I don’t have to proceed with anger or rage to feel energized, determined and passionate. 

What if we all proceeded in a way that fostered our ability to witness our own feelings and experiences while making room for acceptance of those who differ? Again I say that thinking along the lines of “I am right, you are wrong,” is exactly how we got here.

What is your most difficult and intense yoga practice? Today, this is mine.

And if you don’t do yoga at all, but have a strong opinion on how the government shutdown should proceed—can you harness that energy in a way that helps us move forward? Can you use positive language? Can you watch your thoughts and opt out of the right/wrong mentality? If not—can you truly expect them to?

Be the change. Be intentional. Be the good. 

(And as a quick aside, several hours after I wrote this today, I went to a yoga class where I was prompted to set an intention or offer my practice to someone else. A huge smile crept across my face. John Boehner? This one's for you.)