Grace in the Space...

"While individuals vary, the natural pace of human beings is slow. In an atmosphere of slowness, kindness and thoughtfulness flourish....Hurry (pressure) makes one slightly insane.... You cannot be violent to yourself (rush) and expect your [practice] ultimately to meet your standards. Being slow is a teacher." 

- Gail Sher
  Writing the Fire

I inherited my father's hyper-punctuality.  I spent countless hours as a child, entertaining myself in movie theatre arcades, waiting for movies to begin to which we had arrived forty-five minutes early.  If there weren't any video games in the vicinity for my brother and I to while away the time (and often there wasn't) it would mean three quarters of an hour watching corn kernels spin in the popcorn popper.

I apologize, in advance, to my own future children, as I'm sure they are destined for a similar fate...

I can't bear to be late.  Being late makes me feel like the earth is spinning in the wrong direction.  When I first moved to New York, I would give myself an hour to get anywhere.  Sometimes more.  I have, more often than I would like to recount, been the first one at a rehearsal, at a party, at an audition, at a class--for gods sake--even classes I didn't like.  I have, even as an adult--unfettered by parental time tables--found myself much too early for a movie and (sadly) too old for the arcade.  Pop, pop, pop goes the popcorn popper.

But, it's not the punctuality that I've come to find troubling...it's the hurry.  E.g., to be added to the above list: first one finished with her test, first one done eating, first one across the street, first one to the end of the book, first one to the end of the sentence, first one with her hand raised, first one to know what to say to you in this troubling situation, first one to the silverware drawer, first one in bed, first one out of bed, first one to the passenger seat, first one to finish her to do list, first one to start thinking thinking thinking upon waking waking waking, first one with the bright idea, first one with the funny, first one to the end of the inhale, first one to the end of the exhale, first one to the end of this paragraph...

(you get the idea.)

I checked out a book from the library the other day on yoga and anxiety (it's for research, okay, Mr. Librarian...it's for research), and I was reading a chapter all about the symptoms of anxiety and the traits of an anxious person, going along at my usual break-neck pace (I've always been a very fast little reader, able to take in entire chunks of text at a time), and as I sped to the end of the paragraph, I read the following:  "Did you hurry to the end of this sentence? Go back, and read it again.  Slowly."

Yikes.  You mean, this whole time I thought I was just a super special smarty-pants speed-reader, and you're telling me that I might just be...rushing? Anxiously?

(I can literally HEAR my husband smirking as he reads this.)

There are three things in my life that make me slow down:  my husband, my writing, and my yoga practice.   My husband, because just the feeling of his arms around me or hands on me or voice in the room actually changes my physiological make-up, I'm sure of it. It's happened ever since we first met...I can remember the way his voice on my voicemail, even at the very beginning, made me feel like I could just...breathe...easier.  Writing does it because, well, writing just does that to me--quiets me.  Similar to husband's arms around me as calming influence (though not nearly as sexy) is the feeling of my fingers on the keyboard.  It changes my chemical makeup.

And then there's the yoga...oh, the yoga.

My body seemed to know, when I began to practice seriously, that there was an untapped wellspring of grace somewhere in that clutzy form of mine.  And one day, it just let it out.  I remember being in a class, and moving between two poses and feeling, suddenly, that my body was no longer made of body...but of silk. Or water. Or thick smoke.  I remember feeling like I could move, not just the grosser elements--the big limbs and muscles--but everything in my body, all the way down to the ends of my hair.  I could move from my cells.  I could move from my skin.  And I felt the way that pose could slip into pose into pose into pose...and, oh my, oh my.

This, you have to understand, born from a girl used to feeling more scrappy than serpentine, more used to the sound of her body accidentally running into things than the sound of breath moving through it...the feeling of grace, I'm trying to say, was not one I was used to.

I remember thinking, "well geez, body, if this is was what you were made to do...why didn't you tell me sooner?"

And as I practiced more and I more, I realized that in order to feel all of this juicy stuff...in order to really move from my toe-tips to my hair-tips...I had to slow down. I had to allow some time.  Things don't melt all in a flash...it takes a slow steady application of heat, (if you don't want to end up with just a bubbling pot of burnt).  It's this way with food, and it's this way with muscles, and it's this way with pesky and particular thoughts.  There has to be room and time for things to transform.

But, until very recently, this slow-ness has been confined to the space of my mat...it has been my sole refuge of slowness.  Until recently.  When, for whatever reason, it has finally become apparent to me that if I want larger change in my larger life, I have to take what I am learning and make it...larger.  I have to begin to stretch out my little yoga-bliss-sweater so it covers the whole of my life. Which means, consciously bringing tools out of the classroom and into my living room/bedroom/kitchen/waking life.  Which, in this case, means slowing down.

Walking a little slower.  Talking a little slower.  Doing less all at once.  Breathing. More. Thinking. Less.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Our natural pace is slow.  When we are relaxed, when we are calm, when we are happy, things move slowly.  Our breath. Our thoughts.  Even the changes in the room around us.  Haven't you noticed--when you feel turned on or connected to your life, you suddenly have time to notice the way the breeze moves the curtains just so?  To notice the sounds of a chain cling-clanging against a far away fence somewhere? To notice the way the little hairs on your arms wiggle?  To notice the color of the sky outside the window?  Has, in those moments, has the speed of the world changed...or have you?

If you have some time today (heh heh)...try it.  Take something slow. Anything--a walk down your block, the next forkful of food you bring to your mouth, the speed at which you are reading to the...end....of...this...sentence.

Try it out.  See what happens.

Overwhelmentizationizing...

That's right, even the word overwhelmed is not overwhelming enough for this post.  Take that, dictionary.

First of all, just to be clear...I realize that I have nothing to complain about in this department.  I do not work three or more unfulfilling minimum wage jobs.  I do not have children or pets to take care of.  I do not have one of those lives where sometimes I have to be up for 18 hours in a row and then just come home and catch a few hours of sleep before I get up and do it all over again.  I do not have to do any of these things, and anyone who DOES have to do any of these things, if you're reading this, I suggest you turn off this blog right away and go take a nap, for god's sake!

Anyhoo...for a lady who doesn't really have much (comparatively) weighing on her in the responsibility department, I sure am feeling full up with to-do lists and futurizing. (wedding, wedding, wedding, yoga, yoga, yoga, blog, blog, blog).  Though even for all my busy-ness I still have at least an hour or two during the day, everyday, where I'm just sort of aimlessly wandering around my apartment, trying to decide what the "best" thing to do next might be.

(All too often it ends up being green tea and Hulu, but that's another story.)

Are there people in the world who don't have this problem?

Yes, Lia...please open your edition of "people who have changed the world" to any page and point to...anyone.  Yes, that's right, ALL of those people knew how to effectively time-manage.  (Also, Will Smith.  I'm pretty sure Will Smith is, like, busy all day long making things generally better and more expensive in the world.)

Sigh.  Will...I've let you down, once again.

But, okay, here's the deal...the reason that overwhelmment is so, well...overwhelming, is because it's the by-product of one (me) trying to do something (by doing everything, all at once) that is actually physically impossible.

I'm no scientist, but I do know the following:

It is NOT possible to be somewhere other than where you are.

It is NOT possible to exist in the past and/or the future.  Period.  Not possible, folks.

It is NOT possible to do more than one thing at a time.*

*a short dialogue on why this is true even if you think it's not:

Me: oooh, beg to differ, do you?  

Other Me: yes, indeed i do.  for instance, what if I'm listening to the radio and, you know, washing the dishes...that's doing two things at the same time. 

Me: well, actually...that's doing two things alternately, back and forth, in short intervals...but most likely, you're sort of coming in and out of listening to the radio as you come in and out of washing the dishes. most likely you're not actually doing those two things at once, in the same instance.

Other Me: oh, hmm.

Me: it's a common mistake. 

So, it makes sense that when we try to bend the laws of physics...we might get a little cranky.

And it's in these moments where a yoga practice becomes actual and dynamic and useful in one's real-life life.  Namaste, y'all.  Because, even if you come into a yoga class with your motor revved to high-gear, and your list of plans circling wildly through your head, the perfect storm of the class--which is the combined impact of the attention to the breath, the movement of the body, and the persistance of the teacher reminding you to pay attention--will (or should) ultimately sloooooooow you down.  You might be resistant at first.  You might think, no, wait...what's going to happen to me if I'm not keeping track of all this stuff?!  But eventually that list of yours will be forcibly pulled from your hand and you'll be left with just...what's actually there.

Your breath.
Your body.
The feel of the air against your face.

And that's it.  (Because that's always it.)  As I write this, I am thinking that I have all kinds of things...I think that I have a wedding to plan and a class to teach and a fiance driving home to me, but really, when I look around, what do I have?  (Deep breath.) My breath.  My body.  The feel of the keys under my fingers.  That little crink in my neck.  The sound of some birds outside.

And that's it.

Which doesn't mean that all those other things aren't real, and certainly doesn't mean that I'm preaching presence as an escape hatch to get away from all the various things that lift us up or press us down, but just simply that in order to even begin to be with those things, in order to even begin to be able to handle/accomplish/love these things in our lives.  There has to be space for them.

So, Shanti-towners...if you can just take a minute, right now...as soon as you're done reading this...if you can just take a minute to close your eyes and take one simple uninterrupted breath, two things might happen. A. You might just have become a yogi, and B. you might suddenly have more space in which to perform all of your requisite duties.

I for one am off to go wash some dishes (and listen to some NPR)...please don't tell Will Smith.

Ch-ch-cha-changes...

Okay, I have a bit of a confession to make...

My practice, as of late, has been a bit, um...oh my god, I can't even say it...my practice these days has been very...quiet.

Now, let me just say this, in my own defense...I have been teaching A LOT, I have been studying a BIT (not as much as I should), and I have been meditating A LOT...but the moving and the stretching and upside-down-ing...not so much.  I just haven't really been able to get it up (pun intended) for my physical practice the last couple weeks.

Now if you are very wise you might be thinking something like, "well, Lia...asana is only one of the eight limbs of ha-tha yo-ga" (and in this scenario you would be pronouncing "hatha" like "hot-ta", because you are fancy and you have learned your Sanskrit pronunciation properly).  But eight limbs ain't going to get me any awesomeness points on the handstand meter, okay my little blogosphere swamis! 

Part of this slowed-down-ness is due to being in the midst of wedding planning, which is at once stressful and amazingly sweet, but which requires large swaths of energy.  So most often these days when I have carved out time to practice, all I want to do is close my eyes and sit in the center of my own chest.

Which brings me to the other culprit, this...this love-affair I'm having lately with meditation.  Talking endlessly about yoga is obnoxious enough, so I'm really going to hold myself back from talking about meditation, but I swear I seemed to have cracked some kind of code--the how the hell do I do this code of meditation.  And it's nice.  And I want to do it more.  (For now.  Please, god knows, don't hold me to this). 

And lastly...and this is the thing that is maybe hardest to admit...my practice is (gulp) changing.

Right now that means it feels like it's not as "cool" as it used to be.

Right now I feel like a practitioner without a home team...not quite doing it like them, and not quite doing it like them, either.

Right now I feel like my initial ancient impulse to just move, move, move, express, express, express, achieve, achieve, achieve...has, without my say-so, been replaced.  And it's been replaced by this pesky desire to get quiet.  To feel every little microscopic nanosecondish flutter of my insides.  (though the desire currently stands solo on one side, while the ABILITY still lags pretty far a-field).  But, still.

And I have to admit, I'm a little confused by it.

I'm confused that I am so resistant to letting my practice change.  I'm confused that I still apparently have "cool kid" and "not cool kid" divisions in my head when it comes to what people are doing and why.  And I'm confused to find myself in this place, where my physical goals seem to be taking a back seat to some other things.

So I try to remember that change is important.  I try to remember, in some kind of larger way, how easy it is, even with the things that by their very nature encourage change and fluidity--how easy it is to get stuck in a certain WAY of doing things.  And to decide, just by the very fact that you have done it this way 1,000 times before, that it is the best way.  And to remember that that might not be correct.

And then I think...may I BE so lucky.  May I be so blessed to have my practice change like this, again and again, as I continue down this road.  May it bend with my life, and be quiet when there is too much noise, and be exuberant when there has been too much dullness...because this, I have to remember, is one of the great gifts of yoga.  It will take you as you are, no exceptions.  And no matter how bumpy or smooth your heart, or your mind, or the shell of your body, it will fold around you...and fill in all your empty spots.