Sweet Spot

Handstands make me happy.

Sounds odd, but it is true!

This month, I learned something new in yoga. We are incorporating Handstands at the start of our Vinyasas, the transition sequence of which we do many, moving from a low push up to a high push up and back to a downward facing dog.

For me, it is great fun, and I cannot believe how elated I get over it.

Really, I never would have thought that at 6 a.m. I would be happiest upside down, but this is so, and the feeling lasts all day.

Incorporating Handstands changes up the same old, and now the Vinyasas offer up an opportunity and a challenge as opposed to their normal reprieve from the practice.

In general, I am getting better and better at facing change. Just the other morning, someone I know well was telling me how much he likes structure in his life. I was surprised to hear this as he always seems so spontaneous to me, always making me feel like the one who needs a plan.

I was even more surprised to hear myself tell him that these days I find freedom in just being, in not always knowing my next step.

I used to be a big planner. Now, not so much. I find this helps me move more easily through my life’s flow. Now, I have come to appreciate the benefits of not always knowing, or having to know, what comes next. 

In case I miss my balance, I keep my mat close to the mirrored wall. And, after one or two regular Vinyasas, I start to incorporate the Handstand. 

Going for the Handstand is always touch and go. My objective is to invert without using the wall, to find the sweet spot and just hang.

Sometimes it works, and sometimes it does not. And it is kind of fun not knowing what will happen.

Once upon a time, I was all about lining things up. My work life, my home life, my personal life. And for a long time, for the most part, life did line up according to my plan. But, after a point, there were so many things out of my control that impacted all of my lives that I had no choice but to let them go.

In hindsight, this is very freeing. It has taught me to be okay with not knowing every outcome in the face of change.

When trying for the Handstand, the best feeling comes when not much effort is applied, when I just kick up and let one foot meet the other in mid-air. I never know if I will find the balance until I do and, when I do, it is always a sweet surprise. 

Our instructor tells us to hold the Handstand if we find the balance and to come down in our own time, even if the class has moved forward through its Vinyasas. I find that, on the few occasions when I nail it, I can linger in that sweet spot for some length of time if I do not get too distracted.

Recently, I was doing just that, but my mind began to wander. I started to wonder if I should come down. Then, I heard the instructor’s encouraging words.

Keep on going, Anne.

And with that, I fell out!

What my time upside down has taught me is to recognize and be grateful for when I can find the sweet spot and just hang, and that it is often easier to do so without distraction and without the worries about what ifs and whatnots.

This is what I hear when our instructor tells us to keep on going, to hang onto this time as long as we can.

The other day, I bought my daughter a card. The words that filled the front read, Yesterday is history, Tomorrow is mystery, Today is a gift.

I think today is the sweet spot.

Carl Jung

Yoga can either improve your mood, or “let loose a flood of sufferings of which no sane person ever dreamed.”

This, according to The Washington Post, is what psychiatrist Carl Jung thought about yoga.

I look at my yoga as a workout. It keeps me in shape. In fact, I only started yoga because a studio opened nearby, and I lost my last excuse to not work out.

Yoga worked fast on my body. I got very tone, very quickly. In a few short months, I saw muscles in my arms, legs and torso for the first time. I even saw a picture of myself in a Handstand and realized I had muscles in my back. I went for a medical visit only to have the doctor exclaim about my lack of body fat.

All thanks to yoga.

Plus, I was on a yoga high for so long. Every day was a good day, and I saw the positive side of everything. Indeed, Carl Jung was right. Yoga improved my mood.

When the instructor said that hip openers, like Pigeon pose, released emotions, I sort of doubted that. To me, Pigeon pose was just a position where we lay prone on our mats with one leg bent and tucked up underneath us. Not too comfortable but a good stretch after a long workout.

I also sort of doubted when the instructor told me that my quads hold anger. What did I have to be angry about? Life was good. I felt good. Yoga was good.

So, I would say that, for a good while, I was in agreement with Jung’s first thought: That yoga improves your mood.

Yoga opened up something in me. Little by little, over a long stretch, the classes sort of melted me, and I felt like I was doing some long overdue healing.

I felt strong and spirited for the first time in a long time.

But then something strange happened. All sorts of things came up for me. And I doubted myself greatly because the difficult feelings that started bubbling up did not seem to mesh with my newfound self and my newfound outlook.

The instructor also told me that Backbends were heart openers. I sort of doubted that, too. I was just proud to finally accomplish the pose. I was told Dancer, a standing Backbend, was a heart opener, as well.

Boy, I hated those heart openers, and Dancer was the worst!

The more I excelled at the poses, the more so many emotions emerged. And this took me off guard.

Suddenly, it seemed that what I had put behind me was right in front of me. Old wounds and the like were new again. So much of the the changing I thought I had done over so many years was brought into question again – by me!

I was surprised to find myself in great shape on the outside but not so much on the inside. And, apparently, the inside does not whip into shape as quickly as the outside.

So, I did the only thing I knew to do, which was to persevere through the poses and even through what they seemed to bring forth.

And on some days, it seemed like Carl Jung must have met me when he said that yoga can let loose a flood of sufferings of which no sane person ever dreamed.

On those days, I had wanted to quit.

Instead, I stayed in it and am glad for it.

And, finally, my insides have seemingly whipped into better shape, aligning more with my outsides.

As Carl Jung suggested, the impact of the practice is pretty profound. For me, I have been lucky enough to find that it serves as teacher and healer in one.

My Feet

I never really gave my feet a passing thought. 

I just took them for granted, even with my father as a practicing podiatrist for nearly 40 years. 

But, yoga has changed that. Now I know my feet are a precious commodity. 

It is not that I have ever really ignored my feet. I keep them pedicured as a matter of course. And I decorate them with two toe rings, both representing something important to me.   

When my adult daughter was little, she went to a private school for a couple years and could not choose her wardrobe, nor could she wear jewelry. On her last day, we bought a toe ring each, representing a sort of freedom of expression that she had not been able to enjoy. We never took them off and, 10 years later, she went to college and sent me a new toe ring in the mail, updating our freedom of expression and sending the message that she still knew to seek it.

A few years following, my son spent a college semester abroad in Australia. Far from home and knowing no one, he settled in fast, making another home away from home. During a visit with him, we stopped at an outdoor flea market where a jeweler fit me with a second toe ring. To me, it represented courage and an openness to new possibilities, both of which my son demonstrated by taking such a journey.

More recently, though, I realized my feet were not so much pretty as they were precious when I found myself standing on them for 12 hours straight for three days in a row, working in the wrong shoes. Each evening, my feet cried with new blisters, and it actually hurt to walk.

All I could think was that I would be out of commission for yoga.

On the first day of working like this, I wore beautiful new shoes. They had a platform and did not seem to have too much of an incline, and I thought I would be fine. It was not until about the sixth hour in them that I realized my new shoes had a time limit.

Another six hours, and I hobbled into the house after driving home barefoot. The hour was late, but I still tried to pamper my feet before sleep. All I could think was that I had two more days of working like this before returning to yoga, and I could not imagine doing so.

That night, my feet got the full spa treatment at home. I bathed them. I put cream on them. I rested them. 

The next day, I lowered my fashion standards and changed up my shoes. I put on what I considered not my best look, a more conservative pair of shoes with a lower heel. Turns out, these shoes had a longer shelf life but still did not protect my feet from their fate. I went home that night with new blisters.

Again, they got the full spa treatment.

Finally, on the last of these three days, I just slipped on my comfy, water-stained TOMS, a pair of shoes that have seen better days and are usually only reserved for trips to the yoga studio. But, on this day, they went out in full form.

And that night, my feet were sore but not too sad. And the next day, I was pleased to realize they felt fine enough for morning yoga. 

The first half of the practice is a flow, all of which involve standing poses. We take many, many steps through some lunges, Warrior I and Warrior II, Standing Split and Dancer, Chair Pose and Extended Side Angle, Reverse Side Angle and more. The rest of the practice takes place while seated, on our backs and on our stomachs.

I am sure there are other parts of me that I take for granted and probably should not. And, even though yoga has taught me to appreciate my well-being on all levels, I had never really thought about how dependent I am on being physically able.

That morning before yoga, I awoke and swung my feet over the side of the bed. The bed is tall, and I am not, and my feet do not reach the ground. My painted toes with their rings hung overboard briefly before I touched down with no pain.

That morning, I felt grateful for not only all the steps yoga has taught me, but also for the simple fact that I could take them.

Adaptation

At first, I fit yoga into my life.  Now, I fit my life into yoga.

For a while, my practice shifted from the early mornings to the evenings. It had been quite strange and a big adjustment, as I am a morning person and not so much an evening one.

After a full day’s work, it would sometimes be difficult to drag myself to the studio. And, in the mornings, I would have to pack up oodles of odds and ends to prepare for the day: My yoga mat which I aired out each night; my yoga bag with my gear; the bobby pins and tie-back for my hair that I left each night next to the shower, and sneakers and a tee-shirt to don after practice as each night I would change from my work clothes upon arrival at the studio.

Before leaving the house each morning, I would hoist my mat bag over my shoulder, overlap it with my yoga bag of clothes, followed by my briefcase and then, of course, my purse.

I am a creature of habit as my son likes to point out.  I find a restaurant I love, and it is the only place I want to go.  I am at a job where lots of people come and go, but I tease everyone that I will be the last one standing.  I am the only one of my siblings that stayed local and, in fact, I raised my children right down the street from where I grew up. 

Needless to say, I fussed through my change of schedule and the fact that I had to transport all of my gear each day. The studio was different. There was no music. There was a different smell. The parking was not as easy. But then, after a time, I got more used to sleeping a little later. And, after work, I found it a welcome relief to change out of my heels and into my bare feet and sit in the heat of the studio after sitting at my desk all day. 

After a while, I grew to like the windows that surrounded the practice room, and the incense they burned did not smell so bad after all.

I guess for someone who resists adapting to new things, I did a pretty good job.  Just becoming a yogi was a big change in itself and, if I think about it, that transformation should prove to me that I can adapt myself to other changes, too.  It just takes me a little while to settle into something new as I have a tendency to look backward more than forward.

Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards. These are not the words of my yoga instructor; instead, they are the famous words of the Danish philosopher and theologian, Soren Kierkegaard. 

So, even though for a while my yoga was different, it did not stop me from moving my practice forward.  And, as yoga often does, it was teaching me another lesson of doing the same in my life.

I would think about this when we moved through a pose called Extended Side Angle. It is a pose that moves the body forward but has the eyes looking back. 

Extended Side Angle starts in Warrior II, in a lunge with hips open to the side and arms extending out parallel to the mat. Slowly, the torso tilts forward, and the front elbow lands on the front thigh. The back arm rises to the heavens and the heart tilts open towards the sky.  Then, further instructions are given:

Reach forward for something new. Reach for the beauty and for the freedom of something you want.  

With this instruction, I would reach my top arm over my ear and extend it to the front of the room, taking my torso with it while my heart twisted ever more open. 

I find this pose empowering and freeing. The chin tucks, and the eyes find their stare point toward the back of the room. In this pose, I learn that reaching forward literally comes hand in hand with looking back and opening the heart. 

Maybe if Kierkegaard were around today, he would look back to find he carried the foresight of a yogi.

Movement

From one day to the next, I look forward to yoga.

It has been a year and a half since I first stepped into the studio, and I never tire of it. I like preparing to go. I like being there. I like the workout. And, in turn, I like whatever it is I am doing afterwards. 

The after effects of each class stay with me until the next class, and so I go as often as I can. It is a good place, and it puts me in a good space. 

I cannot exactly pinpoint what it is about yoga that clicks with me, but something about it definitely does. And, it is not something new in me to which it connects but rather to something seemingly age old.

In yesterday morning’s class, we were in a flow, moving amongst many different poses. We flowed from Warrior II to High Lunge to Warrior I. We swept our arms down and back and raised them up again. We leaned back and spread our arms open and then swept them down again.

The music played, my body flowed and my mind did, too, back to when I was six or seven or eight years old in ballet class.

We moved into Standing Split and then brought our feet together for a forward fold. We lifted halfway and folded again and then flowed into Warrior II once more. We straightened our front leg and flowed into Triangle pose.

My body reached forward and my mind reached back, and I so vividly remembered myself in my black leotard and pink tights doing The Fun Step. This happened at the end of ballet class when the teacher would map out a pattern of steps across the room and change up the music. We would skip and hop, one at a time, traveling from one corner to the next on a diagonal. I loved it.

I remember always looking down to see my feet but not being able to find them because my little girl’s stomach blocked the view of my toes!

We flowed back to Warrior II and then sailed right into Half Moon. I bent my back leg and grabbed my ankle for a sideways backbend.

As a little girl, I never wanted to go to ballet. It was scheduled on Saturday mornings when I was allowed to watch TV, and I did not want to do anything but watch H.R. Puff and Stuff. But, I was always happy at the end of class when the good music played, and we flowed freely with The Fun Step. After class, I would hang back to watch the older girls dancing jazz, wishing to be one of them, dancing more freely and always to better music.

Ultimately, my mother caved, and I left the ballet scene only to wish in my teenage years that I had not. I filled in the gap with other dance classes and dance squads throughout my middle and high school years. In college, I filled in my physical education requirement with a dance class, too.

We moved through our Vinyasa and repeated the flow on the other side, moving from one big motion to the next.

There has always been something about movement and music that works for me, and somehow, my instructor gets it. I have taken other yoga classes, but I think there is something he understands about the body, music and movement that I do not get in any other class.

He plays the good music and tells us, I like moving between big motions, and he instructs us through the flows that make up the first part of the class. I understand this as I follow his instructions and sail freely between the big poses.

It is like doing The Fun Step all over again, only this time I can see my toes.

No Regrets

Trust that all that was needed to be done, was done. Everything is okay.

These are the closing words of an instructor whose class I have taken several times. At the end of each practice, we roll onto our right sides into a fetal position and rest there for a minute, eyes closed.  And each time, she says these words.

The comforting words wash over almost 30 of us who are each lying separately on our mats but together in the studio.

How is it that, at any age, it can be so reassuring to curl up in a fetal position and hear the words most of us heard as babies?

Everything is okay. Simple words that we all want to be certain are true.

In my yoga practice, when I am moving well, the poses come easily, and the positions meld one into the other through seamless transitions. And everything is okay.

However, there can be times when my back acts up, making the Vinyasas, or transitions, difficult. In a Vinyasa, we move from high plank, to low push up, to Upward Facing Dog and back to Downward Facing Dog.

Once, I even had to gather up the courage to roll up my mat mid-practice and side step my way over about 10 people just to leave the room to give my back a break. 

And, there can be times when my balance is just completely off, making it difficult to stand in Tree Pose where we are on one foot with the other one tucked to the opposite thigh, or finding me wobbling my way through Half Moon where we stand on one leg, tilt forward, open our bodies to the side and spread our arms like a standing starfish.

During those difficult practices, it does not seem like everything is okay; but, if I am to believe the instructor, I need to trust that all that is needed to be done, was done, whether I wobble or fall out of a pose.

In other words, I am not supposed to have regrets in my practice. However it goes is fine enough.

Like everything in yoga, I can lift this lesson off the mat. If a situation finds me feeling a little off balance, or the day starts off a little wobbly, maybe that is okay. Maybe I do not have to always be moving well and transitioning seamlessly for things to be okay.

I basically raised my children with this philosophy, to exercise their will to impact their own lives but to also allow for the unknown, for things out of their control. I taught them that this is when faith kicks in, and if something is to come to fruition, then it will or will not.  As long as they do what they can, then whatever the result is actually enough. It is okay.

To trust for everything to be okay, though, takes more than faith. It takes compassion for oneself, which for me can sometimes be a challenge. I can look back in some instances and decide that if only I had done things differently, then a different outcome would magically have appeared. In these imagined scenarios, of course, the magical outcome is always the one I desire.

The practice of yoga encourages me to take the instructor’s words to heart and, with compassion, trust in myself that I have done all that needs to be done.

And that all is really okay.

Pruning

The other night, I heard a story about a man’s life. He told it in 10 minutes flat through a metaphor about his favorite tree. He was a generous and engaging speaker, conversational in tone and easy to hear. He used his Japanese Maple as a metaphor, describing its canopy of leaves in the spring and summer, and its inner core of twisting branches revealed when bare in the winter.

He has had to learn how to tend the tree so that it lives year round. This involves cutting back the branches and, while the pruning oftentimes leaves scars, he explained that this is what facilitates growth in all sorts of new directions.

Yoga has sort of pruned me.

I had heard about this, that yoga peels back the layers, but I never really believed it. I did not even know I had any layers that needed peeling! And, really, I began this practice for the exercise only. Little did I know that it would provide more than a glimpse of my inner core, and that I would get a full on view of some of the scars found there.

Somehow, each pose opens the door a little wider, helping me inside myself in a way I was not before.

I think it was the Backbends that did me in, in this fashion. They are supposed to be heart openers, and we do several variations of them: Wheel Pose where our bodies are in an all out Backbend with hands and feet planted on the floor; Camel Pose where we are on our knees, leaning back to grab our ankles; Locust Pose where we are prone and lift everything but our hips off the ground; Bridge Pose with our knees up and our shoulders planted, hips lifted, and, finally, Bow Pose where we rock on our stomachs while grabbing our feet from behind.

The heart shines through in each of these poses. It is physical but also apparently emotional and, although I am aware of the physicality while working through the poses, I am often surprised by any of the subsequent emotional effects.

The speaker displayed pictures of his Japanese Maple, one from the spring with its canopy, and one from the winter without. Of course, the springtime photo was lovely with its lush leaves, but there was even more beauty in the bareness of the winter one with its dark and twisting branches, still straining towards the sun. Beautiful, inside and out.

I have heard those words, that I am beautiful, inside and out. But, when the pruning begins, and I am privy to the bareness inside, it can be a challenge to believe.

At one point, the speaker said, a winter storm dumped a clump of snow on the leaves before he had a chance to brush them away for the season, and the tree broke.

He just fixed it up with what was handy. Duct tape. Making do with what he had at the time.

Hip openers are another group of yoga poses that pry open the door, as well. Pigeon Pose where we place one leg with the knee bent at the top of the mat while laying prone overtop, and Double Pigeon where we sit up, keeping the one leg bent at the knee and placing the other over it while folding over both.  We also open up in Down Dog. In our inverted “V’s” with feet and hands on the floor and bottoms in the air, we stack the hips while lifting one leg bending it back for a big side opener.

The practice of yoga asks that we set an intention; however, mine was only ever to get fit, not to peel and reveal. In the end, I guess I am just hoping to grow from the inside out, even if it finds me twisting in a new direction. 

Maybe, like the Maple Tree, I will strain towards the sun.

Satisfaction

Scrambled eggs, toast and butter and a cup of coffee. For me, this is a meal of satisfaction. 

Simple tastes, I know, but this is truly my most satisfying meal and, for me, it can serve as breakfast, lunch or dinner. The other night, this was the meal on my mind as I landed in my first Downward Facing Dog at my six o’clock yoga class. In my inverted “V”, I was looking at the back of my mat, staring at my toes and realizing I had not eaten enough that day for the 90 minute practice.

Far from being in a state of satisfaction, I was in what I call a state of “shaky hungry”, and I get in trouble with those who know me for being so.

Yoga has helped me to be a more mindful eater, making sure I indulge in proteins and complex carbs, vegetables and the like. I even stopped eating meat. Generally, I try to eat well, which takes some planning, especially a few hours before a class, and I try to drink lots of water in the day.

So, here I was at the beginning of class, with the instructor urging us to let the day go, to clear our minds, to let everything dissolve on our mats. She was preparing to take us through a practice that would lead to satisfaction. All the while, though, I was setting my imaginary table with an extensive mental menu.

We flowed through our first Vinyasa, moving from our inverted “V” into a plank, down to a low push up and through to an Upward Facing Dog before landing back in our Downward Facing Dog. We were instructed to breathe so that, together with the breath and the flow, the mind clears. 

But, my mind was full because my stomach was not!

I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when her house is flying through the tornado, and she looks out the window to see various images of her life go by. But, instead of laying on a bed in a flying house, I was on my mat in a baking hot studio. And, instead of seeing Auntie Em go by, I saw a cheeseburger which is not even part of my diet! Instead of the nasty neighbor pedaling past on her bike, I saw a piece of chocolate cake, the kind with the fudge icing from The Palm. There went my sashimi platter that I usually pick up after yoga, not to mention the hot and satisfying eggplant empanada to which I also treat myself right next to the studio after class.

Next thing I knew, I was thinking about the times when I was little, and the evenings my sister and brother and I got to watch the Wizard of Oz. An all time favorite of mine, it aired only one night a year. It would be a school night, a night we were not allowed to watch television. But, my folks would make an exception, and we would rush home from an afternoon of Hebrew school, plant ourselves in front of the TV and get to have dinner in the TV room, topped off by popcorn. Big excitement!

Needless to say, I was not having a mindful practice. How The Wizard of Oz became part of it, I am not sure. My poor preparation for practice included my scrambled egg breakfast, a light lunch of the same, and a cookie and coffee, all before 1 p.m. I wondered if I would leave the class early to go grocery shopping. At home, the cupboard was as bare as the contents of my belly. 

Recently, the Equinox website featured an article titled, Body and Brains, which cited studies identifying the importance of tapping into the mind in order to work one’s body to the best potential during exercise. It explained, “…  science shows that the more engaged you are mentally during exercise, the greater the body, brain and all-over health payoffs.” 

The article explains how to maximize a workout by mentally engaging in the following four ways:  1) encouraging yourself with internal dialogue; 2) paying attention to verbal cues from the instructor; 3) trying your hardest so that you cannot really think of anything else, and 4) mixing up your exercise routine so it takes concentration to follow.

Needless to say, shrimp and broccoli and sushi rolls did not make the list of what to think about to maximize one’s workout. 

Somehow, someway, I made it through the practice, albeit a bit more wobbly than usual. I left the practice without my usual feeling of satisfaction; instead, I just felt relief for having made it through.

I went straight to the nearby Japanese restaurant where I am a regular after yoga. The sushi chef made what he calls the Pretty Girl Special, a beautiful platter of salmon sashimi with vegetables.    

This, I followed with a trip to the grocery store, eating Ben and Jerry’s out of the pint on the way home. 

Not very lady like.  Not very yogic.  But, very satisfying all the same.

A Child

Am I supposed to heed a message when I hear the same thing more than once from two unrelated sources? I am thinking so, even if it is a message I do not want to hear.

The message today: In many respects, I am like a child.

At almost 50 years old, how can this be?

When I first started yoga, the poses really clicked with childhood memories of tumbling on my front lawn with neighborhood kids, of gym class in elementary school, of good times when I was little with no cares and no fears. I was all over the trampoline; I could do walkovers and back bends. I could cartwheel and somersault all over the front yard.   

And now, I am grown. A responsible adult as my college-aged nephew teases me, laughing at what he considers ironic. To him, I am an overgrown kid! He does not think like I did when I was little, that once you are an adult, you are all grown up. That was an endpoint in my young mind.

As an adult, I would not have guessed that I would be doing handstands and yoga whatnot at my age, much less looking forward to it and doing it all week long, having  never really exercised before. In that way, I do feel like a child, and that is a good feeling.

So, when someone I look to for wise advice told me that he sees me almost like a child, I was a little surprised. I have raised my children on my own, handled my own finances, bought a house, a car, found a job and have generally made lots and lots of “grown up” decisions over the years. He was, however, referring to another type of growing up. He was talking about growing into my whole self, not looking to others for validation and growing into what he calls my own power as a woman. 

It gave me pause because I never see myself as challenged in this way, and it made me think of the profound quote from an essay by Marianne Williamson that I had previously made certain to impress upon my children:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

I am not supposed to be afraid of myself!

I had my annual physical later that same day only to have the doctor tell me that my lab results were so clean and healthy, they looked like those of a child’s. You don’t drink, you don’t smoke, and you don’t have any fun!  he joked.

A joke to him, but real to me. I have lived a quiet life for some time now. Most likely, I have not realized my potential power. Unfaced fears can act as a fortress. And, apparently, I have launched my children but not myself.

Within a few days, I was back in the yoga studio. We were in Utkatasana, or Chair Pose. Standing with legs and feet squeezed tightly together, I dipped my hips low with knees bent, heart lifted and arms sparked upwards alongside my ears. It is a pose that we do several times in every practice. It is nothing new.

This is a familiar pose, the instructor said. But, today, I want it to be brand new to you. I want you to experience it like a child.

I sat in my imaginary chair like a child. It is a difficult pose, but this grown up yogi found comfort in her seat, even so.