Standing Tall

Standing on your hands in class does not make you a better yogi; instead, standing on your feet in the chaos of the street is what makes you better.

These were the words of the New York City yoga instructor one summer morning when my daughter finally, triumphantly, nailed a Handstand.

Surroundings can impact us.

Many emergency rooms are painted in greens and blues, colors that studies have shown to induce calm.

Some restaurants have patterned floors to make diners eat quickly so the tables turn over faster.

People display in their homes what makes them feel good: Pictures, books, memorabilia.

I have even heard a decorator explain that the colors in the home should match what looks good on the owner – so the owner feels at home!

The walls of the yoga studio where I have practice are painted in beautiful shades of blue and accented with murals of a giant Buddha, an oversized Ohm, several bamboo shoots and butterflies.

It is calming.

From my mat, the poses provide various vantage points, and I have memorized the murals and could probably have drawn them in my sleep.

Most days, when I move my mat to the wall for inversions, I find myself in front of the bamboo.

The brown shoots stand tall and straight, divided into segments and stacked one atop another.

I actually visualize the bamboo as move into Handstand, stacking each part of my body, one atop another.

To teach Handstand, the instructor would often refer to Tadasana, or Mountain Pose.

In Tadasana, the feet are together, big toes touching.

The body stands tall, the neck is long, the shoulders are down and the arms are by the sides with hands splayed out, palms forward.

All points on the body are stacked, one atop another like the bamboo in the mural.

Feet and legs are lined up directly under the hips; torso and shoulders are lined up directly above.

Handstand is Tadasana upside down.

 

For months, my daughter had been working on her Handstand.

A dedicated yogi, she practices several days a week and joins me for class on visits home as she did this past summer.

She had spent quite some time conquering her fear of inversions and, after finally tackling Headstand, was now working on Handstand.

The challenge was twofold: Overcoming the fear of inverting and landing the balance in the pose itself. 

During the inversion segment of class, the instructor came over to assist, demonstrating a step which would allow her to linger upside down and feel it for a moment.

Alongside my daughter, he placed his hands on the mat, lifted one leg to the ceiling and tucked the other one in, bent at the knee.

He lingered there; hip points and shoulders stacked, all but one knee in line with the rest of his body, upside down. 

Just practice like that, he said, encouraging her not to complete the Handstand and to instead leave one leg bent.

This step would invert her without the fear of going overboard while also letting her stack the rest of her body in order to linger upside down.

After several attempts, my daughter felt the linger, telling me afterwards that doing so had made it worth waking up for the class.

By summer’s end, on her triumphant day, my daughter called while running hectic errands through the jewelry district in Manhattan.

Amid the sirens and chaos of the city, she sounded happy, calm and collected as she proudly described her Handstand triumph. 

Amazing!  You stood on your hands!  You are getting better and better!  I exclaimed.

Mom, she said proudly, I am a better yogi for doing my day on my feet, not for standing on my hands!

           

The Open Face of Humanity

I often get to help my daughter with her work in New York City and, each time I go, I pack up my yoga mat and together we attend as many classes as our schedule allows.

Although I am early on in my working out, my daughter has been cross training for many years.

She works out with a trainer, runs along the East River and takes yoga religiously.

I am always amazed that she can just throw her hair up, put on her workout gear and look beautiful before, during and after her sweat.

I even have a memory of one of her school coaches asking me, How is it she looks like she just got off the runway instead of the soccer field?

I, on the other hand, would never leave the house without hair and makeup done, much less appear in New York City that way. Having my bangs trimmed and done was always key to a good day.

Yoga, however, has changed all that.

My daughter and I arrived at her hot yoga studio in our favorite Lululemon outfits.

I had on my new short shorts and matching sports bra, prepared for the intense heat, and she had on the same. My daughter had a beautiful braid in her hair, and I had on my pony tail with newly trimmed bangs.

We were looking good!

The class opened up and, as we got into the flows, the teacher began to speak about masks and humanity. 

 

Will you show your humanity to another? she asked.

As we practiced, she spoke of how most of us wear a mask during our days; how we present only what we want others to see; how we carefully position the way we present ourselves to the world.

She went on to relate this to how we all prepare for yoga by making sure we wear outfits that we feel look good, that our yoga hairdos are just so and by even wearing a little makeup.

Yoga, she said, strips all that away.

We do yoga, she said, to remove our masks.

We sweat. We drip on our neighbor. Our hair falls and gets plastered to our temples and foreheads. Our outfits cling to us with perspiration.

Maybe we look a little funny in our poses. Maybe we are not looking so good anymore.

 

Maybe none of it matters.

Yoga removes your mask, the teacher said. But do you care? Will you show your humanity to another? Do you dare?

After the class, we stepped outside, our bodies actually cooling in the summer evening’s heat now that we were out of the hot studio.

There I stood in Union Square in New York City, sweaty, bangs pinned back, whatever makeup once there now gone. I felt amazing.

Let me take your picture, my daughter said. Your humanity is showing.