New Again

This is for the ones who stand, for the ones who try again, for the ones who need a hand, for the ones who think they can.~ Comes and Goes (In Waves), Greg Laswell

My handstands had left the building.

My yoga schedule was off, and so was my usual inclination to go upside down.

My handstands were missing, and I didn’t know how to find them. And I wondered if rearranging the furniture hadn’t actually been the best idea. After all, the armoire against which I’d practice my handstands had left the building, too. Maybe that was the reason?

It was a Monday night, and I arrived at practice for the first time in a week. I set up my mat and told the instructor what had happened, that my handstands had disappeared. It was not the first time they’d gone missing, and it made me feel back at Square One.

When you ask who’s new tonight, I said, I may not raise my hand, but I’m the one who’s new again.

I’m not sure why I had to confess, but I wanted someone to know!

The instructor thought for a moment, and then exclaimed that it was good to be new again, that I’d have the chance to learn from scratch.

Months earlier, a friend and I had stayed after class to work on our handstands. At that time, I had them down, and this same instructor came over to see what was up. He stood on his hands while telling us that handstands need to be fed every day. This made sense to me as I had been serving mine breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I tried a few of my own before standing up to hear what I hoped would be some good inversion tips.

But the instructor skipped over any such tips. This young man who could probably cross the room on his hands instead sat on the windowsill and at once began to talk about the point of the postures, especially the handstands.

He spoke of compassion and loving others and loving ourselves in order to love others. And before I knew it, he was talking about the need to heal over and over in an effort to find this compassion and this love for ourselves and for others.

Suddenly, my day turned as upside down as I had set out to be, and I hoped it didn’t show how much work it was for me to remain upright. Having felt so good from both my practices that day, I was surprised at how unsteady this topic made me.

I listened to him and forgot about the handstands. Instead, I asked how he came to know all this and how one is supposed to go about this healing.

I learn from my teachers, he said, and I surround myself with people who are good to me.

I didn’t know that healing and handstands were one and the same, that both were practices that needed to be fed every day.

It was several months past this discussion when I found myself in the week of my missing handstands. It was the Tuesday after the Monday I was new again, and I was putting my overclothes in a cubby at yet another practice as another instructor stood nearby.

While I stuffed away my shoes and my shirt, I declared that my handstands had left.

He obviously didn’t know from such catastrophic thinking, but his reassurances didn’t stop me from mine. And I didn’t mention how I’d connected the dots to conclude that my practice had left, as well. I struggled through the very hot practice that followed and was secretly relieved when there were no opportunities to invert. I hadn’t even been ready to try.

We sealed our practice with three Oms and, before I left the room, I stepped aside to look for my handstands. I lifted first one leg and then the other and felt my hips float into the air. I pressed into my hands and pulled in my core, and, slowly, the ceiling became the floor.

Do you see they’re still here? It was the instructor. The room had emptied as I lingered upside down before standing up to hear what I hoped might be some good inversion tips.

But this instructor also skipped over any such tips and, before I knew it, I was back in that same conversation, the one that had nothing to do with handstands.

I thought they were gone, I said, as if my handstands had feet that could walk away.

Don’t even think that sh*t!

That was all it took for him to explain that it was me who had left and not my handstands. And I quickly understood that my search for handstands was indeed the same as a search for healing.

And so, in this apparent effort to heal, I made a bold reply.

As someone who gets teased for her clean language, I repeated his words, more to myself than to anyone else. And then he said it again to make it sink in, and I said it right back, so it would. I wanted to seal this message as I did my practice, so it could be with me for a while.

And then I got dizzy from what I think was the heat, and I had to sit down to rest. And from there I explained the way I’d connected the dots, because I had to further confess. And he told me some more, without mincing words, but he spoke from compassion and love.

And that night I left with my hope intact, and the next day my practice was back!

My handstands returned from all that I learned, and I knew some healing had happened.

Catch Me!

"Upside down. Who's to say what's impossible and can't be found?" ~ Jack Johnson

 

I was in a very hot yoga practice, and we were more than halfway through. The day had only half begun, I was only half-caffeinated, and we were in Eagle Pose. 

For some reason, I’ve been having trouble keeping my balance in Eagle. I try to find a point in front of me to clear my mind, so I don’t even have to think about balancing, but that only makes me think about it all the more, and over I go. 

This day in Eagle, my mind is already moving quickly ahead. Usually, we do Eagle on both sides, right and then left, and then right and left again. Sometimes, after the second time around, we move into bound Warrior III and then into Standing Split.

And then I know what’s coming next. In fact, my mind is already there while I am wrapping myself up in Eagle. At that point, for those of us who want to, we get to pop into handstand or, at least, to try. 

Before practice, I usually attempt a few handstands. I’ve been working on these forever, and now I’m working on them without the wall. And I can never tell when they’re going to show up.  

At best, they’ve been sporadic guests. They arrived this past summer, but then left for the fall. They were home for the holidays, but then left again. I’ve been doing my best to get them to move back in for good. 

And they hate the heat. It’s especially tough to find them in the middle of a hot practice. 

Usually, I have to see things to put them to memory, and I’ve used a lot of visualization to find handstand. In general, I think this is how I learn and process most things. I’ve been doodling since I was little, from pictures in my mind to pictures on the paper. 

Sometimes in handstand, I picture myself being pulled in and up, as I was in a recent workshop. I had been upside down when I saw two feet step under my nose before two hands wrapped themselves around my lower belly and pressed.  

This assist automatically lifted and straightened me beyond where I was. And, when I came down and saw it was the instructor, I told him not only was I surprised not to recognize his feet that I’d been watching for the better part of an hour but, even more so, I was surprised that I had any room left for more lift or straightening.

It also helps to picture my friend who wrote to me while on vacation about the freedom she felt when practicing handstands on a yoga deck. She said all that space outside a crowded studio freed her mind to allow her body to easily achieve handstand. 

And since then, on my way upside down, I visualize lots of space all around and even above, and I imagine my feet reaching upwards beyond the ceiling towards the sky and into the clouds, and this seems to help my whole body follow. 

I also picture my shoulder girdle, which I used to think was between my shoulders and across my back but actually now realize surrounds each shoulder. Going up, I picture my shoulders encased in something strong, so they can stack above my wrists and provide a sturdy base for my torso. 

So, really, there’s an entire artist’s rendering going on in my mind when I go upside down and sometimes even long before I invert.

This day, the paintbrushes start flying in Eagle. And when it comes time to try a few handstands, my palette is already prepared.  

I hop up on my good side. My right leg in the air, I push off lightly with my left and picture my hips stacking, waiting for the feeling that lets me know I have it, that lets me know it’s okay for my left leg to meet my right.  

And, finally, I make the connection, upside down.

But that lightness, that stillness, that space where I pull in my belly for my feet to reach the clouds, eludes me, and I feel my feet start drawing outside the lines, moving further over my hips to the wrong side of the room. 

And in this quiet and hot room, where the only sound is the breath, I distinguish myself without warning, calling out the instructor’s name followed by a plea:

CATCH ME! 

But I never felt his catch because somehow, I catch myself. Somehow, and I don’t know how, I get myself straightened out. 

It seems my panic cleared my mind so my body could do its work.  

The instructor later told me I did it by grabbing the floor with my fingertips and pulling in my core. I had no idea. I couldn’t picture it! 

All I know is that the preparation that started in Eagle that day had blocked my view, making it difficult to see the whole picture. And, in the end, I was somehow able to save myself on instinct. 

This instructor impresses on the class to let go of our stories when we arrive on the mat. We’re not supposed to predetermine the practice. We’re just supposed to be, and we do this through the breath. 

But this day, it takes my panic to make me present, which isn’t exactly the game plan. Even so, learning that I can save myself when I think I need someone to catch me isn’t too bad a takeaway. 

Still, I am leaving the light on for those handstands.  

It’s like they’re not mine, I told this same instructor days earlier. It’s like each time, I’m wondering if they’re going to show up. 

Maybe my mental artwork is more on display than I think, because he just looked at me with a smile and, without words, pointed to his head, making the perfect picture for the next time I go upside down.

 

Silly

 

It’s been almost three years. 

Three years of handstands. 

When I first started yoga, I would not go upside down. I knew I could do it, but it just felt so silly. 

I’d often goof around with my kids and only a couple years earlier, before even finding yoga, I had done a headstand on Skype for my daughter and her college roommates. So, it’s not that I was never silly. It’s just that I was never so in public.  

And the yoga studio counted as being in public. 

Then, one day, it was just my daughter and me in a private lesson. In my mind, this was not public, so upside down I went. 

And then, almost every day thereafter, I only wanted to be upside down. 

Headstands led to forearm stands. Forearm stands led to handstands. I could not get enough and still can’t. 

And now I can’t remember what there was to ever feel so silly about. 

Now I say who cares about being upside down in public? It didn’t matter who was looking the other weekend in New York City on a crowded Sunday afternoon in Battery Park!  

About a year and a half in, I got pretty good at the balance. I could stay up and up and up in handstand, and I felt like a pro. 

But then, I received some new instruction about how to go up in the first place. I was supposed to go up by using my Bhandas, or my core. Kicking up was off the list. Being near the wall was off the list. It was like starting brand new. 

And it felt a little silly to suddenly be back at square one after all this time, and I am so far from whatever a pro might be that it’s silly to even think that could be measured.  

In fact, one girl videotaped the class so she could take it with her on her travels and captured one of my few handstands that have actually worked in all this time.  

I placed my hands under my shoulders. I listened to the instructor tell us to shift forward, to not bend our leg, to claw the floor with our fingertips. 

One try. Two tries. Three, and then four.  

On the fourth try, I felt my hips stack and my core engage while I lifted my leg ever so slowly, up and up and up from the floor to the ceiling. In my mind, I was up forever before standing to regroup and repeat. 

But the camera doesn’t lie.  

My fellow yogi put the clip of my handstand on YouTube, and I was up for all of five seconds. And my regrouping moment is really me unable to keep my amazement at bay as I stood up, quietly exclaiming Yaaaaaaaahhhhhh! and not really knowing what to do with myself (click here to view). 

I learn best in a visual manner. I need to see things or draw them out in order to take them in. And this holds true with handstand. My yogi friends have become my teachers, and I watch their demonstrations, and I listen as the instructor’s words draw the picture of what I’m supposed to do. 

And I’m literal, too. One instructor keeps talking about the shoulder girdle, but I was confused as to what that was. Plus, I keep picturing my grandmother in her blue dress when she says this. As a little girl, I knew a girdle was under there, and I was confused about that, too.  

Another instructor talks about keeping the hands active, pressing into the fingertips if I think I’m going to fall over, and pressing into the palms if I think I’m going to fold. He shows me, but I tell him I need bigger hands. 

And then there’s the fear factor. I’ve been told to play in the grass because there I’ll have no fear, and I’ve been shown how to best fall down so as not to be so scared to go up.  

I’ve been told to integrate my shoulders, and it really helps to watch one of the yogis roll back her shoulders again and again as she demonstrates how this engages the upper body while inverting.

And now, after three years at handstands, I only just realized what might be one of the most important tips.  

Surprisingly, my arms escaped the list of parts I address when in the pose - my shoulders, my hands, my back, my core, my legs, my hips, my feet and my fear. 

My arms are supposed to be straight! 

I look to the pictures of my son and me in our handstands in the grass at Battery Park. He is on his way up, arms straight and strong. I have peaked with my arms bent, and I know I’m on my way down. 

The other day, I was contemplating skipping my evening yoga class before the instructor posted a picture on Facebook with a shout-out to her evening students. There she was in handstand with her arms straight and strong. 

I took one look and thought, I’d be silly to skip this! 

And that night, I pulled my mat to the wall during handstand. I placed my hands under my shoulders with one leg up and shifted myself forward. Without further ado, I pushed my other leg off the ground, lifted my hips, integrated my shoulders and straightened my arms. I pressed into handstand without touching the wall, working my fingers and my palms. 

 

And I was up and up and up. I did it once, and I did it again! My grandmother’s girdle didn’t even enter my mind, and the instructor snapped a photo. 

The only thing that shouldn’t be in the photo, she later said, is that wall. 

I took note but knew that the wall was not the only thing that had removed my fear.   

That night, I had gathered all the generous encouragement, advice and support that have come my way and gratefully locked all of it up in my core. And then I felt it lift and secure me into my handstand and into the night and into the next day. 

And there is nothing silly about that.

Muscles

Yoga is like a long car ride, and I feel like the kid in the back seat asking, "When are we gonna get there?"

I’m thinking I need some more muscles.

Not necessarily big ones, just more than I’ve got.

I remember when I started yoga, I stood in a studio with a group of women who had probably been working out most of their days.

It was day one for me.

Needless to say, it was pretty intimidating to keep coming back, but I did and it was a good thing. The practice has redefined me, literally.

Now I’ve got some muscles, and they've appeared in much the same way as with most things in yoga -- they kind of crept up on me. Seems like suddenly, there they were. One day, the mirror showed me muscles in my arms, my stomach, my legs, my back.

But the more I try to advance, the more I feel my limits. In one class in particular, I spend lots of time thinking if only I was stronger, I would get this.

This being the arm balances, the handstands, the staying on one side with the weight in one leg while doing all sorts of things before moving to the other side.

I mentioned lifting some weights to the instructor after class one day. I’m thinking I’m not strong enough, I said.

You can if you want, she replied, telling me that she did, too. But you are strong!

Then I admitted to feeling scrawny, and she suggested I email her to get rid of the crazies. But it’s the crazies that make me keep coming back. They are what make me want to go upside down, to lift myself up on my hands with my legs here and there.

I am learning that, as with most things in life, the strength has to come from the core.

The instructor talks about zipping it up and putting the belly button to the spine. She calls to us about our upward flying locks when we lift and balance and hang.

Still, in this class, I feel my edge -- the place where I know I need to add something to what I’m doing, so I can do more.

The other day, we were in Navasana, or Boat pose. Sitting on our tail bones, our bodies are in a V shape with our legs and backs straight and our feet in line with our noses. Our hands reach up.

We hold for a count of five.

Then, we cross, lock and lift – placing our hands down on either side, crossing our legs and lifting ourselves off the mat, swinging our feet underneath us. Ultimately, we are supposed to land in Handstand, swinging ourselves under and through and unfolding into the inversion.

We’re heading to Handstand here, the instructor says. It doesn’t matter if you’re there yet. Some of us will take another day or another month or another 10 years.

Huh?

No one really calls out in this class but, on hearing this, I stood up.

What? I blurted out. Do you know how old I’ll be in 10 years?!?

It doesn’t matter how old you are, the instructor replied. It matters how strong you are.

I have these little purple weights at home. They are eight pounds each. And I have some metal ones that are five pounds each. And some little red three pounders. Surely something can be done with them.

This yoga is called The Rocket. It’s from a branch of yoga called Ashtanga, a style where the student is given a sequence of poses, the progression through which has to be done in order. The student cannot move to the next pose unless the previous one is accomplished.

Rocket yoga came about in the 1980s, and it teaches some of these poses without having to satisfy any prerequisites. Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead dubbed it The Rocket because, in his words, You get there faster.

So, in this class, it often feels like day one again.

I am in there with those who have been there awhile. And like when I first started yoga, it can be quite intimidating but, like before, I keep coming back. And the progress is slow.

So my plan is to lift those purple weights, even though I think the key to my progression lies more in the strength of my core.

I am being instructed, like with anything else, to look inside to my very center.

Still, I kind of want to rocket through that part, too. I keep waiting to hear some kind of hint about how to better lift up. Surely, I might be missing some kind of clue.

But the only way to fly is to lock and lift. And there’s no shortcut to doing that. The strength in my core has to build in its own time.

So I keep practicing my lock and practicing my patience.

And hopefully, if I’m locked and lucky, I’ll be able to go back and through and upside down before the 10 year mark.

Anne is the author of  Unfold Your Mat, Unfold Yourself​ and is published on Huffington Post and Elephant Journal. Connect with Anne on her blog, Facebook and Twitter.​​