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!

           

Beginning

It was the end of October, the days were getting shorter, darkness falling earlier and earlier. 

 

This is usually the start of a sort of hibernation for me, driving home from work in the crisp and cold with the 6 p.m. stars already shining. 

 

Not really the time of year to embark on any sort of change. 

 

During this time, I am not sure what made me finally take action on what had been sitting on the floor of my car, among so many other things: A flyer for the new yoga studio less than a mile from my home. 

 

I looked at the schedule, chose a class, called a friend and showed up. 

 

This was a very big deal for me, never having been a big exerciser and never having joined a gym. 

 

I arrived at the studio equipped with the following inexperience: A few yoga classes with my daughter once upon a time, dance classes at summer camp many moons earlier and, in another lifetime, dancing on my middle and high school Pom Pon squads.
 

I felt at ease right away. 

 

The music started, and we all stood at the top of our mats. 

 

The music, my music of Paul Simon, Bob Marley, Elton John and more, filled the room as the instructor took us through flows of poses and took the time to walk around the room and adjust our positions. 

 

The studio was warm, both the atmosphere and the temperature, the rubber mat seemed to anchor me to the wood floor, and the mirror at the front of the room reflected the class moving at all levels but somehow together. 

 

Something in me connected to the music and the long ago dance lessons, and the flow and instruction had a hypnotizing effect. 

 

I was hooked. 

 

Eager to come back, the only time outside the weekend that allowed for my full time work schedule was at 6 a.m. 

 

I peeled myself out of bed the following Monday morning, still not believing what I was doing, had a little coffee and drove to the studio. 

 

Crisp and cold with the 6 a.m. stars now shining, I showed up for class and became a regular. 

 

Now, yoga has become a huge part of my life. 

 

Just like every day is a bit different, so is every practice. 

 

I have discovered that yoga has the power to change my mood, my outlook, my body, my life. 
 

Its impact has been nothing short of marvelous, offering up surprising discoveries and interesting insights at a point in my life where I thought I had it all figured out. 

 

Turns out, the learning had only just begun.