When I was thirteen years old we moved from Houston, Texas to New Canaan, Connecticut.  While I dreaded everything else about the move, I was thrilled when my mom told me I could decorate my new bedroom however I wanted.  I knew without hesitation what my new room would look like.  Every detail was crystal clear in my mind.  I can only imagine my face while I described the sky-blue walls and ceiling scattered with puffy, white clouds.  I can vividly remember my mother’s stricken face when I announced the piece-de-resistance – a life-size rainbow arching its way around the room.  In a measured tone, she suggested that we stick with a more classic décor, something I wouldn’t out-grow or get tired of.  In a less than measured tone (punctuated with a stomp of my foot, I’m sure), I pronounced “I will NEVER not love rainbows!”

 

Don’t you just love the certainty of youth?

 

Thirty years later, I have indeed adopted a more classic décor than my child-like vision.  While the sight of a rainbow arching across a post-storm sky still takes my breath away, not a room in my home is adorned with one.  Looking back over the years (Sigh. Over the decades.), the visions I’ve had for the rooms I’ve lived in have changed many, many times.  Shelves originally cluttered with bric-a-brac received as wedding gifts are now notably emptier.  The gigantic collection of pigs I amassed throughout my twenties has been packed away.  Beloved pictures have been framed and reframed in gold- or silver-tones depending on the rooms around them.  My chosen color schemes have shifted from cool tones, to warm, and back again to the blues and whites I’ve loved since my childhood.  I suppose what I’m now certain of is the inevitability of change.

 

We’ve all heard the maxim ”The only thing certain in life is change.”  But it’s very easy for us to forget.  We get quite comfortable – whether in our jobs, our homes, our churches, our schools.  We get set in our ways – favorite restaurants, shops, walks.  I know I was stunned by how much it upset me when my grocery store rearranged its aisles.  We actually stopped going to a favorite family restaurant when they gave their menu a major overhaul.  And it took me almost a year to settle into the new chapel when our church renovated.  Deep down, almost all of us are creatures of habit.

 

Oddly, even when we’ve chosen to practice something as transformative as yoga, we can be as set in our preconceptions about ourselves as my thirteen-year-old self was. “I’ll NEVER be able to do that!” we say.  And we believe it so firmly that it blinds us to the changes that are occurring little by little, right in front of our faces.  I have a very athletic student who arrived at her first class with the inevitably tight hamstrings of a runner.  When I pointed out how much I’d noticed these muscles releasing she actually argued with me.  “Are you kidding?  I have the tightest hamstrings in the room!”  Then she bent over and nearly palmed the floor!  I spent years (years!) feeling like my upper body was still too weak and my shoulders still too unbalanced to even think about hand-balances.  It wasn’t until one of my teen students “double-dog-dared” me to try Crow (Bakasana), that I realized I could do it!  My assumptions about myself had not evolved along with my body and my abilities.

 

In helping us to at least recognize the assumptions we make about ourselves, to become aware of the limitations we place upon ourselves, lies one of yoga’s most powerful life gifts.  As we regularly surprise ourselves on our mats, we become more willing to push at the boundaries of our comfort zones off our mats.  We become less certain of the way things are and will always be.  And in doing so we open ourselves to new possibilities.  We become more flexible.  We become more willing to serenely accept the changes which life inevitably brings our way.

 

Some of life’s changes will work out well for us.  After months of resistance, I’ve come to love worshipping in our new chapel.  The simple, clean design of the space adds to the overall beauty of the services.  Others won’t.  After ten years, I’m finally willing to admit that my most recent adventure in decorating my current bedroom was probably a mistake.  The warm, red walls that were supposed to feel cozy and comforting have irritated me from the get-go.  I find myself yearning for cooler colors again.  And that’s OK!  Change is good for us.  Change is the only thing in life we can really be certain of, right?

 

As I daydream about yet another bedroom that I can decorate however I want, I realize that once again I know what I’d like my room to look like.  The details are becoming clearer and clearer as I flip through catalogs and stare at my walls.  Being someone who can now do a hand-balance that I never thought I’d be able to do, you’d think I’d have learned never to say never.  However, with all due respect for future changes in my decorating tastes and styles, I find myself again with the adamant confidence I had when I was thirteen.  “I will NEVER not love blue and white bedrooms!”  Ah well.  We’ll see!

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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It’s hard to say who was more excited for “Cousin’s Camp” this year – my kids or me.  By the way, Cousin’s Camp is the week when my parents put on their camp-counselor hats and host all of their grandchildren in New Hampshire.  It is truly a highlight of the year for my children.  For me, it’s a rare and wonderful thing to have a stretch of time like this to be on my own at home.  So, I woke up Monday morning eagerly anticipating the start of a quiet, glacially-paced week.  Despite the risk of preconceived notions, I let my imagination run wild.  I imagined long, spa-like days filled with meditative walks with the dogs, yoga every day, uninterrupted hours writing, lazy afternoons curled up with a novel, maybe even a pedicure!  These four and a half days would be focused and peaceful.  They would be rejuvenating and restorative so that I could hit the ground running when we picked the kids up on Saturday.  I couldn’t wait!

 

So I sprang out of bed Monday morning and hit the town bike path with my dog.  And for the entire three-mile walk, my mind chattered and hopped.  Once home, I sat down to read my Bible and journal as I do most mornings and my mind was like a monkey.  I had to re-read verses four times to get them to sink in.  I didn’t even try to journal.  I moved onto some household chores, but found this was no more focused.  I was hopping back and forth from job to job like a toddler with ADHD.  I was making lists.  I was fussing with the dog who did not need or want to be fussed with.  My mind continued to “blah blah BLAH” and my body was fidgety.  It’s almost like I had a hectic-hangover.  Like I hadn’t switched gears from life with kids to life with just me, so I was making up stuff to worry about and stuff to do.  I felt about as far from peaceful and focused as could be.

 

As I paced around the house, I had a sense of déjà vu.  I realized that this wasn’t that different from the way I feel on those unfortunate days when I actually make it to a yoga class only to have trouble settling into my practice.  When we arrive at a yoga class (or unroll our mat at home), we are literally stepping out of the swirl of life.  Often, this step is a big one!  Perhaps we’ve been running errands somewhat frantically because we’re not quite sure we’re going to make it through out list in the hour we have before class.  Maybe we’ve gotten stuck in traffic on the way to the studio and we feel frazzled and helpless.  Or maybe we arrive feeling harried and irritable because our babysitter was late.  My point is simply that life keeps happening (sometimes fast and furiously) even as we’re headed for a relished “time out” on our yoga mats.  And it can be really, really hard to shift gears.

 

This was exactly what I was going through!  Only I was discovering that the step from regular life to life sans kids is a real doozy!  The good news was that, thanks to my yoga, I knew how to do this.  Certainly, I could navigate this transition the same way I transition from daily life to yoga.  Easier said than done.  But, as I’ve proven to myself in many, many yoga classes, not at all impossible.

 

It’s not the things that happen on the way to yoga class that are the issue.  They are things we’d typically handle without a second thought.  But, somehow, because we’re headed into a time of not doing, a time of reflection, a time of mental stillness, the effects of these things can linger.  Just because the racket and ruckus of life quiet down doesn’t mean we automatically do too.  In fact, as I was finding on my first child-free morning of the week, the lingering effects of life’s pace and stresses can actually intensify when things suddenly slow down.  Somehow, life echoes inside us more loudly when we are (or are trying to be) quiet. 

 

In a yoga class when I’m having a hard time settling, it’s simply a matter of try and try again.  When thoughts, worries or emotions crop up, I’ve learned to acknowledge them and then let them go.  I take a deep breath, remind myself that I’m there to move and to breathe, and I return my focus to the asana at hand.  It’s not uncommon for me to have to do this over and over again throughout the opening sun salutations.  In fact, I’ve come to understand that these are more than just physical warm-ups for me.  They are a time of mental and emotional quieting that prepares me to sink more deeply into the practice.  Sure, there are days when mental peace and quiet never come.  But, honestly, these days are few and far between.  Typically, the steady breathing and strenuous movement of my asana practice does the trick.

 

Because of the dramatic nature of my shift earlier this week, I felt literally bombarded by inner-noise and unrest.  The noise and mental clutter was deafening and distracting.  But it was of my own creation.  With the same gentle determination that I bring to my yoga mat, I deliberately took a deep breath and reminded myself that I wanted to savor this time.  I returned my focus from my harried, crunched feelings to the reality of the spacious week ahead.  I’ll admit, I had to do this over and over again that first day and even throughout the week.  But I wasn’t bothered by that.  After all, just as is the case on my yoga mat, it was a just a matter of try and try again.

 

In the end, it’s been a great week.  I’ve enjoyed some quiet me-time.  I’ve enjoyed times filled with laughter and friendship.  And I’ve enjoyed some great dates with my husband.  Most importantly, because I was finally able to shift gears, I feel ready to hit the ground running tomorrow morning when I wake up bombarded by “Welcome to the lake!” hugs from my children and their cousins.

 

Namaste,

 

My mom’s fingerprints are literally all over my life.  Her extremely exacting standards of housekeeping (you’ve never seen a linen closet as orderly and organized as hers) are often the measuring stick I use to judge the state of my own home.  The tiny, (apparently calorie-less) second piece of cake that she has at every birthday dinner is called “The Connie Slice” even among my in-laws!  She taught me everything I know about gardening.  She coached me in tennis as a kid.  She was the one who suggested I try yoga as an adult.  When someone has played such a formative role in your development, it can take you by surprise to get a glimpse of a new dimension of that person.  It can literally stop you in your tracks.

 

In early June, my mother invited my kids and me to come watch the tennis team she coaches compete in the New Jersey Special Olympics.  She has been coaching some of these athletes for almost 20 years!  Over the years, we’ve heard so much about these people, that the chance to watch them play in the actual Olympics was not something we wanted to miss.  So, instead of sleeping in and lazing about on the first day of summer vacation, my kids and I got up early, piled in the car and headed to Trenton.

 

The athletes on my mom’s tennis team vary widely in ability.  Some needed a great deal of coaching from my mother to keep score, to remember where to stand on the court, even to figure out whose serve it was.  Other were completely self-sufficient and could probably have trounced me in a match.  Watching the genteel way each of them approached their matches was an inspiration in sportsmanship.  All were gracious.  No rackets were thrown, no balls smashed over the fence in frustration.  Winners and losers alike left the court with smiles on their faces.  Each and every one of these athletes appeared to love playing the game.  And they were equally enthusiastic cheerleaders when they were watching their teammates play.

 

As I watched and marveled at the overwhelmingly positive vibe among this group of athletes on and off the court, I realized this too had my mother’s fingerprints all over it.  She has trained her athletes not only in the mechanics of tennis.  She has taught them what it means to be a team.  She has taught them that being the cheerleader is as meaningful as being the one playing.  She has taught them to support one another, to pay attention to each other and to take care of one another.  She has also helped them develop appreciation for themselves.  She has taught them that, win or lose, there is always something to love and celebrate about who they are and what they’ve done.

 

I’d always thought I’d learned these lessons from studying yoga.   After all, yoga teaches that acceptance and appreciation for our bodies as they are is the first (and most important) step in the transformative journey of the practice.  Yoga teaches us to notice and to celebrate each milestone we reach – the subtle ones like the day our fingertips finally brush our toes in a forward bend, and the more outlandish ones like when we kick up into our very first handstand.  Yoga teaches us to be caring and supportive of ourselves.  We discover on our mats that our inner cheerleader is much more effective than our inner judge.  And one day, after we’ve practiced for a while, we notice ourselves treating others the way we’ve learned to treat ourselves on our yoga mat.  We find that we’re living our yoga.

 

Watching my mother and her athletes, I began to wonder if the reason yoga spoke to me so powerfully from my very first class was that it echoed lessons I’d absorbed through the years from my mom.  Certainly this is possible.  As I said before, her fingerprints cover my life.  In any case, that morning in June I found myself powerfully grateful for the opportunity to watch her express so fully the ideals I identify with my yoga practice.  The fact that her athletes seem to have taken these lessons to heart leaves me profoundly hopeful for the ripple effect each of us can have when we begin to live into the practice that touches our bodies, minds and spirits so deeply.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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It was not a good day around here yesterday.  My girls bickered and fought from the moment their feet hit the floor until just after I wrestled them back into bed.  (Their rooms share a wall and – I kid you not – they actually managed to get into an argument by banging on it.)  Nothing throws me off my “mom” game more than bickering.  To me, just being around their snappishness, sarcasm and sniping feels like I’m being soaked in someone else’s negativity.  Bickering is toxic.  It’s exhausting.  And it doesn’t do much to make you proud of the children you’re raising.

 

I think yesterday felt even worse because we just spent 10 days on an almost entirely bicker-free family vacation.  My husband and I even praised the kids on our last day in New Hampshire for getting along so well while we were away!  My hopes were definitely up that our trip was setting the tone for our summer.  Alas, it seems my kids were just on their best behavior during our vacation.  Maybe it had something to do with the presence of their grandparents.  Maybe it was geared to insure a daily trip to the ice cream stand.  I don’t know.  But I do know that I strongly prefer their “best behavior” to how they were acting yesterday!

 

I’m sure my children prefer to be around me when I’m on my best behavior too.  Really, who wouldn’t choose to spend time with someone who is being kind, polite, respectful and fun?  But, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m not always on my best behavior either.  Sometimes I simply wake up on the wrong side of the bed and have a really hard time putting a smile on my face – and an even harder time keeping it there.  Sometimes I get ambushed by an unforeseen problem and a perfectly good day turns frustrating.  Sometimes I don’t get my way and just don’t bounce back.  On these sorts of days, I feel irritable.  Like my daughters yesterday, I get snappy and sharp-tongued.  I’m itching for a fight so that I can release some of my tension and inner-yuck.  There’s always a part of me that knows that I’m not a whole lot of fun to be around when I’m acting like this.  Usually, that just makes me feel even worse.

 

I’d like to say right off the bat that I haven’t figured out how to avoid days like this.  But I am learning to control how I handle them a little better.  Growing up helped a little.  Developing some self-awareness helped more.  Learning to pay attention to the fact that every single one of my words and actions impact those around me helped a lot.  Yoga has played a huge role in helping me develop these skills and levels of maturity.  The concentration, mental presence, heightened self-awareness and focus required of me on my mat have translated directly into my life.

 

My time on my mat has helped in other ways too.  Moving and breathing through yoga asana is calming.  It’s settling.  And it’s a fabulous release of tension and inner-yuck.  Simply taking some time (a few minutes or an hour or two) to mentally and physically step out of the swirl of life is refreshing.  It can reset a grumpy mood.  It can reveal a solution to a problem that you hadn’t before considered.  It can give you the space to get over not getting your way.  It can also give you the space to see the benefits of the way things did work out.  It turns out that moving and breathing on a yoga mat can help get us back on our best behavior.

 

Because I sometimes fall when practicing yoga on my mat, I know that messing up off my mat is to be expected.  I know that one grumpy day is not a sign of failure.  It’s just one grumpy day.  Which leaves me feeling more hopeful in the wake of my girls’ bicker-filled yesterday.  Perhaps we’re not doomed to an endless summer of picking on one another.  Today is a brand new day, after all!

 

Namaste,

Amy

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I’m up in New Hampshire on vacation at the lake house we share with my extended family.  Life here at “the lake” is mellower, slower and quieter than life at home.  There are no alarm clocks (at least for me -- my husband is up and out the door every morning at 5:00 to go fishing), no schedules, no phones to answer or calls to make.  The chores that do need to be done here (drying the beach towels, doing the dishes, throwing together a casual dinner) seem less onerous than they would at home; probably because the rest of life is just so relaxing.

 

This slower pace of life slows me down as well.  While at home I am an “up and at ‘em” gal, up here I am perfectly capable of out-sleeping my teenaged niece.  I can stay curled up on the sofa with my nose in a book for a shockingly long time.  I can spend whole days as quiet and still as the lake water first thing in the morning.  But as restful as it might be to spend my vacation moving from bed to sofa and back again, it’s not a great way to fully enjoy being up here.  This place offers a whole lot more than a really comfy couch, after all.  There’s the hiking, the boating, the water skiing, the time spent with family -- nieces and grandparents and siblings.  You just can’t enjoy all of that with your nose in a book.

 

When day two of our vacation dawned grey and wet, I felt perfectly OK settling into the sofa cushions with one of my recent Barnes & Noble acquisitions.  After all, the kids were spread out on the floor playing a lengthy game of “Life,” my mom and dad were puttering around, and my husband was off standing in a river somewhere.  I was content to allow myself to get caught up in the plot of my novel because I had made a decision.  I had decided to say “yes” to whatever invitations came my way.  My book would be there for “in between,” but I didn’t want to miss anything that day.

 

I’m so glad I lived that day with a “yes” on my lips.  I spent an hour chatting and laughing with my mother as I helped her rearrange the kitchen cupboards.  I took a long walk with my dad.  I had lunch with my husband.  When the kids decided to set aside the board games to take the kayaks out to the sand bar across the lake, I wound up out on the water for a boat ride.  I lost a neck-and-neck game of Parcheesi to my niece and watched a movie with the whole gang.  I even finished my book!  All in all, despite the damp, chilly weather, it was an absolutely perfect day at the lake.

 

What I was practicing that day was a little more nuanced that simply saying “yes.”   I was practicing getting out of the driver’s seat of my life.  I was practicing the art of allowing life to unfurl of its own accord.  And I found, as I so often do when I manage to get out of the way, life brought some good stuff my way.

 

Yoga has been a great way for me to play around with spending some time in life’s passenger seat, if you will.  This has been especially evident recently.  I’ve been lucky lately to be able to attend classes with a teacher who puts together series that are very different than any I’ve ever done.  They require endurance and strength that I did not know I had.  In her classes my muscles are often quivering and I find myself working hard to maintain the rhythm of my breath.  Because they are unfamiliar, I don’t always know where she’s headed or why we’re going there.  But, when I hang in until the end, I am always rewarded with an “ah-ha” when we do arrive at the ultimate posture of the sequence.  In this teacher’s classes, my work is to say “yes” to whatever comes my way.

 

Just like my damp vacation day, sometimes my “yeses” on my yoga mat are easy and enthusiastic.  It didn’t take much will power, after all to set my book down to take the kids out on the lake.  Similarly, it does not take much will power to move through a series of yoga postures when my energy is up or when the stretches come easily and naturally to me.  But sometimes my “yeses” come more grudgingly.  On more than one occasion, my new teacher has led the class through one more lunge than I thought I had in me or one more iteration of a balancing sequence than I thought possible.  When this happens, I take a deep breath, surrender to her plan and am usually glad I did.  Similarly, when given the choice between rearranging the kitchen cupboards or reading another chapter in my book, I had to take a few deep breaths before I stood up.  But I was very glad I decided to help my mom.  Though the task itself didn’t initially sound like much fun, I wound up enjoying myself.  We had fun together and came across some great family memories in the “treasures” hiding in the far reaches of those cupboards.  It was as rewarding a “yes” as any other that day.

 

I’ve never made a summer resolution before, but maybe I will this year.  Like any resolution, sometimes it will take will power and sometimes it will come naturally.  It will be infinitely easy to remember – just one word.   I think my summer resolution will be “Yes.”

 

Namaste,

Amy

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I went to see Brad Paisley in concert over the weekend.  For those of you who don’t know, according to purists, he sings “that new country stuff.”  While I am a huge country fan, my date was not.  My husband was hearing most of the songs for the first time that night.  I was swept away by the show.  The energy was electric and never dropped.  The band was tight and very professional.  The staging was clean and effective; the pacing spot-on.  Paisley never stopped – he was playing guitar and/or singing the entire 90 minutes that he was on stage.  And his energy was contagious – I never even thought about sitting down either!  While he was obviously working very hard, it was also clear that he was loving every minute of it.  When the lights came up, I looked at my husband not really knowing what he’d say, to hear, “That was a great show!”

 

And it was a great show.  If it had just been me, “the fan,” who’d enjoyed it, it would have been easy to give the credit to the music.  But it wasn’t.  The fact that my husband was also caught up in the show really says something.  What was it that night that was so captivating?  What was it about Brad Paisley that dwarfed his incredibly talented opening act, Darius Rucker, within seconds?  While both are successful, talented musicians, it was evident that night that one was born to perform.  I think the magic of that show lay in the opportunity to watch someone do what they clearly love doing -- and doing it very, very well.  I think you can’t help but be moved when witnessing someone enjoy the heck out of their work.

 

Not many of us get to pack thousands into arenas to witness our work.  But we all have the chance to enjoy what we do every single day.  And when our work and our pleasure intersect, it makes for some real magic.  Since the weekend, I’ve been paying close attention and have been moved by many people who’ve crossed my path.  There’s the wise and funny eye doctor, who actually manages to make my son’s appointments (complete with pupil dilation) enjoyable.  He clearly loves his job and his enthusiasm is infectious.  There’s the Marine I got to talk to on Monday, whose enthusiasm and joy about his chosen path in life actually made me, who has never-for-a-second been interested in anything military, want to walk a day in his shoes.  There’s the preacher I regularly get to listen to, who can not only craft a tight, thoughtful sermon, but who can deliver it with charisma and passion – managing to teach while seeming to entertain.  There’s the father next door who takes such palpable pleasure in spending time with his children.  There’s my favorite check-out person at the grocery store who takes obvious pride in perfectly packing each of my bags as if they were an elaborate jigsaw puzzle.

 

All these people, Brad Paisley included, share something.  It’s not just that they’ve discovered their gifts and talents and are using them.  While they are each talented in their own way, it wasn’t actually this that captured my attention.  It’s the joy they receive from their activities that first made me notice them.  It is the pleasure they take in what they do that is notable.  And that is something we can all aspire to.

 

That is something we can actually practice.  On our yoga mats we learn to search for the pleasure in what can be at times be very hard work.  While I easily enjoy every breath I take in a stretch that comes naturally to me, I have found that I can also learn to enjoy the breaths I take in postures that are really hard for me.  More importantly, I’ve learned that finding this enjoyment is the key to my body eventually opening deeper into the stretch.  It’s only when I begin to find some pleasure in the work of the yoga posture that I can balance the effort of being there with some release.  And anyone who has stepped onto a yoga mat knows that while effort is crucial, it is only through release that we get deeper into any of yoga’s stretches.  I once had a teacher who loved to remind us to smile.  She would inevitably do this during the most grueling posture of the class – boat pose, say, or an extended stay in low plank.  She taught me that, while it doesn’t change the nature of the effort required, adding a smile sure makes the experience more enjoyable.

 

Learning to find pleasure in the things we do – from the easy stuff to the hard; from the things we love to the things we’d much rather skip – brings us one step closer to living the joy-full, rewarding lives we all aspire to.  When we learn to spend more time at the intersection of pleasure and work, not only do we do what we do better, but our experiences are exponentially richer.  It’s when we’re at the intersection of pleasure and work that we shine the brightest – and that is magical whether we have an audience of one or one million.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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Do you ever have weeks when life presents you with the same lesson over and over again?  While this doesn’t happen to me a lot, it does happen every once in a while – often precisely when I’m in the most need of wisdom or guidance.  Maybe it’s the difficulty of these times that prevents me from learning the lesson the first time ‘round.  Maybe I’ve been so caught up in the busy-ness of life, that I’ve lost sight of the bigger picture.  Or maybe the lesson is just so important that it warrants repetition.  Whatever the reason, I’m always pleasantly surprised and grateful for the second (or third!) chance to grapple with it.

 

But I’ve gotten ahead of myself.  Let me begin at the beginning.

 

Last Friday I joined my son’s seventh grade class for a canoe trip down the Brandywine River.  As we were issued our life jackets, the man from the boat rental company asked if one of us knew how to steer a canoe.  When I said I did, my son looked at me incredulously.  “You do?” he asked.  “Yup,” I replied, feeling more than a little puffed up.  “Didn’t I ever tell you that Daddy and I took white water canoeing in college?”  “That’s a college class at Duke?” he asked even more incredulously.  (I really can’t blame him for being doubtful.  Twenty-plus years later, I can hardly believe my dad let me take canoeing on his dime!)

 

While we didn’t come across any white water on the Brandywine (which is really more a creek than a river where we put in), the trip was not without challenge for me.  As we made our way down the river, I found myself struggling mightily to keep the boat on a precise course.  I wasted a lot of energy on rudder strokes and wide, arcing strokes (not to mention issuing instructions to my son who was more interested in splashing his friends than anything else) in an effort to keep the nose of our canoe pointed exactly where I wanted it to go.  As I started to wear out, I came to a realization.  When you’re canoeing down a river, you really can let the water and your boat set your course.  While you need to make sure you’re going in generally the right direction (i.e. downstream rather than cross-stream or even upstream), you can let the zigs and zags of your trip unwind on their own and still arrive at your destination –enjoying your journey a lot more for having relinquished some control.

 

For a “recovering” control-freak like me, this was a lesson worth the cost of a college-level course.  And I was pleased as punch with myself for recognizing it even as we were paddling.  In fact, I began mentally writing this essay while still in that canoe!  I even spent the weekend consciously reminding myself that life ebbs and flows as it is going to no matter how I might will it otherwise.  As I learned on our canoe trip, my job is not to change the flow of life’s events but rather to work to navigate them as gracefully as I am able – and to enjoy the ride as much as I can.

 

On Wednesday morning, just a handful of days after my epiphany on the Brandywine, I unrolled my yoga mat only to discover that I hadn’t absorbed my lesson of control quite as fully as I’d thought.  When I rolled out of bed that morning, I was already thinking about my practice.  I wanted to focus on chest-openers and back-bending.  By the time I kissed my last child good-bye, I had mentally choreographed a series of postures to take me into some deeper back-bends than I typically do.  I hopped on my mat anticipating the heightened energy and emotional release that a heart-opening practice can create.

 

And then I started to move.  Even in my opening Sun Salutations, I could tell that I was a little creaky.  As I started to bend and twist my way through some standing postures, my hips kept drawing my awareness -- practically begging to be opened.  For a few minutes (OK, maybe more than that) I resisted.  I forged ahead with my original plan, gently working to open my low back and core.  As I took a deep inhalation before moving out of twist that was feeling particularly good in my hip, I realized that my plan and my practice were at odds with one another.  While my plan was to zip through the standing postures in order to spend more time back-bending, my body yearned to stay in that twist, to move deeper, to explore the powerful sensations I was feeling in my hip.  To follow the flow of my practice that day required me to relinquish control.  To get the most out of my practice that morning, I needed to chuck my plan (even though it was a good one!) and allow my body to carry me along some less clearly charted waters.

 

My fight to stay on course on my yoga mat wasn’t as physically exhausting as my fight to stay on course during my trip down the Brandywine, but mentally it was even more difficult.  On the river, it didn’t long for me to understand that the water was stronger than me.  And once I stopped fighting, it didn’t take long for me to realize that letting go was a lot more fun.  But it’s just me on my mat.  Isn’t my personal yoga practice the one place I truly can be in charge?  It turns out  -- not always.  Sometimes my body is going to set my course.  Sometimes my mind will.  Really, the only thing in my control is whether or not I show up, ready to practice and willing to receive what comes.  Not surprisingly, that morning, when I managed to step aside and allow my yoga practice to unfold, it was as rich and rewarding as can be.  Lesson learned – again.

 

Moving with the ebbs and flow of life is a lot harder to do than allowing the river to carry my canoe to its destination or permitting my body to alter the course of my yoga practice one morning.  Or is it?  As I maintained control of the general direction of my boat, and as I decided whether or not to show up on my yoga mat, I am in charge of determining my long term goals.  They can be gigantic – raising happy, healthy, independent children; lofty -- growing into my full potential as a person; or practical -- sharing the practice of yoga with as many people as possible.  What’s important is that I allow those goals to inspire me, to set my general course.  What’s important is that I regularly remember that I can live with a lighter touch and a willingness to let life unfold as it will.  As I learned to trust the river and my body to help set my course this past week, I can also learn to trust life to continue to offer opportunities to fulfill my big picture goals.

 

Namaste,

Amy

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Playing the piano was an enormous part of my childhood.  I can’t remember not being able to play.  And, frankly, I can’t remember not feeling talented.  As I grew up, I never considered quitting or even moving on to a new instrument.  I loved the expressiveness of the piano – a perfect outlet during those adolescent years where blending in was singularly important.  I loved the challenge as my teachers assigned me more difficult pieces – each lesson a chance to crest another peak.  I loved the fact that my music was a chance for me to quietly shine.  As a child with some physical challenges and limitations, playing the piano offered me opportunities for success that were few and far between for me in sports.

 

Given the formative of nature of music in my own life, it will come as no surprise that I was eager for my children to start piano lessons.  So eager, in fact, that our youngest learned to read music before she learned to read!  The piano has also been an enormous part of my experience of motherhood.  The time I’ve spend at the keyboard with my children has yielded me a deeper understanding of how each is wired.  My son is an intellectual musician – pragmatic, methodical and precise.  My middle child is passionate and expressive.  She plays with a stirring touch that I believe you have to be born with.  My youngest is fearless and driven.  She loves to make music and is the only one of my three who regular wanders into our music room to play “just for fun.”  She has tremendous focus and a will to learn that make her especially fun to work with.

 

After so many years of piano being simply “what we do,” it took my breath away when my middle child pronounced that she would like to quit.  The fact that she has a gift for musicianship made her desire even harder for me to stomach.   After much belabored back-and-forth-ing, she has convinced me that the piano is simply not “her” instrument.  She prefers to play music as part of an orchestra and would like to focus on the cello.  Right in the midst of this decision process, my son asked if he could begin taking lessons at The School of Rock.  It seems he’d like to be a keyboardist in a band rather than playing “old stuff” like Bach and Beethoven.

 

With this one-two punch, my children have taught me another valuable parenting and life lesson.  My children are meant to walk their own paths, not to follow me down mine.  My struggle with their choices stemmed from my perception that they were rejecting something I was passionate about, something that had been crucial to my development into the person I am today.  I wanted to give them this same life-altering gift.  It took time and space and loads of will-power to see that I did give them a gift and that they had accepted it whole-heartedly.  I gave them the gift of music.

 

It was as I breathed and moved on my yoga mat that I began to understand.  It was as I shared yoga with others that I reached clarity.  We give of ourselves and our experiences and our passions all the time.  We offer advice and personal stories to our friends.  We do this not to tell them what to do, but to add a layer or two of dimension to their own experiences and decisions.  We recommend therapists and handymen and teachers to others in need.  While we’re thrilled if they take our recommendation, we don’t take it personally if they find a better fit elsewhere.

 

As a teacher, I have the opportunity to practice this professionally.  I share my personal experience and expression of yoga with my students.  While I obviously hope students will enjoy my classes and want to explore the practice in more depth with me, it would be naïve to think my style will work for everyone.  There are as many approaches to yoga as there are teachers, so it follows that there is a class out there somewhere that will work for each of us.  It can be hard to remember sometimes, but I do know in my heart that my real work is not teaching classes.  If I spark an interest in yoga, then I’ve done my job.  No matter where or how that student ends up  practicing, I can be pleased that they received the gift I gave.

 

And this is the lesson my children taught me.  I needed to be reminded that a gift once given is no longer mine to claim ownership of.  It is the recipient’s and it is up to them to do with as they desire.  Neither of my children is rejecting music.  Quite the contrary, they have embraced it and loved it.  Their desire to follow their own hearts to different styles and different instruments indicates that.  They are making the music “theirs,” which is exactly what I’d hoped would happen – albeit in a slightly different form than I’d imagined.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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It’s June and my children are having a hard time focusing on their schoolwork.  In addition to the fact that homework has monopolized their attention for the past nine months and they’re simply ready for a change of pace, it seems like the world around us is conspiring to distract them.  The warm weather is practically an engraved invitation for outdoor play.  The longer days are enticing us to head back outside for after-dinner walks.  And, when the sun finally does go down, the fireflies have returned, twinkling in the backyard teasing my children with the promise of a glowing chase.

 

All these things are sure signs that summer is (or should be!) upon us.  But it’s not.  There are three weeks remaining in the school year.  My oldest just found out the hard way that coasting is not good enough when his teachers sent a disappointed email to my husband and me.  It’s not that he’s dropped out or anything.  He’s been showing up and paying attention in the classroom.  He continues to participate whole-heartedly in the group projects that he thrives on. And he’s way ahead in the novel the class is reading because my son has never met a book he could put down.  It’s the other stuff he’s slacked off on.  The homework.  The in-class paperwork.  The organization of his binders and notes.   He’s figured out how to squeak by.  He’s figured out how to be a student without taxing himself.  He’s gotten a little lazy and a lot complacent.

 

In yoga-speak, he’s let his pendulum swing from effort to ease.  Yoga asana teach us to find balance between the effort we pour into a posture and the ease we feel while in it.  While we seek both in each posture while we practice, depending on the day, the balance between the two will shift and change.  There will be times when we’re feeling less motivated and the lure of finding a comfortable place in a posture is tantalizing.  These are the days when it is helpful for us to apply more effort and exertion in our stretches.  In other words, these are days when we need to work a little harder.  Doing so helps us to leave our mats feeling more energized than when we stepped onto them.

 

There will also be times when we come to our mats wound super tight – stressed or nervous or jazzed.  These are days when our natural pace is lightning fast and we are tempted to push ourselves deeper or further into stretches than is safe.  These are times when it is extra-beneficial to settle into a comfortable place in a posture and just be.  Doing so helps us to feel calmer and more grounded after we roll up our mats than when we unfurled them.

 

Yoga is a practice designed to bring us back into balance.  While each are normal to experience from time to time, neither lethargy or hyperactivity is a balanced state.  Neither is a healthy or productive way to live.  Depending on the day and our intention, yoga can pep us up or settle us down.  It is up to us to determine what we need from our practice each day.  As we begin to move, if we are practicing with awareness, we can determine how to move and breathe to bring our energy back into balance so we can leave the mat in the frame of mind that is one of yoga’s greatest gifts – settled, focused and calm, yet energized, mentally sharp and ready to take on whatever life sends our way.

 

It’s not just school children yearning for summer who can get complacent in their work.  I know that I’m sliding in that direction when I regularly leave my mat without having broken a sweat, when I find that I’m coasting through my practices effortlessly, when I’m not challenged by any of the postures.  Honestly, this has been happening a lot the last several weeks.  Interestingly, during this same time, I’ve felt lethargic off my mat.  One day last week, I really ramped things up in my practice.  I started to search for my edge in postures that can be quite easy for me.  I started to pull myself out of my comfort zone where I’d gotten quite … well, comfortable.  My practices certainly got hotter and sweatier, which feels great.  But what I’m really pleased about is how I feel off my mat.  My energy is a little peppier and my outlook is a little brighter.  I’m confident this is not a coincidence.

 

I’m also confident that it’s pretty near impossible for my kids’ passion for school to return to its September levels before their summer vacation.  That said, I suspect my son was secretly relieved that his teachers wrote home.  It reinforced their expectations of him.  It reinforced that his effort is necessary and rewarding.  Doing the work is harder than not, no doubt about it.  But, interestingly, as he has stepped it up academically, I’ve noticed a little more enthusiasm and excitement from him.  Coincidence?  I don’t think so!

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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How do you go on vacation?  And no, I’m not asking where you go or how you get there.  I’m asking how you get to that physical and mental state that is vacation.  Are there certain things you do to achieve that state of being?  Are there things you bring with you or (even better sometimes) things you leave at home to help you get there?

 

This past weekend, I went to Florida with a group of friends.  Up until this trip, I thought I had my personal techniques for getting into that vacation state of mind down to a science.  Mostly everything fell right into place.  The destination was the perfect escape for me.  Nothing says “vacation” to me like a sunny, spectacularly beautiful beach.  I had selected two or three books specially for their potential to completely absorb me in their tales.  I did not set the alarm clock when I went to bed the first night because allowing my body to sleep until it’s done is a luxury my daily life does not allow.  But, relatively speaking, these are all just little tricks.

 

You see, I’ve learned over the years that leaving my computer at home is, hands down, the most potent trick in my “getting on vacation” bag of tricks.  Being laptop-free smoothes and expedites my transition from regular life to vacation.  Unplugging from the email that can feel like a lifeline for my work and my relationships, from Facebook that is such fun, and from the yoga web communities that I participate in really helps me to shift gears.  Stepping away from my computer is a way to step out of my daily swirl into the restorative oasis that a little time away can be.  Mind you, I don’t do this for all of my trips.  Sometimes, it just would not be responsible or even feasible to completely unplug.  But even three days without my laptop can be completely rejuvenating.

 

But this year I got a new phone.  And I got the kind with internet and email service.  It was when I found myself responding to a PTO-related email while sitting on the beach the first day of my trip that I suddenly understood that getting myself on vacation was now a whole new game.  Though I’d deliberately left my responsibilities behind when I left my laptop on my desk at home, reminders of all that awaited me upon my return had managed to trail me to the beach.  It took some willpower, but I silenced my phone the way I do at the movies.  I vowed to stay off the internet.  I made a personal commitment to check my email only twice a day, and then only to open those messages that looked as if they truly needed my immediate attention.  (For the whole 4 days that I was away, I felt compelled to respond to only a handful of emails.)  In this way, I managed to preserve the restorative nature of my vacation.

 

I felt slightly victorious about successfully defeating the lure of my phone.  After all, going on vacation is really hard for some folks.  I know I am better at it than my husband is.  I shift gears more quickly and more smoothly than he does.  Typically, I also manage to stay on vacation longer than he does.  He frequently begins ramping back up to regular life two days before our scheduled departure by checking his email and calling into his office more frequently.  Why is this?  Perhaps it is the nature of the work we’ve left behind.  Scheduling private yoga sessions is typically less urgent than returning a call from a judge, say.  Perhaps it is the nature of our personalities.  But I also think I get more practice than he does.

 

Interestingly, yoga classes require us to use fundamentally the same skills as vacations.  In order to fully benefit from the class, we have to figure out a way to set aside the tasks, responsibilities, worries and even pleasures of our daily life.  We have to figure out a way to literally and figuratively unplug.  And yoga classes offer gifts similar to the gifts of a vacation.  Even a quick 60-minute class can be enough time “away” to restore our peace of mind and reinvigorate us.  It’s not too much of a stretch to say that a regular yoga practice affords us daily mini-vacations.

 

Our yoga teachers help us by doing some of the work to lead us to this “vacation” state.  Think about the peaceful setting of the studio or space where you practice that cues a similarly peaceful state of mind.  Perhaps your teacher burns incense, so you naturally take a deep, calming breath to savor the smell as you walk in the door.  Perhaps your teacher plays a certain kind of music to help set the mood of the room.  And these are little “tricks” compared to the real work of yoga.  Disengaging the thinking mind for a little while, allowing it to become still and focused on our body and our breath as we move, is the most potent way to avail ourselves of the nurturing, restorative gifts of a yoga practice.  A still mind, even for just a few minutes, can be an oasis in a day.  Everything else about a yoga class – the smells, the sounds, the scenery – is designed to help us achieve this.

 

By the last day of my beach vacation, I am pleased to report that I had lost even the urge to reach for my phone when one of my pals pulled hers out of her bag.  The beautiful setting and restful rhythm of our days certainly helped set my mood, but staying “on vacation” still required some of the same willpower and determination that I need to hold my mind steady when practicing yoga.  But that effort paid off exponentially.  I’m home from my trip rested and invigorated, with a collection of sand-dollars and seashells to add to my bag of tricks the next time I want help finding my way to a vacation state of mind.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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Have you ever sat outside a playground and just listened?  It’s a little like an orchestra warming up.  There’s a constant hum of kids talking punctuated by high pitched shrieks of joy as little ones sail down a slide or fly on a swing.  There are bursts of laughter ranging from giggle to guffaw.  There are swells of sound as someone gets angry and ramps up from a markedly loud speaking voice to full-on scream.  And, inevitably, there are the jagged sounds of someone crying.  Maybe someone stole a seat on the teeter-totter or perhaps someone toppled off the top of monkey bars (where they were not supposed to be in the first place).  I’m not talking about quiet snuffles.  I’m talking about all-out sobbing, broken only by the sounds of gulping breaths.

 

I was early to a meeting at my church last week.  Since it was a gorgeous day, I rolled down the windows of my car and settled in to enjoy a few minutes of fresh air and quiet time.  I shut off the radio and closed my eyes.  Until that moment, I hadn’t even realized I was parked within ear-shot of the nursery school playground.   As I listened, I was struck by the incredible range of emotion that I was privy to.  In our grown-up world, we tend to keep our emotions a little private.  Think about it.  How would it go over if you gave in to your frustration in a meeting and let loose a full-on scream?  How do you think your tennis opponents would react if you celebrated your ace with a shriek of joy?  Have you ever allowed yourself a true, sobbing melt-down in front of any of the friends you see day to day?  In other words, when is the last time your emotions flowed as freely as they do on a playground?

 

Part of growing up is developing “emotional maturity.”  At its basest level, this seems to be mean learning not to act on the wild swings of emotions that we experience during the course of an average day.  As we become more and more aware of society around us, we begin to create an emotional filter for ourselves.  Having witnessed my own children grow-up (at least partially), the advent of self-control seems to begin to develop right about the fourth birthday.  (Give or take several months depending on a child’s natural flair for drama, that is.)  But there is nothing like heading off to kindergarten to hammer this emotional filter into place.  Even at tender ages, we are powerfully affected by social standards and pressures.  We learn different ways to manage our feelings.  Some feelings we learn to express with words.  Some we learn to save up to release at home or in another safe place.  And some we simply begin to tuck away inside.

 

We get really good at masking our emotions.  In fact, many of us get so good at it that we can lose touch with our feelings.  We get so good at not responding to our emotions that we might start to convince ourselves that they’re not there.  But all those feelings haven’t gone away.  Even though it’s not a good idea to let our emotions run wild, it’s an even worse idea to disconnect from them.  Our feelings are a window into ourselves.  They tell us a great deal about who we are, what we love, what challenges us, and what feeds us.

 

There is nothing like asana practice on our yoga mats to break down our emotional filters and reacquaint us with our feelings.  This is especially true for those of us who first come to yoga as adults.  We step on our mats having faced the many peaks and valleys that make up a full life.  We’ve had personal crises, professional triumphs.  We’ve formed positive and painful relationships.  We’ve gained and we’ve lost.  After all we’ve lived and learned, how emotionally difficult could it possibly be to learn to stretch and breathe on a yoga mat?

 

It turns out, it can be really, really hard.  It’s possible that it’s been a long time since we’ve confronted anything that we just cannot do – let alone come face to face with it again and again.  But, we learn on our yoga mat that tight hamstrings are tight hamstrings.  Until they start to release, no matter how much we’d like to touch them, our toes will remain out of reach.  There’s not a darn thing we can do about it except accept what is.  If we weren’t adults proficient in emotional filtering, but were instead expressing ourselves as kids do on a playground, a little journey like this forward bend could create quite a cacophony.  Consider the unfilled desire, frustration, defeated ego, and surrender.  Consider the envy if your friend on a neighboring mat is palming the floor.  Consider the jubilation on the day you finally reach your toes.

 

If you’ve ever been in a yoga studio, you know from that quiet, peaceful, even serene setting that yoga is not teaching us to let our emotions rip as children do on a playground.  Yoga is a practice of self-control.  However, the self-control that yoga teaches us is more conscious, more aware than what we may have learned from society’s pressures and norms.  Yoga reconnects us with feelings we might have learned to ignore or pretend weren’t worthwhile or even real – the frustration involved in not being able to touch our toes, say.  Yoga validates these emotions as part of who we are.  Yoga teaches us to witness our feelings, to explore our emotions, even to learn from them.  Having witnessed our feelings, we learn to take a breath.  In that breath we recreate the serene environment of a yoga studio within ourselves.  In that quiet space, we are best able to determine which emotions are meaningful enough to justify an action and which are fleeting and can be allowed to pass through us like a ripple glides across water.

 

Listening to those children on the playground reminded me of how powerful and spontaneous my emotions used to be.  Working on my yoga mat reminds me that those feelings are still within me.  Now, I want to go find a swing and do a little flying of my own.  Want to come along?

 

Namaste,

 

I absolutely love it when yoga students ask me questions before or after class!  It’s funny, because usually these questions are prefaced with, “I don’t want to bother you …” or “I know you’re trying to get out of here …” or “This is probably a stupid question, but …”  To date, I can honestly say, I’ve never heard a stupid question. (Related to yoga, that is.  My kids sometimes ask stupid questions -- “Are we there yet?” being a popular one.)  I can also honestly say, I’ve never been bothered by an outside-of-class question.  To the contrary, a curious student is always a highlight to any time I spend teaching yoga.

 

Earlier this week, a student in a beginner’s class pulled me aside to ask about an advanced posture that I had not yet incorporated in our class.  She had seen folks practicing headstand elsewhere and was curious about it.  We spent a few minutes talking about the different forms headstand can take and how good it is for you to be upside down.  But the best part was that we wound up outside in the grass on a lovely spring night taking turns in the posture!  When I walked into my house afterwards, I had a huge smile on my face.  No matter how you slice it, exploring something you love with someone else is fun!

 

So why are we hesitant to ask questions?  Why, when you do a search of the word “curiosity” on the internet, is the old adage “Curiosity killed the cat.” listed above Einstein’s “The important thing is never to stop questioning … never lose a holy curiosity.”?  After all, forming questions is a very helpful step in figuring out what we think or believe.  Asking questions is a sure way to grow and to learn.  But there is more.  Questions are also a way to connect with people.  And the gifts of that connection flow both to the asker and the ask-ee.

 

Having a question answered obviously provides information to the questioner.  It is somewhat less obvious that the answerer also benefits from the exchange.  As a teacher, I love the glimpse a question offers me into a student’s personal practice.  I love getting a sense about where yoga is leading them.  I love the fact that they’re thinking about yoga beyond the time we share.  As someone who truly enjoys people,  I love being given the chance to help someone.  I love the idea that my experiences and knowledge could smooth someone else’s way.  And, as someone who happens to be passionate about yoga, I really love the opportunity to talk about the practice with another person who shares my interest.

 

The gifts of asking questions are not limited to student/teacher relationships.  Think about the people you most enjoy being with.  Now think about your conversations with them.  I suspect these folks fall into one of two categories – and probably into both.  The first category is made up of people who show curiosity in you.  They ask questions about what you’re doing.  They remember what you’re worried about and check in.  They want to know more about things you enjoy.  Their curiosity about you and your life is a way they show they care for you.  The second category is made up of people who fascinate you.  These are people you have a lot of questions for.  Perhaps what they do interests you.  Perhaps you enjoy what they enjoy.  Perhaps you have a little to offer to help them face their worries.  Your curiosity about them and their life is one way you show that you care.

 

In a shocking twist (ha!), it turns out that Einstein is right.  We should never stop questioning and never lose our curiosity.  Not only does our curiosity help us learn and grow.  It can also be a gesture of love and concern to the people who fill our lives.  If you have questions, ask them!  If you’re trying to connect with someone, ask questions!  Curiosity breathes life into conversations and relationships.  I suppose, therefore, it’s fitting to share that the oft-forgotten closing to the phrase “Curiosity killed the cat,” is “Satisfaction brought him back.”

 

Namaste,

Amy

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“Words kill, words give life; they’re either poison or fruit – you choose.” Proverbs 18

 

The other day, my daughter came home from lacrosse practice beaming.  As she was following her dad to the car, her coach patted her on the back and told her that she was one of his favorite players.  While she had certainly enjoyed lacrosse up to that point, that handful of words transformed her.  That validation from her coach gave her a huge boost in her confidence on the field, in her passion for the game and, most importantly, in the value she believes she adds to her team.  Mere days later, he may not even remember saying these words to her, but I don’t think she’ll ever forget hearing them.

 

And that’s the slippery nature of words.  They are at the same time so very easy to say and so awesomely powerful.  Even words spoken casually or without thought have the power to build up or to destroy.  Sometimes, as in my daughter’s case, a casual word from someone can brighten a whole day.  Other times, the exact opposite can happen.

 

When I was in middle school, I idolized a girl names Kris.  She was a year older, had perfect blonde feathered hair, and wore towering “Candie’s” shoes with her skinny jeans.  To be noticed by this girl was something I yearned for.  A lifetime later, I still have not forgotten the day I landed on her radar screen.  You see, back then I had a bone infection that caused me to limp pretty badly.  Evidently, my limp also slowed me down.  On the day she finally noticed me, my idol swept past me in the hall leaning in to talk to the boy next to her.  I came to a screeching halt as I heard her hiss to him that she sure wished they’d keep “these cripples” out of her way.  I don’t think she meant for me to hear her.  I’m sure she didn’t mean to send me into a spiral of self-consciousness that would last for years to come.  She was just talking.  Right?

 

But talking is one of the most potent things that we do.  Yet we often wield our words cavalierly.  We talk and talk and talk.  Oftentimes, as we talk our concern is much more wrapped up in how our words affect us than in how they might make our listeners feel.  Talking can make us feel powerful.  Talking can make us feel important.  Talking can be habit-forming.  In fact, trying to control what we say can feel like trying to control the wind.  How many times has your mouth gotten ahead of your mind?  I’ve had whole days when I feel that every time I open my mouth it is only to re-insert my foot.  And when I get mad?  Forget about it.  When my temper flares I’ve been known to spew words that I regret as soon as they pass my lips.

 

So, how do we manage to bridle our mouths?  How do we begin to create a habit of speaking mindfully rather than carelessly?

 

In an odd twist, the relatively word-free practice of yoga can really help.  Our silent hours on our mats can teach us a lot about acting thoughtfully, about developing awareness of habits, about considering the impact of our actions before we act.  Most obviously, yoga teaches us to be very aware of how we are moving our bodies.  We learn that even something as seemingly insignificant as the placement of our feet can throw off an entire posture.  We learn that every action causes a reaction.  For instance, when we start to jump back from a standing forward bend into plank, we realize that a slack belly leads to a weak back as our landing jars us from stem to stern.  And we learn that reactions can sometimes be much more significant than the action themselves – perhaps when we find ourselves nursing a tender low back after only a few careless landings!

 

On a more subtle level, yoga teaches us greater self-control.  It starts with moving mindfully rather than carelessly, but quickly extends beyond the body.  As we start to work to maintain steady, deep, rhythmic breathing while we practice , we learn even greater levels of control.  We take this to the next level when we start to work at reining in our wandering mind.  Yoga also helps us develop compassion and a deep desire to avoid causing pain.  We start on our mats with ourselves, learning to respect, love and honor our bodies as they are right now.  We learn to work and challenge ourselves safely – yearning for growth and progress but unwilling to risk injury.  As our compassion develops on our mats, we naturally begin to express it off our mats with the people who fill our lives.

 

As it turns out, the heightened awareness, increased sensitivity to the ripple effects of our actions, greater self-control and deeper compassion that we learn on our yoga mats are powerful tools as we begin to work to speak more mindfully.  Just as we’ve learned the gift of a pause before we act on our mats (to firm up our belly before we jump, say), we learn to pause (even if just for a beat) before we open our mouths.  Phyllis Tickle writes, “It is by our words that we are known.  They are both our ultimate action and also our most immutable expression of self.”  As we grow in our practice, we set our intention to speak so that the world can see the kind of person we hope to be.  And, if all goes well, like my daughter’s coach, we might even help someone else along their way as well.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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In hindsight, I see that these early parking lot escapades were but hints of more adventurous wanderings to come.  Indeed, as Katie has grown, she remains my child most likely to roam.  I’ve learned that sometimes, this is OK.  And, over the course of the last ten years, I’ve had the opportunity to try out many different  Katie-tracking techniques.  For instance, if we’re walking through the mall, she is always way off in front of the rest of us -- even when she has no idea where she’s going.  We’ve learned to holler when we’re turning into our destination and she’s learned to keep an ear out for us.  If we’re hiking in the woods, chances are she’ll drop back behind the group to explore on her own.  Again, we’ve learned that, like our dog who loves to run loops around us, she can keep track of where we are by listening as we mosey along calling the dog’s name periodically.

 

But sometimes her roaming is decidedly not OK.  For instance when we go into New York City, which we do with some regularity.  Walking the city streets with Katie can be excruciating.  It is simply terrifying to consider what would happen if we lost track of her.  Holding hands with Katie in the city doesn’t work any better than it did a decade ago in the parking lot.  While she’s outgrown the temper tantrums it used to cause, me trying to keep a physical grip on her still causes unbearable loads of tension.  Given that she’s spent her entire life trying to leave me behind, the one sure way I’ve found to keep track of my daughter is surprising.  We’ve formed an exclusive team of two.  In our family, Katie and I have become the “fast walkers.”  We forge the trails, determine the routes, and even get to dictate many of our stops along the way.  I’ve learned from her that life is indeed good when you’re out in front.  She’s learned from me that being in front feels even better when you’re safe with your partner in crime, Mom.

 

No matter whether we’re close to home or far afield, if my journeys with Katie have taught me anything, it is that most problems require more thinking and finesse than simply gritting my teeth and holding on more tightly.  And that’s where practicing yoga has helped me.  In any yoga posture, it’s a sure thing that if I’m gritting my teeth and trying really hard, I’m not going get anywhere.  In fact, I’ve learned the hard way that when I’m trying too hard, my concerted (and somewhat forceful) effort is going to lead to one of two places – injury or exhaustion.  Luckily for me, I’m likely to wear out before I hurt myself!  Instead, I have to get a little creative and sneaky with my body.

 

If I’m working really hard to hold a lunge for 15-20 breaths, chances are my bent front leg has stiffened up to echo my tightly clenched jaw.  Yoga teaches us that the only way to get deeper into that lunge is actually to back off a little bit.  We have to make a decision to lift up a little from the stretch.  Once I’ve given myself that space, I deliberately relax the toes of my bent leg.   (Often, I have to actually wiggle them to get them to let go.)  This prompts the large quadriceps muscles in my thigh to relax, which relieves the quivering, clenched feelings of exhaustion.  Once I get those muscles to release, my body opens and allows me to sink in deeper.  In this softer, open state, although I’m deeper into the lunge than I originally was, I find that I can actually hold the stretch longer.

 

I’ve learned on my mat that a subtle shift of perspective from aching, frozen quads to wiggly toes makes all the difference in the world to my ability to explore a stretch.  I’ve learned on my mat that a meaningful shift in intention from forceful effort to patient, creative persistence takes me into whole new dimensions of capability and experience.  And, as my body wises up to and begins to ignore my tried and true sneaky tricks to take it further into a posture, I’ve learned to keep trying new ones.  I’ve learned on my mat that the same problem can have an infinite number of solutions.

 

As I head into adolescence with my roaming child, my years of experience on and off my mat have taught me that I’m going to have to continue to come up with new tricks and creative approaches to keep her safe and sound.  My long distance tracking techniques may have to evolve to include a cell phone.  I might sometimes have to relinquish my spot on the “fast walking” team to a trusted friend.  Who knows what else I will come up that will work to keep track of my girl?!  What I know for sure is that, while it may seem counter-intuitive, holding on tight simply spurs Katie to zoom further ahead than I like her to be – and I will continue to be really crafty to keep that from happening.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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