4:00 in the morning is a dark and lonely hour. Really, the best thing to do if you find yourself awake at 4:00 in the morning is roll over and go back to sleep. And, earlier this week, when I found myself wide awake at precisely that hour, that is what I tried to do.

 

It didn’t work.

 

I’d woken with a start from a dead sleep, the answer to a question that had been nagging me all weekend suddenly crystal clear. My heart was pounding. Adrenaline was coursing through my body. My mind was racing – making lists, schedules and working logistics. Other than the fact that one usually wants to be asleep, the problem with 4:00 in the morning is that everyone else is. Therefore, there was no way for me to get going on all the work I now knew I had to do.

 

After 20 minutes of ujjayi breathing, attempts at meditation, and mindfully trying to relax each area of my body, I was no closer to sleep. In fact, trying to hold still and relax had left me feeling increasingly stressed. So I slipped out of bed, brushed my teeth, laced up my sneakers and woke up the dog (poor thing). While we walk pretty fast on a normal day, that morning, we were flying!

 

My steps fell automatically into a steady, regular pace. My breathing synchronized with my movements. Because it was so dark, my eyes stayed focused on the road just ahead, not searching or drawn to any sights. As I breathed and moved, my mind focused. As I walked, I felt my perspective shift. I could see the whole of my problem – the good, the bad and the ugly. Instead of allowing the urge to react to distract me, I kept looking at it, studying it, accepting it.

 

Because I was working so hard physically, my mind began to downshift from the frenzied state I’d awakened in. I was still fully absorbed in the issue at hand, but in a very different way. Rather than working the problem, I was observing it. Giving myself other work to do (zipping through the dark streets of town so quickly that the dog was behind me at times) somehow freed me from the need to get to work – now! – that had shaken me from my slumber. This watchful, attentive mindset gave me the space I needed to grapple with what had caused my problem. It also gave me the patience to consider a variety of possible solutions. (After all, I wouldn’t be able to actually do anything until I got home!)

 

By the time my dog and I climbed the last hill of our walk, I began to sense my problem’s solution. I felt the beginnings of a plan fall into place. I was tired from the exercise, but I wasn’t sleepy. (That would come much later in the day.) I was wide-eyed and very alert, but no longer panicked. While my mind remained focused on my issue, I felt centered. I felt confident in the actions I was poised to take once the rest of the world woke up.

 

I am so grateful to my yoga practice for reminding me over and over again of the interconnection of my body and my mind. I am so grateful for the deep, clear understanding that sometimes the best thing to do when one part of me is out of balance is to work with another part. I knew instinctively that morning that to continue to think would quickly turn into a cyclone of frenzied thoughts and panicked feelings. Without thinking about it, my body seemed to know that if I shifted gears to do something physical, my mind would have the chance to settle.

 

As I absorbed myself in the hard work of a lightning-fast walk, I was able to safely experience my harried thoughts and upset feelings. Burning off some physical steam left me calmer inside and out. Stretching my legs and lungs in that cool morning air left me with a sense of space around my problem. I no longer felt squeezed to react. Instead, I felt I had the space to act mindfully.

 

Was that walk yoga? Not quite. But it sure provided some of the practice’s best gifts on that dark, early morning.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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My parents instilled in my brother, sister and me a firm belief that we could do anything – anything! - we set our minds to doing. I think one of the greatest rewards of this mindset is an almost automatic willingness to try new things. Sometimes, my belief in myself drives me to do some relatively crazy stuff. Can’t find draperies and bedding to match freshly painted bedroom walls? Why not make them? How hard could that be? Want to send handmade Christmas cards like the fabulous one you received from your crafty, creative friend last year? If she can do it, there’s no reason I can’t, too! Need a website for your fledgling business? If your average 20-year-old can build one, surely I can too, right?

 

And, fueled by my belief in my ability to do anything I decide to do, I learned to do all these things. It’s empowering to believe you can.

 

Upon reflection, it must be this deeply engrained belief that kept me, a fairly uncoordinated, long-limbed, not-so-flexible gal, coming back again and again to my yoga mat. There was absolutely no good reason to believe I’d one day figure out how to move fluidly through a complicated series of postures. Anyone who knew me in middle school will tell you that I was always (always!) placed in the far back corner of the stage in dance recitals. That I would one day be able to balance on my head or my hands was so far-fetched as to be laughable. While my sister was cart-wheeling across the lawns of my childhood, I could be found sitting safely in the grass with my nose in a book.

 

Paradoxically, these childhood experiences helped me keep at it. Because I was so accustomed to not measuring up, I didn’t set lofty physical goals for myself. Because I was so used to being relegated to the klutzy corners of a group, I certainly didn’t spend a lot of time looking around the room comparing myself to my classmates. By keeping my goals attainable – just do the best you can today – and by keeping my focus inward, I never doubted myself. In fact, despite how I must have looked in each posture, the yoga felt so good that I knew I must be doing it “right!” Not only did my belief that I can do anything I set my mind to doing keep me coming back to my mat, but yoga reaffirmed the veracity of this belief.

 

Now that I’m all grown up and have had the benefit years to test this belief, I’ve added a caveat to it. While I may be able to do anything I set my mind to, I may not actually like doing it. When this is the case, it’s perfectly OK to choose not to do it. It’s liberating to know you don’t have to.

 

Let’s go back to some of those things I decided I could do. The draperies and bedding that I made were beautiful. They matched my walls perfectly. And they took forever. Would I do a project like that again? Maybe. Would I do it right now? No way. My kids no longer nap leaving me several hours each afternoon to design, measure, cut and sew. While I clearly could do it, it would add stress to my days. Right now, shopping for bedding is the way for me to go.

 

And those handmade Christmas cards? Well, not only was my finished product not nearly as fabulous as my friend’s, but I hated the process. All that cutting, trimming, and gluing nearly landed me in the loony bin right in the midst of what was supposed to be a happy, celebratory time of year. Can I make cards? Sure. Will I ever do it again? Absolutely not. I find it a lot more fun to fiddle around on Shutterfly and then press the “order” button.

 

The website I built for my little yoga studio was a labor of love. I’m proud of it. It took about a hundred times longer to finish than I expected. It made steam come out of my ears. It stretched me to the max. Compared to building that website, the process of learning to stand on my head looks quick and easy – and that took almost a year and involved me falling flat on my back onto a wooden floor!

 

Did I do it? Yes. But I in doing so I learned two invaluable lessons. First, I learned that the willingness to ask for help is central to my ability to do anything I set my mind to doing. Without two generous and knowledgeable friends, I might have met my match on that project. Second, I confirmed that being able to do something doesn’t mean I like doing it. One click past the user-friendly interface into the details of IP addresses, coding, and the like and my eyes glaze over, my brain freezes up and my heart begins to pound. Though I’m glad I tried and (with a more than a little help) succeeded, the details of web technology are just not for me. I’ve given myself carte blanche to choose not to do anything like that again!

 

There are lots of crazy postures to try on your yoga mat. (Some even crazier than trying to build your own website!) The belief that you can do anything you set your mind to can be the inspiration you need to try. That said, a sign of the maturity of any yoga practice is a willingness to choose not to take postures that don’t feel good when you try them. Until your body opens or your understanding deepens making these stretches more accessible, feel free to give yourself permission to choose not to take them.

 

Like my adventures in sewing, this doesn’t mean you’ll never try again. Rather, it means that, for now, choosing to take baby steps, modifications and even to get a helping hand from your teacher might just be the way to go.

 

Believe in yourself and choose your path wisely,

Amy

 

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Another article about yoga hit the mainstream press last weekend. This one, by William J. Broad, has a very “exciting” title - How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body. (If you haven’t already read it, click here to do so.) If the fact that it was one of the main stories in the January 8, 2012 edition of The New York Times Magazine wasn’t enough to catch your attention, a title like that will do the trick, right?

 

Because I’m a yoga teacher whose business depends on people coming to yoga classes each week, it may seem counter-intuitive, but I hope this article does capture a lot attention among the 20 million or so people it is said practice yoga in the United States. While I think the stories it shares of yoga-related injury are extreme, its message is an important one for all yoga students. Like any physical activity done often over a long period of time, you can get hurt practicing yoga.

 

Is the practice worth the risk? Absolutely. Yoga can be a truly life-changing practice.

 

It is great for the body – building strength, increasing flexibility, releasing stress and developing a desire to take better care of ourselves. It is also great for our state of mind. It is a way to find some calm in an ever more chaotic and frenetic world. By practicing we can become less reactive, instead acting more mindfully even in wildly stressful moments. Yoga is also great for our relationships. As our practice develops, we may find we’re more patient, more accepting, and more willing to go with the ebb and flow of life. Yoga can also re-ignite a spiritual yearning in us that may have been dimmed by our all-consuming, hectic daily lives. This spiritual awakening offers a powerful perspective as we navigate our days. It’s a reminder of what’s really important and of our unique significance.

 

So how great is the risk? Unfortunately, the answer to that question is the single most frustrating answer ever--- It Depends.

 

On what does it depend? I’d love to be able to tell you that it depends on the style of yoga you practice or the quality of teacher you study with or even the kind of mat you use. And, most certainly these play a role in your yoga experience. After all, a slippery sticky mat (yes, mysteriously, they are out there) can make it challenging to find a safe, sturdy foundation in downward facing dog. That said, there is merit to the old maxim “a poor craftsman blames his tools.” It could certainly be said that you are less likely to injure yourself in a slow-moving, “gentle” yoga class than in a power yoga class. But injuries can happen whether you’re holding a posture for minutes at a time or flowing relatively quickly from one to the next. Clearly, you want to study with a teacher who inspires you, who you trust, and with whom you feel safe. But you could get injured in a class with a master teacher who has worked with thousands of students over the course of decades just as easily as you could with a brand new registered yoga teacher at your local health club for exactly the same reason.

 

That reason is you.

 

It is your approach to the practice that determines the magnitude of your risk of yoga-related injury. In fact, it could be said that your approach determines whether what you’re doing on your sticky mat is yoga or calisthenics. We must be mindful for the stretches and “moves” that make up our practice to be considered yoga. What is mindful? It’s simply paying attention. Really close, careful, eyes-wide-open attention. It’s staying off “auto-pilot” no matter how familiar a movement is. It’s staying present to explore the sensations of the stretch. It’s a willingness to take baby steps when learning something new. It’s constantly assessing whether you’re at your limit in a posture. It’s keeping an open mind to the fact that you will have tight days and loose days. It’s respecting yourself, honoring your limitations, and trusting your instincts.

 

Being mindful also keeps your eyes on your own mat. This is crucially important to your safety as you practice yoga. Competitiveness has absolutely no place on a yoga mat. Just because your neighbor in class can fold forward so that she is lying on her extended legs does not mean that you will be able to do this too. In fact, your forward bend might be more aptly described as a forward tilt. What you miss if you’re consumed with trying to look like your neighbor is that you’re both experiencing the same sensations. You’re both receiving the same gifts from the posture. What you risk by competing to look like your bendy neighbor is a torn hamstring or sore lower back. Yoga requires us to be completely absorbed in our own experiences. When we are, we are simply not able to compare ourselves to others in the room.

 

Mindfulness also protects us from teacher error. Whether a teacher is inexperienced or just overly enthusiastic, there may come a time that he or she suggests you try something new. Your mindful approach to your body will illuminate whether this is a good idea or not. Because you’re paying such attention to your experience, you will know whether this suggestion is beyond your capabilities or a possibility worth exploring. And you should always trust yourself and speak up. In the end, you know way more about your body in that moment than any teacher possibly could. It is this trust in your instincts that will keep you safe on your mat.

 

So, can you get hurt practicing yoga? Sure you can. A reminder of the risks of the practice (like the one provided by Mr. Broad’s article) is valuable for everyone who practices yoga. Such reminders can shake us out of auto-pilot, re-open our eyes to our experiences on our mats and re-inspire us to mindfulness. It’s this mindfulness that will allow yoga to continue to sustain us and transform us for the rest of our lives.

 

Practice well,

Amy

 

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In the wee hours of January 2, I broke my New Year’s resolution for the first time. A split second later, I broke it again.

 

What was my resolution? Well, I’m not proud to admit that I have a bit of a potty mouth. While I control it pretty well when my kids are around, when I hurt myself or get surprised or just get around someone else who swears, off I go. I suppose this habit began during my years of working in Manhattan, where your run-of-the-mill swear words are socially acceptable adjectives, leaving you just the really big ones to use as expletives. That said, it’s been a really long time since I worked in New York, so I’m not sure that’s such a good excuse. Whatever the reason, it’s a habit I periodically try to break. And what better time to give it a (-nother) whirl than at the start of a new year?

 

What happened that morning, just one day into the new year, that moved me to a dirty word? I tripped.

 

I was tip-toeing through the sleeping house, headed out for a walk with my dog. In typical, multi-tasking fashion, I wasn’t only getting ready for my walk. I was also lugging a gigantic hamper of dirty clothes to the mud room. Because my hands were full, I hadn’t turned on any lights. I made my way through the pitch-black kitchen, balancing my sneakers, a glass of water and the laundry. Then I tripped over the dog’s bed. As I nearly lost my precarious load, out slipped a whispered four-letter word. Almost before that single syllable had left my lips, I realized that I’d cursed and broken my resolution --- and out slipped another one.

 

If it weren’t for my yoga practice, I might have thrown up my hands then and there. After all, it would have been easy to decide “So much for a clean mouth in 2012!” It would have been a whole lot easier than keeping at it, right?

 

But yoga’s taught me better than that.

 

I vividly remember trying to figure out how to jump back into a high plank from a forward bend in the Sun Salutations (surya namaskar) that open each class. Because my teacher always led us through eight to ten Sun Salutations, I had many opportunities to try. In the beginning, it was not unusual for me to chicken out and step back seven or eight times in a row. But even as jumping became less frightening, I would mess up a lot more than I’d get it right. I’d jump with just one foot. Or I’d land with a teeth rattling thud. Or I’d freak out mid-jump and wind up way out of position for the next movement.

 

But never once did I consider throwing up my hands and quitting. After all, I was learning to do something I’d never done before. I knew from experience that physical feats like the jump back didn’t come naturally or easily for me. My messing up was not unexpected. Honestly, it was more unexpected when I did manage to land a jump back! So I kept at it. And, over time, the number of misfires and sloppy landings started to drop off. One day, I realized that whether or not I could jump back was no longer a question. The question was simply whether or not I would.

 

My understanding of the process involved in learning and changing arms me against failure. In fact, this understanding redefines failure. Slipping up and swearing isn’t a death knell for my goal any more than my early, spastic attempts at a jump back meant that I’d never be able to do it. Just as each missed landing was a chance to figure out what I’d done wrong, each time I curse is a chance to notice what cues this habit of mine. While I know I won’t be able to avoid these triggers, it’s OK. After all, there was no way to avoid the jump backs either. They just kept coming -- ten times every time I came to my mat!

 

With this in mind, I’ve redefined my New Year’s resolution. Instead of a clean mouth in 2012, I’m going to work on developing a cleaner mouth. I’m hoping that the process will mirror the development of my jump back. Over time, hopefully, the number of my slip ups will drop off. Maybe, just maybe, by this time next year, I’ll realize that whether or not I can stop cursing is no longer a question. The question will simply be whether or not I do. When that’s the case, just as I now usually choose to jump, I’m confident that I’ll (usually) choose not to say a four-letter word.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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Happy New Year!

 

Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world.

Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before.

Let your soul take you where you long to be …

Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar, and you’ll live as you’ve never lived before.

-     Erich Fromm

 

Embarking on a new year can feel like leaving on a journey and one of the most important steps before leaving on any trip is packing. We need to be sure we have the right clothes for the climate and for our planned activities. We absolutely need to make sure we bring the right shoes. We need to remember a lot of stuff - various chargers (phone, computer, i-pod), memory cards for the camera, a few good books, perhaps a journal. To pack well, we need to have a pretty good idea of what we’ll be doing while we’re gone. We need to know where we’re going.

 

As we set out on a new year, however, we don’t have any idea where we’re going to end up. Yet, nonetheless, we feel the need to pack. “Packing” for a new year often takes the form of setting resolutions. We resolve to create new habits. We resolve to break old ones. We resolve to slim down, shape up, get more organized, yell less, love more, slow down, speed up. While we don’t know where the road of life will lead us in the new year, we know one thing for certain. We’re going to live it differently than we lived this year. We’re going to live it better than ever before. In other words, we’re resolving to change.

 

Yoga, however, teaches us to accept and love ourselves as we are right now. Is it possible to do both? Can we embark on the journey of a new year with self-acceptance in the same suitcase as our aspirations to be somehow “better?” Perhaps. You see, yoga offers us “intentions” in place of resolutions. Where resolutions can be specific, finite and carry the possibility of failure (and attendant guilt), intentions are more open. Intentions are on-going. While intentions require our best efforts, they are not “broken” if we fall short. Intentions are guiding lights to shine on our actions, choices and decisions. Their light is warm – they are meant to help us in discernment, not judgment. Intentions draw us forward, nurture us as we develop, ground us as we stretch.

 

As we prepare to begin a new year by reflecting on ourselves and our lives, it can be easier to focus on our shortcomings rather than on our attributes. However, we can’t hope to grow into our “best-possible-selves” until we truly embrace who we already are. Loving and accepting ourselves as we are can be one of yoga’s toughest lessons. It’s one we typically confront first on our mats. “If I only had looser hamstrings …,” we think. “If only my shoulders didn’t curl forward …,” or “If only my knees didn’t hurt ….” As we practice, however, we begin to see that tight hamstrings, rounded shoulders or sore knees cannot prevent us from receiving the gifts of each posture any more than being less than perfect can prevent us from living rich, full lives. We simply modify the posture to suit us as we are right now. And that’s perfect!

 

We don’t have to have better bodies to practice yoga, but as we journey on our mats, our bodies will gradually open, straighten, strengthen and balance. They will do so because of our yoga. And also because of our patient, loving acceptance of ourselves as we are. The same is true in our life journeys. We’re not going to get to see cooler stuff or go to better places or reach our destination any faster if we’re better people. But, by practicing patience and loving acceptance of ourselves, we will certainly enjoy the trip more!

 

Our practice teaches us to accept everything about ourselves - the things that make us proud, obviously, but also the things we’re not so proud of. We need to believe deep down in our hearts that we are as we’re intended to be right now. We need to believe that we’re meant to always be growing into ourselves. We need to know in our heart of hearts that it is by growing that we develop certain parts of ourselves and shed others. We need to know that, no matter how we long to arrive at our destination, we are created to journey.

 

This is a lifelong journey and it’s not a non-stop flight. There will be layovers, flight delays and even detours. We may lose our suitcase. We may discover that we’ve packed the wrong stuff. We may need to pick up some clothes or gear along the way. In the end, however, if we stay open and aware we’ll get to see great beauty, have exhilarating adventures, climb breathtaking summits and thoroughly enjoy our traveling companion – ourselves!

 

Bon Voyage,

Amy

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When I was in fourth grade, my music teacher taught us a sweet song called Do You Hear What I Hear  to sing in our holiday program. (If you’d like to listen while you read, click here.) It gave me goose-bumps every single time we practiced it, and, if I’m honest, I still get a little shiver when I hear it today. The melody is as sweet and simple as the story it tells.

 

Do You Hear What I Hear

Lyrics by Noel Regney

Said the night wind to the little lamb
Do you see what I see
Way up in the sky little lamb
Do you see what I see
A star, a star
Dancing in the night
With a tail as big as a kite
With a tail as big as a kite

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy
Do you hear what I hear
Ringing through the sky shepherd boy
Do you hear what I hear
A song, a song
High above the tree
With a voice as big as the sea
With a voice as big as the sea

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king
Do you know what I know
In your palace wall mighty king
Do you know what I know
A child, a child
Shivers in the cold
Let us bring him silver and gold
Let us bring him silver and gold

Said the king to the people everywhere
Listen to what I say
Pray for peace people everywhere
Listen to what I say
The child, the child
Sleeping in the night
He will bring us goodness and light
He will bring us goodness and light

The child, the child
Sleeping in the night
He will bring us goodness and light

 

But what really tugged at my heart as a child (and continues to all these years later) is its soft, yet urgent message. “Psst,” it whispers over and over again. “Look. Listen. Wonder. If you don’t pay attention, you’re going to miss it!” Each verse offers a different sign of the season – a star, a song, a child. As a child, I could imagine the world going about its business that long ago Christmas eve and missing these signs. I could vividly imagine being so wrapped up in whatever I was doing that I missed seeing that star or hearing that song. My little heart hurt at the idea of being right there, but missing the chance to see the child, missing the chance to kneel in wonder, missing the chance to witness everything changing that winter night.

 

Flash forward to today’s world, and the signs of the season are decidedly less simple than the ones memorialized in the song. We have lights, trees, wreaths, and bows. We have carols on every radio station, Christmas every time you turn on the television and Santas in every shop you visit. The signs today are beautiful. They put smiles on faces and a festive spirit in hearts. They add magic to the season. But they can be distracting. We can get so wrapped up in the signs of the season that we may miss the message all these signs are trying to convey. This is why the message of our song remains so moving. “Psst,” it whispers. “Pay attention. You’re going to miss it.”

 

Paying attention is a learned skill. Paying attention takes practice. The time we spend moving and breathing on our yoga mats is an opportunity to hone our attentiveness. We learn to fully experience each moment. We learn to focus on the each muscle touched by a posture. We learn to discern nuances, gradually coming to better understand our body and our mind. We learn to notice little details which would have escaped us earlier. We learn to explore beyond the obvious. We come to understand that sensations we initially thought were the entire experience of a pose are just the tip of the iceberg.

 

As our practice deepens, we learn to drop so deeply into our experience that we begin to understand that the postures we move through on our mat are merely signs or trappings. They are the wreaths and the lights of yoga. The message that the signs of yoga are conveying is to love, to cherish, to respect and to honor. We start with ourselves on our mats – setting aside judgment of all the things we notice, instead appreciating our bodies and our practices in whatever form they take. This is a powerful shift that feels good and right and true. It is so transformative that we soon find ourselves approaching others in this same, attentive, loving way. And, so, our lives change.

 

Like the trappings of the Christmas season, the signs of yoga are beautiful. The postures make us feel good. They can add a sense of well-being to our days that feels almost as magical as the sparkling decorations that surround us in December. For all their beauty, however, it would be a shame to get so wrapped up in these “trappings” that we miss the meaning of the practice. Fortunately, the attentiveness that yoga teaches us is ever-expanding. As our attention develops, it is quite natural for us to “look up,” to seek a deeper understanding of why yoga makes us feel so very good.

 

It’s at exactly this moment that we grasp that the “star” which has so absorbed our attention, which has drawn us ever closer to our destination, is but a sign. Yoga has drawn us to a quiet, inner place where it is quite natural for us to trust a deeper knowing than anything we’ve ever studied or learned. We see that to love, to cherish, to respect and to honor is the way. In awe, we bow down to the brilliant One who loved us into creation. In wonder, we intend to emulate that powerful love in each relationship in our lives. And, so, our lives change.

 

The signs of this season are beautiful. Enjoy each and every one. Let them sparkle brightly in your holidays. Enjoy the festive spirit they inspire in your heart. But, pssst, remember to look up to see where they’re leading you.

 

Merry Christmas!

Amy

 

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I bet you’ve spent some time making lists lately, haven’t you? Maybe yours looks a little like this?

 

Your Significant Other

Your Mom

Your Dad

Your Brother

Your Sister

Your Childhood Friend

Your Kids’ Piano Teacher

The Mailman

The Trash Guys

 

On and on goes the list of the people to whom you’d like to give gifts this holiday season. It’s fun to make this list. Doing so provides a moment to consider how lucky you are to have these people in your life. It’s even more fun to consider what to choose that would bring a smile to each face. And seeing all those specially chosen gifts piled up in their pretty paper and bows can bring a smile to your face too. It feels good to give.

 

How would you feel about putting yourself on this list? A little funny? After all, it’s not really the best time of year to be splurging on gifts for ourselves, is it?

 

I don’t want to make yogis out to be extravagant or anything, but every single time we unroll our mats, we give ourselves a little pile of gifts. We give ourselves the gift of time – time to step out of the swirl of our lists, tasks, chores and projects. Our “time out” liberates us from feelings of being hurried, stressed or squeezed. Our “time out” on our mats allows us to better realize our priorities, to be more efficient, to feel less frazzled and to be more mindful.

 

When we practice yoga, we give ourselves the gift of space. When we step on our mats, we step away from everyone else and turn within. A little time by ourselves, moving and breathing, can give us some elbow room. It can make our lives feel a lot less cramped and crowded. This time apart can leave us eager to return and ready to re-engage with the people around us.

 

This gift of space is not just external. Practicing yoga helps create space within as well. Our practice teaches us how powerful it is to set aside judging thoughts about ourselves. It’s not long before we find ourselves stepping away from opinions and thoughts about others as well. When we do this, even if just for a few moments, our state of mind shifts. We leave our mats more open, more accommodating and more spacious.

 

When we unroll our mats, we give ourselves the gift of health. Yoga is a gift to our bodies. It is restorative, nurturing, and healing. It methodically opens, re-balances, unbinds and invigorates. It stimulates our systems – digestive, respiratory, endocrine, and cardio-vascular. It keeps us lean, toned and strong. Not only does yoga leaves us standing a little taller in our own shoes, but it leaves us feeling fully alive and energized as we do so.

 

Practicing yoga gives us the gift of a brighter spirit. Moving and breathing on our mats quiets our minds and guides our awareness inward. As we spend more and more time in this quiet, inner place, we reconnect with the unique spark of life that is the very essence of our being. Some experience this as a moment of communion with God. Some experience it as a visceral connection with the whole of creation. Some experience this as pure clarity that we are more than flesh and blood – we are spiritual beings. However we interpret this experience, our inward focus fans our spark, encouraging it to shine through everything we do.

 

If we look at our practices as a pile of gifts, rather than as another “should” filling our day, I suspect we’ll be much more likely to practice regularly. After all, who doesn’t like to get presents? But this gift that we give ourselves is a little magical. It is truly the gift that keeps on giving. Yoga leaves us filled up and better able to give of ourselves to all the wonderful people who fill our lives.

 

So, go ahead! Add yourself to that list. And feel good about it! Doing so won’t stretch your budget. But it will certainly stretch you – body, mind and spirit.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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Fine. This seeming innocuous word, somewhere between not-so-great and good on the “How ya doin’?” scale, really takes a beating in our modern jargon. Add a dramatic, almost-teen into the mix and “fine” is rarely fine.

 

Mom (in reasonable tone of voice): “Honey, you need to take your clean laundry upstairs before you walk into town.”

Daughter (rolling eyes and stomping feet): “Fine.”

 

Mom (curiously): “Honey, how was your day?”

Daughter (lip trembling, tears welling): “Fine?”

 

Mom (firmly): “Honey, that outfit is simply not appropriate. You need to go upstairs and try again.”

Daughter (seething with outrage that her mother is such an incredible fashion fool): “Fine!”

This little word, it turns out, has a big lesson to teach us. It’s not always what we say. It’s how we say it.

 

Tone. Body language. Facial expressions. These are as powerful communication tools as words. In fact, you could say that these often convey our intention more clearly than our words do. How many times have I confronted my daughter, only to have her retort, “What?! I said ‘FINE.’” Yes, my dear. You said ‘fine.’ But your tone said something else entirely.

 

It’s easy to point a finger at the adolescents of the world when talking about tone, but if we’re going to be really honest with each other, we all do it. Just the other day, my husband asked if I’d like him to carry the hamper downstairs for me. I responded, “Yes, thank you.” Seeing those three little words typed out neat-as-can-be makes my response look polite. That morning, however, I was feeling put upon. I’d exercised and done what felt like 8 million household tasks while he snoozed away. Despite my virtuous (and busy) early morning behavior, I was still facing the dreaded task of laundry. For no rational reason at all, I hated that he was still in bed. I hated that he hadn’t fed the dog, made breakfast for the kids, or straightened up the swath of destruction left over from last night’s homework. I hated that I had to do the laundry and not him. And all of those feelings were clear as a bell in my response, “Yes, thank you.” Can you hear my tone a little more clearly now?

 

Tone plays a role on our yoga mats as well. Tone here does not involve our voices. Tone is the energy, the attitude, and the state of mind that we bring with us to our practice. As a teacher, I get to witness my students’ tone when I watch them move, but with a little awareness (that’s really all it takes), I witness my own “tone” manifest on my mat more regularly than I’d like to admit.

 

If I’m angry about something, I can feel myself blast through the postures. Each movement screeches to a stop, rather than softly ending with my breath. If I’m feeling lazy, I can get placid in my stretches. Perhaps, rather than actively pressing my heels toward the floor in downward facing dog, I’m just hanging out. Over the years, I’ve caught myself feeling proud (over-working in postures to show a teacher what I can do); fearful (ditching out of postures that challenge me); excited (moving and breathing through the series too quickly); and lackadaisical (mind wandering, intensity varying, generally not all there). I can be doing exactly the same series of postures (asana) that I was doing the day before, but it feels (it is!) entirely different. Turns out, it’s not what we do, but how we do it.

 

On our mats as in our conversations our tone reveals our intentions, feelings and state of mind quite clearly. Yoga almost automatically helps bring our feelings back into balance (to expel feelings of anger, to face fears, to burn off excited energy). That’s one reason so many people get hooked! But there is a life skill to learn here as well. When we’re clear about how we’re feeling, we’re better able to set aside the baggage of whatever “tone” we’ve dragged with us onto our mats. This is important work. Our intentions and feelings can completely change the nature of our yoga practice the same way that they can completely change the nature of our verbal responses. The difference is that, on our mats “tone” affects only us. Off our mats, for better or worse, tone affects the people around us.

 

Which brings me back to my family. While it would clearly have required using more words than one (an apparently exhausting feat for a girl her age), had my daughter tried to convey even the tip of her feelings with words rather than tone, my response may have been more in line with what she wanted. Or, if she just wanted to be left alone with her feelings, all she had to do was skip the tone entirely. And that is exactly what I should have done when my husband innocently offered to lug the laundry downstairs for me. Without changing a word, my tone-free “Yes, thank you” could have started his day off on a much nicer note. And that would have been more than fine – it would have been good.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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What are you good at? Go ahead. No need to be embarrassed. Make a little mental list of the things you’re really good at. The things you get compliments on. The things that make you feel proud and confident.

 

Now think about it. How did you get good at these things?

 

I guarantee you weren’t born good at singing or playing golf or organizing events or drawing. Sure, you may have been born with some natural talent. But that talent would not have blossomed into ability without good-old-fashioned hard work. Interestingly, the work we do to develop our abilities often looks nothing like our full-blown ability.

 

Let me back up to explain.

 

To become a really good tennis player, you don’t go out and play matches. Instead you stand on the base line and serve entire baskets of balls one after another. You then move to the service line and return forehand after forehand for hours at a time. Then, you do the same with your backhand. Until you’ve developed your strokes - the foundational elements of the game – you cannot win regularly. It’s when your strokes are so reliable that you don’t have to think about them that you can begin to stretch yourself in challenging situations. If your backhand is solid, when your opponent zings a shot to the far corner of your court, you can lunge toward the ball, arms fully extended, feet barely on the ground and return the shot. If you’ve worked really, really hard, you may even be able to decide if you’re going to send your return down the line or cross-court.

 

Our hard work -- the practice, the drills, the study, the repetition – creates a foundation from which we can reach and stretch ourselves further than we’d ever imagined possible.

 

Each and every yoga posture in our practice is a little example of this. Whether we’re standing in a lunge or seated in a simple forward bend, we cannot fully stretch into the pose without first finding – and developing - the foundation. In a lunge like Warrior (Virabhadrasana), we first check the alignment of our heels. We then root our feet solidly into the ground. Then we shift our weight so that our back foot is actively pressing into the mat, easing the burden in our bent front leg. Only when we’ve got all these basics in place can we really start to stretch the groin and work with our upper body. We cannot find the true gifts of the posture if we haven’t established a sound, supportive foundation from which to stretch.

 

The same is true for a seated forward bend (Paschimottanasana). This is an easy one to test. Sit on the floor with your legs extended. Flop forward over your legs. See where you land. Now, sit back up and create the foundation. Flex your feet, pressing out through the soles. Engage the muscles of your thighs as if you’re trying to pull your knee caps up your leg. Softly press the back of your thighs down toward the floor. With this strong, lively foundation, fold forward again over your legs. See where you land. I guarantee that anchoring your stretch has taken you inches and inches further out over your extended legs.

 

Though it can be easier to see the benefits of a sturdy foundation on our mats than off, with a little awareness, you can start to seek the foundations that support you in the activities that fill your days. Starting with things you’re good at can be helpful. How do you prepare for the oral presentations at work at which you excel? How do you train for those 5k races you like so much? What steps do you take before you put pen to paper (or fingertips to keyboard)?

 

Appreciating the work that leads up to success can inspire us to work even harder -- and get even better -- at the things we do so well. It can also foster a certainty that we can do anything we set our minds to doing. While the resulting growth and change may not be as immediately obvious as finally being able to grasp our toes in a seated forward bend, with diligent work, we can develop the foundational skills that will one day allow us to stretch ourselves, to grow, and maybe even to add one more thing to our mental list of things we’re really good at.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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Happy Thanksgiving!

 

I’m sure we’re not the only family in America who takes turns sharing what we’re thankful for with our loved ones around the Thanksgiving table. While I have always thought that it added a “Norman Rockwell” element to the holiday, my kids recently confessed that they really dislike this tradition. They feel put on the spot and pressured to come up with something “big” or “worth” sharing. When I paused to digest this revelation, I realized that I, too, feel more than a little pressure to come up with a blessing suitable for public consumption on this day set aside to celebrate thankfulness.

 

As pressure is not something I’m ever seeking to add to life – particularly not during a time that is meant to be joyous – I got to thinking that there might be another way to focus on gratitude during our Thanksgiving celebration. Maybe, rather than come up with one, single thing to be grateful for at Thanksgiving dinner, we could seek moments of blessing throughout the week leading up to Thanksgiving. Maybe we could even share one little thing that we’d felt grateful for during our day with one another over dinner each night.

 

Before launching my little experiment to my family, I figured I should give it a test drive over the weekend. I started out trying to cultivate that “attitude of gratitude” we’ve all heard about a million times. But this felt a little elusive, a little too intangible for me to try to teach my kids. After all, controlling our attitudes is big, hard stuff even for grown-ups. Most of us have enough trouble noticing out attitudes, let alone changing them!

 

Instead, I opted to simply notice things for which I felt grateful. Cool, bright sunshine. Starting the day with an invigorating walk. Supportive sneakers. A good friend to raise kids alongside. Silly jokes. Belly laughs. The fact that the leaves had time to dry from our midweek rain so raking wasn’t too hard. My leaf blower. My dog’s inability to stay out of leaf piles. Reading out loud with my 10-year-old. My comfortable warm bed. Popcorn and M&Ms. Reusable grocery bags. Singing along to the radio while baking cookies. Eating said cookies.

 

I deliberately didn’t over-think a single blessing. I just noticed. As the weekend went on, I realized that the more I noticed, the better my attitude. (Had I actually managed to cultivate an attitude of gratitude??) Each time I took a second to feel grateful, I added a little to my overall sense of well-being. Not only that, but once I started noticing things to feel grateful for, they started to snowball. At first I had to search a bit, but very quickly, blessings seemed to pile up around me.

 

Perhaps because of my yoga, I was able to settle into this little experiment fairly comfortably. After all, it shares the same foundations that we work with on our yoga mats. First, it relies on good-old-fashioned practice. If, at first we don’t succeed, we try, try again. And when we do “try, try again,” we get better. So, while on Friday evening I was working pretty hard to notice things that made me feel grateful, by Saturday afternoon, I was actually making a mental list of my blessings as I raked my yard clean of leaves! (That gigantic, exhausting job has never been more enjoyable!)

 

Second, this Thanksgiving experiment requires us to be mindful. On our yoga mats, we learn to pay attention at many levels. We pay attention to the details of our physical alignment. We learn to pay attention to the sensations of our body in the stretches – the obvious ones and the more subtle ones. We learn to focus on our breathing. We learn to notice the wanderings of our mind. Yes,  we develop the ability to focus on our mats. But even more important is the ability to recognize when we’re not focused. It was this skill that I relied on over the weekend to bring me back (over and over again) to my gratitude experiment.

 

By the time Sunday arrived, I was feeling literally awash in little blessings. As my weekend of noticing draws to a close, I’m astonished to realize that my feelings of gratitude (of Thanksgiving) after my Thanksgiving experiment feel more real and more from-the-heart than any I’ve ever shared around a holiday table. Noticing is enough. Noticing is powerful. Noticing can change the way we experience our lives.

 

So, instead of encouraging my children to prepare words of thanks for Thursday afternoon, we’re going to try a week of noticing. We’re going to seek a week of little “thanksgivings.” I hope they will share at least one of the things they notice each day with us. But, even more than that, I hope that by Thursday they feel as rich with blessings as I do as I write to you today.

 

Perhaps you’d like to celebrate all your “little thanksgivings” with us?

 

Gratefully yours,

Amy

 

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Good Morning,

 

All three of my children play strings in their school orchestras. Because their lessons and rehearsals happen during the school day, I rarely get to hear them play these instruments, but when I do happen to catch a few strains of one of them practicing up in their rooms, I’m always blown away. And I always stop to listen. You see, I never learned to play an instrument other than the piano and I have always been fascinated by the impossibly complicated act of moving a bow across strings to make music. It amazes me even more that it’s my children doing this wonderful thing that I just do not know how to do.

 

But the goose-bumps I get when listening to my children practice pale in comparison to the thrill of hearing their entire orchestra play. The swell of music from 70 or so instruments is breathtaking. While I admit to watching my children focus intently on their playing, I am so caught up in the music that I don’t even try to pick out the viola or cello or standing bass lines that I’ve heard at home. While those lines were lovely and moving coming from their rooms, they seem like shadows now. Simply put, the whole of the orchestra is profoundly greater than the sum of its individual parts.

 

In our society, we are taught from very young ages to see ourselves as individuals. We’re taught that we’re responsible for our own destinies. We’re encouraged to find and walk our own paths through life. Being part of a group like an orchestra is an important life lesson in the power of community for our young (and, even, our not so young) individualists. When we step into a group like an orchestra, we immediately see how very much more we can achieve when working in tandem with others. We see firsthand the power of participating in community.

 

Recognizing the power of community and seeking groups which could benefit from our gifts and talents does not need to take away at all from our vision of ourselves as special, capable, talented individuals. Nor does it, in any way, minimize the need to work with all our hearts to be the best individuals we can be. For it is when we bring our very best abilities to a group, and when the rest of the group does the same, that we see truly amazing results. (Amazing like the magic of a group of adolescent musicians causing goose-bumps on their parents’ arms in a middle school auditorium.)

 

Yoga can feel like a very individual activity. And, in most ways, it is. We work on our mats to strengthen and shape our bodies as we figure out how to get in and out of crazy positions. We work to regulate our breathing in our effort to begin to control the wanderings of our minds. We carefully study ourselves - outside and in – to learn more about how we handle life. While we may practice in a class, surrounded by other people, we are encouraged over and over again to keep our awareness on our own mat and on our own experience. Even in a group, yoga is, indeed, a very individual and inward-directed practice.

 

That said, I experience the power of community over and over again on my mat when I am receiving adjustments from my teachers. An adjustment, by the way, is when you are in a yoga posture and your teacher guides you deeper into it by touching you. No matter whether the physical adjustment is gentle or strong, if it is done well, the understanding of the posture that it yields is always powerful.

 

We do not have to be working in especially complicated or challenging postures to benefit from adjustments. In fact, adjustments are easier to receive when we’re comfortable and well-grounded in the stretch. For instance, my experience in the most basic of yoga postures, Child’s Pose (Balasana), shifts dramatically when my teacher assists me. It always feels good to sit back on my heels and fold over my bent legs, allowing my arms to rest at my sides and my shoulders to drop softly toward the floor. But it always feels fabulous when my teacher presses gently on my pelvis, rooting me more securely into the forward bend, while subtly lengthening my spine with the motion of her other hand. Given the choice, I would always choose to take Child’s Pose with my teacher’s help over being on my own. There is simply no comparison between the two experiences.

 

Together we achieve more. There is no doubt of that. But, I could not fully appreciate the adjustments that my teachers give me without the hard work of my individual practice. Without the work I do on my own to understand the postures, to find stability in them, to experience them over and over again, the gifts of the adjustments would be lost on me. I need to bring the experience, strength, flexibility and even talent that I’ve gained from the individual act of practicing to the classes I take with my teachers in order to fully receive the gifts of the work we do together. Our little community of two depends on both of us showing up with the best of our abilities. When we do, the most powerful teaching and learning happens.

 

So, whatever you do, work hard to do it well. Study, practice, reflect and then practice some more. Then, find a community where your gifts fit and share them. You will be nothing short of amazed at the results. Better yet, so will the rest of us lucky souls who have the chance to watch the magic happen.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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At first, when I had to circumnavigate five gigantic Christmas trees to get to the Halloween aisle to find the finishing touches for my daughter’s costume, I thought it was just a Walmart thing. But it’s not. CVS has two full aisles of Christmas decorations, I glimpsed Santa at the mall, the local shopping center has decorated its lampposts with greenery and lights, and I saw my first Christmas commercial on television last week. Apparently, our merchants have decided to completely skip over the month of November.

 

I know November is kind of an “in between” month, wedged as it is between two major kid favorites, Halloween and Christmas, but it seems kind of crazy to skip it. In fact, I’ve always felt like November is a perfect buffer between the two holidays. The weeks leading up to Thanksgiving are a nice window of normalcy between two frenzies. This year, the arrival (finally!) of crisp, clear, fall weather after the torrential rains of September and October’s snow storm, has deepened my affection for this quiet month.

 

“In between” times don’t get the credit they deserve. Because they’re quieter, calmer, more “regular,” they don’t stand out. But their gifts lie in their inconspicuousness. “In between” times allow us to settle into the rhythm of our days. They allow us to focus on the basics that enrich our lives – family dinners; getting homework done before bedtime; regular exercise; making time to read a good book; low-key gatherings with friends. “In-between” times, when you think about it, are the “meat” of life. It is in these times that our most meaningful living happens.

 

To be sure, the “mountain peak” times of holidays and vacations are fabulous. These peaks in our years can even serve as motivators to inspire us during our “in between” times. But without the regular life of “in between” times, these peaks would lose their allure. Just as we would soon tire of cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner, I imagine if we were on vacation all the time, we would soon tire of our holiday “high” and get a little home-sick for real life. Our “in between” times make the peak times of our lives even more enjoyable.

 

To be sure, the “valley” times of crisis, work stress, illness and even tragedy are profoundly difficult. Interestingly, what we typically yearn for during these challenging times is not a vacation. We yearn, instead, for the quiet routine of our “in between” times. We long for the familiar rhythms of daily life. We crave normalcy. “In between” times can be restorative (and even restful) amidst the highs and lows of life.

 

I teach and practice a flowing type of yoga where the postures (asana) are linked together by a series of movements called vinyasa. In these vinyasa, we move through a series of three, very familiar postures - low-plank (chaturanga), up-dog (urdhva mukha svanasana) and downward facing dog (adho mukha svanasana). Early on in my practice, these “in between” movements seemed like distractions from what I viewed as the “real” yoga – the asana themselves. At that time, I viewed the postures themselves as the peaks and the vinyasa as the valleys of my practice. Like most of us, I craved the peaks and dreaded the valleys!

 

As my practice has evolved, however, so has my appreciation of these “in-between” movements. Whereas the vinyasa used to feel taxing, difficult and even monotonous, when I practice these days, they feel restorative after the hard work of the asana. They feel like coming home. They feel like a nice window of normalcy between periods of excitement, challenge and high energy. As I move and breathe on my mat, the vinyasa are opportunities to recalibrate my breath, to re-focus my mind, and even to re-balance my body after a deep twist, or backbend or whatever the last asana has required of me. I now see that the “in-between” times of vinyasa allow me to ready myself for the next “peak” (or “valley” – some of these postures are wicked hard!) of asana. Without these “in-between” times, my energy would flag and my mind would wander long before I came to the end of my practice.

 

Again, my experiences on my mat reflect my life experience. After the sugar-infused ruckus of Halloween, what I’m craving is a little downtime; not the high-octane, ramp up of Santa, stockings and jingle bells. I’m ready for a little decoration-free space in my house. I’m ready for a little routine every-day-life. I need the “in-between” time of November to recalibrate, refocus and recharge my energy. If I don’t get it, if I allow the merchants to lure me into the holiday whirlwind without it, my energy will certainly flag long before Christmas Day arrives. And we can’t have that, can we?

 

May you each enjoy a peaceful, quiet, routine November!

Amy

 

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It never occurred to me that I had gone trick-or-treating for the last time.

 

Last week, in rapid succession, my children opted out of our traditional, family-oriented Halloween. My oldest started it when he informed us that he was too old to trick-or-treat. He planned to hang out with his buddy and watch a movie. (Oh, and would I mind buying him some candy?). Next, my middle child announced that she would be trick-or-treating with a friend. Upon hearing this, my youngest hammered the final nail into the coffin of my parental Halloweens. Since she was dressing up as Thing 2, she asked if it would be OK for her to go out with her friend, Thing 1.

 

As I started to resist, my husband laid a hand on my shoulder. “It’s time.” he said softly. And he was right. After all, who in their right mind would separate Dr. Seuss’s Thing 1 and Thing 2?

 

Right or not, saying, “Sure, honey. That sounds fun,” was really hard to do. What I really wanted was to beg them to stay with me. I wanted to hold their cold hands in the dark. I wanted them to sneak me Snickers bars as we went from house to house. I wanted to straighten a king’s crown, re-attach a fairy’s wings and carry candy bags that had gotten too heavy. What I really didn’t want to do was part ways with yet another vestige of their childhood.

 

Letting go is hard to do.

 

Practicing yoga is an opportunity to practice letting go. On our mats we practice letting go of our fixed ideas about our abilities. Sometimes this means we have to let go of our beliefs that “I can do that!” This isn’t a lot of fun, but it is universal. In all of our journeys there will come a time when we must take a step or two (or five) back. Doing so is hard on our egos. Doing so can undermine our faith in the practice itself.

 

That said, acquiescing to an injury or newly tight muscles by retreating to modifications of yoga postures is no more permanent than our “progress.” In fact, stepping back and exploring the practice from a new vantage point can be a powerful learning opportunity. I never learn more about my body than when I’m working through an issue – a sore wrist led me to some intense exploration of my shoulders, a suddenly absent lotus position taught me to better understand my hips.

 

Sometimes, on our mats, what we’re letting go of is wholly different. Sometimes we have to let go of our beliefs that “I can’t do that!” This can be frightening. After all, in many cases we hide from our fears behind the statement, “I can’t.” It can also be very liberating. When we manage to let go of our limiting beliefs, we free ourselves to try new things. We free ourselves to grow and to change.

 

I spent years believing (really believing) that I could not support my weight on my hands. It took a “double dog dare” from a 12-year-old student to get me into Crow pose. The fact that I had taught her the posture knocked the legs out from under my belief that I didn’t know how to do it. I rose to her challenge, tried and succeeded! This opened a whole new world of yoga postures for me to explore. Letting go on our mats – no matter if it feels like a step back or a leap forward – always leads to growth.

 

The same is true off our mats. Letting go this Halloween allowed my kids and me to grow. While it was a little blow to my ego, (The fact that my kids no longer think I’m the most fun person in town is hard to swallow!), acquiescing allowed me to see my kids from a new vantage point. By letting them go, I allowed them to spread their wings. I allowed them to try something new. I allowed them to grow up a bit more. Each time I manage to let go, they rise to the occasion, stretching themselves and exploring. I can almost feel them looking back, letting me know it’s my turn -- my turn to stretch and explore my way into my ever-shifting role as a mother.

 

While it took my husband’s gentle prompting to get me to let go this time (at least he didn’t have to double dog dare me!), maybe it will get easier. After all, they each came home from their adventures with a Snickers for their old mom.

 

Namaste,

Amy

 

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All that hard work with no chance of completion or any recognition for your effort would really stink, right?

 

Ask any mom the definition of a “Sisyphean task” and I suspect she won’t pause before giving you a one word response. “Laundry.” It’s not much more fun than pushing a gigantic rock uphill. Even more importantly, it’s never done. No sooner do you finish folding the last sock from your last load of the day, than someone in your house will change clothes. Without even a satisfying moment to say “I’m done,” you’re back to it again.

 

There is another fellow from mythology whose name is attached to some of the tasks that fill our days – Hercules. He was the son of Zeus and a mortal woman. Zeus’ wife, Hera, in a fit of jealousy, drove Hercules into a mad frenzy and he killed his wife and children. To atone for these murders, he was given 12 tasks to complete. Let’s just say that they were all really, really hard to do, but with his super-human strength, Hercules was able to pull them off. Not only did he get the satisfaction of completing his tasks, but he became famous for making the world a safer place for humankind.

 

While it’s rare that we have to kill monsters, we still face “Herculean tasks.” These are the things that require tremendous effort of us – raking the yard, changing over your kids’ closets for a new season, painting the bedroom. I’ve even heard that showing up for a weekly yoga class can feel Herculean! These are the things we know are going to big before we even begin. Because of this, getting ourselves to start is often the most “Herculean” part of the job. Once we get going, the work carries us along. Once we finish, we’re left pleased with our results and proud of our hard work.

 

Showing up and doing the work is what it’s all about. “Herculean tasks” are great life lessons for us. While true of all of the above examples, let’s talk about how the work involved in showing up to a yoga class can feel Herculean. We know it’s good for us. We know we’ll feel good after class. But we know it’s going to be hard. Really, really hard. Additionally, we know we will spend those 60 or 90 minutes not doing a hundred other things. How do we get ourselves there? There are lots of tricks for lots of people. What works for me is to schedule yoga like I would schedule an important meeting. By doing this, yoga becomes as non-negotiable a part of my day as an appointment when someone else is counting on me to show up. Once I’ve showed up, the hardest part is over. The work of yoga carries me along. Once I finish, I feel great – re-centered, re-charged, and re-invigorated.

 

And that’s the curious thing about Herculean tasks. While they require a lot of us, they leave us fulfilled. We may realize one day that we actually seek out Herculean tasks. We may realize that some of the most rewarding moments of our lives are when we’ve completed these tasks. The same cannot be said of Sisyphean tasks. These can really drain us. They feel (and, often, they are) endless. Even when they do end, they’re not so rewarding. Afterwards, we feel emptied, a little hollow, not at all fulfilled.

 

Because we have a little more control over the tasks that fill our days than Sisyphus and Hercules did in their stories, it is important that we develop the ability to tell a Sisyphean from a Herculean task. While it will not be possible to avoid all of our Sisyphean tasks, we can skip some (organizing the junk drawer) and hire out some (washing the dog). Simply knowing that we’re only left with a few (pesky laundry!), will make them feel less draining and more manageable.

 

Just think! Once we have this figured out, we’ll have lots of extra energy to pour into our next Herculean project.

 

Bring it on!

Amy

 

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