So, I don't do well when idle.
I am terrified of an empty quieted mind. And yet, my advice is always to empty the mind of the negative, suck in the light and let it fill your brain spot with and electric current so heavy that nothing negative can sustain itself in your head space.
And when I take stock of my own advice, I wonder if I am not a coward simply spewing the advice I ought to take, myself.
A lot lives in my head and heart these days. There's a lot of good stuff in there. But there are still traces of remorse, anger, red-hot hate and some loss.
So, in an effort to take my own advice, I enlisted myself in a 30-day yoga challenge.
It's not *that* hard.
If you're fit and, for me, emotionally equipped to handle the emotional tidal wave that hits at the end of a practice, alone, on a mat. See, at the close of practice, your body is relieved by rest and your brain's chemically altered somehow. Well, my brain is. There's a lot to be said for the benefit of exercise. I get this. I've heard this a million times. And when my body suffered no real threat after the past year, I was told by therapists, medical practitioners, physical therapists and my beloved chiropractor to get off my ass and move.
"Do anything. Anything at all," they said.
And all I did was sit. I read. I decorated my new abode. I painted my nails and I watched T.V. as I have cable for the first time in a decade. I made crappy delicious food. I snuggled my cat and dog. I rested on the couch with my boyfriend. I put in 100% at work. I cried from exhaustion and berated myself because I should have cried because my lungs hurt from running. But I didn't cry because of physical effort because I refused to put in any physical effort.
Because I was terrified.
Exercise quiets my mind. It has the tendency to put me in to meditation mode and that, my friends, is a dangerous place for me because it makes me think about ME.
I don't like to think about ME often because I mostly come to find disappointment.
So, this is why I fill my head space with anything but exercise.
Until I met Yoga.
Again.
Nearly a decade after our initial meeting.
A 30-Day challenge was a decent commitment. If I hated, I could throw in the towel, check it off the list and call it good.
It's been 14 days since the dawn of the challenge.
You totally just rolled your eyes.
I saw that.
And you thought about telling me to shove it, didn't you?
I heard that too.
I get it.
Yoga's over-played.
Well, so is Cross-Fit. So is the Paleo Diet. But we all have our vices, don't we?
The thing is...this time, my practice is different. I am not in a "class." I am not checking out folks around me, constantly comparing my plank pose to the girl on my right who is flawless with no make-up and can mesh in to chaturanga as easily as someone might sip a cocktail through a straw.
I am alone. Travis leaves me to my practice in silence. The dog goes outside and the cat takes up space on his coveted window sill. I am left to my own devices, following a series of videos.
I was terrified of the physical stamina it would take and I am still working on moving into warrior one without eating shit on my mat. I knew this would be tough. But I was totally unprepared for the emotional part of the bargain.
With so much effort going in to nailing down the movements and postures, I found that the day's events, the past year's struggles and fear of inadequacy evaporated. I spent so much time focused on perfection, that everything else just went away.
Until the moment I mastered a one-legged chaturanga. That's when it changed. Success does funny things to me. I realized I was capable of this. I could master planks if I did them every.single.day. I could feel the fatty parts of me screaming and I loved the tears coming out of every part that hurt during practice (i.e. SWEAT).
And then my mind quieted and shit hit the fan during a few practices.
Forgiveness is a big part of this practice. Forgiveness for yourself for *not* owning your practice as you want. Forgiveness for your body's inability to stretch like you want it to or twist as needed in order to get your right elbow securely placed on your right thigh during a twist. Forgive and persevere because at some point, your body will one day surprise you in it's ability to kick some ass.
But there's also those quiet moments, in yoga, when you've mastered a sequence and instead of your mind striving to make it happen, it starts moving in to the shit you don't want. See, this is why we do yoga...for strength, stamina and meditation.
But the meditation part is hard when your brain recalls all the shit you're supposed to forget during practice.
And this is why I've come to take some unnecessarily unfair advantage of my yoga practice.
I use it as a tool to expel the bad stuff.
During plank, I force the emotions of my inability to forgive out in to the mat. I force the sadness for the loss of my house out through cleansing twists. And I force the pain of sciatica out of my leg through dancer's pose. I force it all out on to the mat. And it's a release I can spread thick, without judgement and without fear. I take the day's wares and force 'em hard through chaturanga and I curse the bad shit instead of myself for not nailing a pose.
You're probably not supposed to to yoga with that much frustration.
But it's real and it's there. And if my mat can take it, why not get it out this way while simultaneously shredding my arm and back fat?
Seriously.
The thing is, I've met my match on the mat. It's a physical and emotional challenge for me. I am quiet in my head and sometimes I let it rip and tear out of me and other days I use the practice to simply forget. More recently, I use my practice as a way to push my thought process in to something I WANT. Something attainable. I use it as a way to project the path I'd rather have set before me. I use it as a way to remember my house fondly. I use it as a way to acknowledge my fears and I slay them, completely.
And I see the response from my partner. He's committed to seeing me succeed throughout this challenge, asking me questions about my practice, congratulating me for just simply completing the 45 minute challenge every day. He shares my excitement over a headstand and a one-legged chaturanga (I'm seriously so excited about that one). But mostly, he gives me the quiet space in which to practice. He doesn't get yoga and he doesn't have to because he knows what the practice means to me.
So, there it is.
A non-yogi's take on yoga.
I am terrified of an empty quieted mind. And yet, my advice is always to empty the mind of the negative, suck in the light and let it fill your brain spot with and electric current so heavy that nothing negative can sustain itself in your head space.
And when I take stock of my own advice, I wonder if I am not a coward simply spewing the advice I ought to take, myself.
A lot lives in my head and heart these days. There's a lot of good stuff in there. But there are still traces of remorse, anger, red-hot hate and some loss.
So, in an effort to take my own advice, I enlisted myself in a 30-day yoga challenge.
It's not *that* hard.
If you're fit and, for me, emotionally equipped to handle the emotional tidal wave that hits at the end of a practice, alone, on a mat. See, at the close of practice, your body is relieved by rest and your brain's chemically altered somehow. Well, my brain is. There's a lot to be said for the benefit of exercise. I get this. I've heard this a million times. And when my body suffered no real threat after the past year, I was told by therapists, medical practitioners, physical therapists and my beloved chiropractor to get off my ass and move.
"Do anything. Anything at all," they said.
And all I did was sit. I read. I decorated my new abode. I painted my nails and I watched T.V. as I have cable for the first time in a decade. I made crappy delicious food. I snuggled my cat and dog. I rested on the couch with my boyfriend. I put in 100% at work. I cried from exhaustion and berated myself because I should have cried because my lungs hurt from running. But I didn't cry because of physical effort because I refused to put in any physical effort.
Because I was terrified.
Exercise quiets my mind. It has the tendency to put me in to meditation mode and that, my friends, is a dangerous place for me because it makes me think about ME.
I don't like to think about ME often because I mostly come to find disappointment.
So, this is why I fill my head space with anything but exercise.
Until I met Yoga.
Again.
Nearly a decade after our initial meeting.
A 30-Day challenge was a decent commitment. If I hated, I could throw in the towel, check it off the list and call it good.
It's been 14 days since the dawn of the challenge.
You totally just rolled your eyes.
I saw that.
And you thought about telling me to shove it, didn't you?
I heard that too.
I get it.
Yoga's over-played.
Well, so is Cross-Fit. So is the Paleo Diet. But we all have our vices, don't we?
The thing is...this time, my practice is different. I am not in a "class." I am not checking out folks around me, constantly comparing my plank pose to the girl on my right who is flawless with no make-up and can mesh in to chaturanga as easily as someone might sip a cocktail through a straw.
I am alone. Travis leaves me to my practice in silence. The dog goes outside and the cat takes up space on his coveted window sill. I am left to my own devices, following a series of videos.
I was terrified of the physical stamina it would take and I am still working on moving into warrior one without eating shit on my mat. I knew this would be tough. But I was totally unprepared for the emotional part of the bargain.
With so much effort going in to nailing down the movements and postures, I found that the day's events, the past year's struggles and fear of inadequacy evaporated. I spent so much time focused on perfection, that everything else just went away.
Until the moment I mastered a one-legged chaturanga. That's when it changed. Success does funny things to me. I realized I was capable of this. I could master planks if I did them every.single.day. I could feel the fatty parts of me screaming and I loved the tears coming out of every part that hurt during practice (i.e. SWEAT).
And then my mind quieted and shit hit the fan during a few practices.
Forgiveness is a big part of this practice. Forgiveness for yourself for *not* owning your practice as you want. Forgiveness for your body's inability to stretch like you want it to or twist as needed in order to get your right elbow securely placed on your right thigh during a twist. Forgive and persevere because at some point, your body will one day surprise you in it's ability to kick some ass.
But there's also those quiet moments, in yoga, when you've mastered a sequence and instead of your mind striving to make it happen, it starts moving in to the shit you don't want. See, this is why we do yoga...for strength, stamina and meditation.
But the meditation part is hard when your brain recalls all the shit you're supposed to forget during practice.
And this is why I've come to take some unnecessarily unfair advantage of my yoga practice.
I use it as a tool to expel the bad stuff.
During plank, I force the emotions of my inability to forgive out in to the mat. I force the sadness for the loss of my house out through cleansing twists. And I force the pain of sciatica out of my leg through dancer's pose. I force it all out on to the mat. And it's a release I can spread thick, without judgement and without fear. I take the day's wares and force 'em hard through chaturanga and I curse the bad shit instead of myself for not nailing a pose.
You're probably not supposed to to yoga with that much frustration.
But it's real and it's there. And if my mat can take it, why not get it out this way while simultaneously shredding my arm and back fat?
Seriously.
The thing is, I've met my match on the mat. It's a physical and emotional challenge for me. I am quiet in my head and sometimes I let it rip and tear out of me and other days I use the practice to simply forget. More recently, I use my practice as a way to push my thought process in to something I WANT. Something attainable. I use it as a way to project the path I'd rather have set before me. I use it as a way to remember my house fondly. I use it as a way to acknowledge my fears and I slay them, completely.
And I see the response from my partner. He's committed to seeing me succeed throughout this challenge, asking me questions about my practice, congratulating me for just simply completing the 45 minute challenge every day. He shares my excitement over a headstand and a one-legged chaturanga (I'm seriously so excited about that one). But mostly, he gives me the quiet space in which to practice. He doesn't get yoga and he doesn't have to because he knows what the practice means to me.
So, there it is.
A non-yogi's take on yoga.
