Walk on

I am stubborn. This shouldn't be much of a revelation to those of you who know me well, but I've been doing some internal housecleaning lately and this is one of the aspects of my personality I am wrestling with the most.

My hardheadedness has served me well at different times of my life. When I was working my way through college and a four year degree was taking all of eight years. The first five years of married life when we were trying to figure out married life, each other, and ourselves. When I was marathon training and everything in my body would want to stop running, but my mind made me continue. My stubborn streak is what has always made me push through. When life pushed, I pushed back. But I'm realizing more and more that we can only keep pushing for so long. It is exhausting. Frustrating. And often, gets us nowhere. Or even worse, sets us back.

It is no secret that I have taken up yoga. I still find this fact somewhat amusing. But a few days ago I was lying on the living room floor trying to push through the nasty ball of tightness in my hip. I kept telling myself that I could push through the pain until my hip surrendered and opened up. But after a few minutes of pretty intense pain, I gave up pushing. Lying there on the floor, I realized that pushing was what got my body in this mess to begin with. Several years of running with no attention to stretching and balance had gotten me to this point and I was going to have to nurture my way out of it. And before you think this is going to get all warm and fuzzy on you, know that this realization ticked me off in a major way. I got downright mad. But after a little conversation with myself, I decided if I couldn't force healing in my body, I could willingly walk toward it, and maybe I could use my determination and stubbornness to stay on the path and just keep walking. And if everything I'm learning about yoga is true, this is going to be a very, very long walk. Good thing I love a journey.

Upside Down

It has been one of those weeks that takes a lot of all the stuff I need more of.  We are in week two of the low iodine diet and the thought and preparation that has gone into every single meal is starting to wear on me. My patience is thin. I know it could be worse, but I long for the opportunity to not have to think about every meal and every ingredient.

On Wednesday night I taught a lesson on The Beatitudes. We talked about the idea of each beatitude bearing a double blessing. The blessing of current condition--which is not necessarily a pleasant state, and the future blessing--the reward. I love The Beatitudes because they teach us what we don't really want to know: suffering or struggle can be a blessing. Little did I know how much I needed to hear myself speak these truths out loud.  

On the way home that night I stopped by the post office to get the mail. I pulled two packages out of the box. I sat in my car and looked at the first one addressed to me from the District Attorney. I felt my heartbeat begin to quicken, my stomach begin to turn. I knew what this was. Finally, after a lot of deep breathing and a call to my courage, I opened the package. Inside I found a letter detailing the arraignment and May court date of the man who robbed us before Christmas. There were forms instructing me of my rights as a victim, there was information regarding a possible subpoena to testify, there was a form for me to fill out detailing the impact this crime has had on my life. And it all came flooding back. 

Later that night, when I couldn't sleep, I opened the second package. It was a book of blessings I had ordered and didn't expect to receive until next week. In the introduction to his book, The Space Between Us, John  O'Donohue writes "...God is omnipresent, and life itself is the primal sacrament, namely the visible sign of invisible grace. The structures of our experience are the windows into the divine.When we are true to our call of experience, we are true to God." I breathed in those words and welcomed, at least for that night this blessing of experience. 

Of course, everyday is a new day, and when I awoke yesterday, I woke with a heaviness. As I went through the day, I found myself feeling more and more lonely, more and more angry, but only because I didn't want to let myself feel what was trying to surface again: fear. I had almost talked myself out of yoga class in the evening until I realized fear was what brought me to that class in the first place, and I couldn't let it take it away from me. Needless to say, by the time I got to the mat, I was a ball of issues. I struggled the entire time. Nothing came easily. Blessedly, our class was small last night and our teacher talkative with all of the stuff I needed to hear, so by the end of class when it was time to go to the wall and stand on our hands, I remembered why I was there. When Aaron asked me if I was ready to kick up on the wall--the thing I have always refused to do--I said "I don't want to, but I think I need to." And here is what I realized: When we have to call on our strength, we immediately feel weakest. When we have to be brave, we feel the most fearful. With the help of a compassionate teacher, I went up on that wall even though everything in my body told me not to. The moment was brief. I cussed. And then I cried. But I did it.  

On the way out of class, I found myself in conversation with a sweet soul of a woman. I had never known her name, but she has always been one of my safe people in class--she has an easy smile that she often directs at me. We stood in the parking lot talking for awhile. She asked me my story and spoke sweet, sweet words to me. She told me some great stories and shared her heart with me. She hugged me when we parted, and I was thankful that after being willing to be upside down for a moment, when I stood back up, there was someone standing there and that was where I found my blessing. In a parking lot, in the space between us.

In Reality

I have lost eight pounds. Granted, in comparison to some of my friends who have lost significant amounts of weight recently, this is just chicken feed as my granny used to say. But having lost significant amounts of weight in the past, I know that starting is the hardest part. That's when you have to get real.

For me, the reality was that I had let life beat me up. Instead of looking at life as a challenge--an adventure to be enjoyed-- the way I used to, I began to see it as something to endure. So I hunkered down and waited for the next attack. And to no surprise, each one came, and each time I balled up tighter in my foxhole. Life had gotten hard and scary so I hid. Literally and figuratively. I was a runner through most of my thirties and I ran freely. Joyfully, most of the time. Then I grew fearful of what could happen while I was out there. It is hard to run while carrying the weight of the world on your back. I learned that the quickest way to lose your love is to become afraid of it.

About a month ago, someone asked me what had been going on in my life. I told her the circumstances. And I told her how I felt. She said she knew that she didn't know me that well, but she didn't think that sounded like me. The cowering, the hiding, the lack of joy. She made a few more comments and suggestions and because I can't let many posts go by without mentioning yoga, I can tell you, that is how I ended up sitting on a mat, crosslegged, learning how to breathe.  Fear drove me there. Fear of people and circumstances, but also the fear of staying the person I had recently become.

I'm learning how to breathe again. I am learning how to sit still, mentally and physically and be fully present. I am learning to close my eyes without bracing myself for attack.  I am learning which boundaries to keep and which to relax. I am learning how to lean into that which is difficult and breathe through it. And I am learning that my reality is not good, nor bad. It just is. I am learning to let go, but knowing I had to take hold first. Life is so much easier to fight for when you stop fighting against it. 

Peace be with you

Last week I attended my first yoga class. Like real deal at a studio with a real teacher. Walking in felt a lot like walking into class on the first day of kindergarten. Which is not necessarily the best feeling when you are dealing with fear. Which in all honesty, is why I found myself there to begin with.

At the beginning of class, the teacher encouraged us to let our mind settle on a word, our intention for that hour. What we came there seeking, what we needed. I very quickly settled on peace. Throughout the class when positions became difficult (and boy, did they become difficult) she encouraged us to call on that word. She also reminded us to breathe. With every motion, she instructed us to inhale and exhale. This seemed a little silly at first, but when things quickly became difficult, I found myself forgetting to breathe. When I found myself in a bind, the first thing I did was stop breathing. I cut off my own oxygen and made it even harder.

I thought a lot about this on my way home that night. Today marks one month until my husband's surgery. A surgery that will tell us whether or not he has cancer. Until now, I had also thought of it as the event that would let me finally be able to breathe again. One more month is a long time to hold your breathe when you have been holding it since Christmas. It is a long time to never feel the deep cleansing breath of being fully engaged in the world around you. It is a long time to want for something desperately, but to have to wait for it. But I'm learning that waiting feels a lot less like a spectator sport and a lot more like yoga now that I'm learning to breath through the hard parts. It isn't easy, it takes practice because it is a practice.