When No One Was Looking

Yoga is frequently heralded as a modern day cure for whatever ails you. While I am generally suspicious of superlative statements like this, in my experience yoga has been an exceptionally beneficial physical and mental exercise. It has helped me gain strength, reduce back pain, and recover from emotional injuries. Yet recently I discovered that my years of practice are partly to blame for neck and shoulder pain I am experiencing. How did that happen?

My physical therapist tells me that it is very common for people to struggle with neck and shoulder pain, and it often stems from how we sit at our computers–shoulders hunched forward, chins tucked. Most people are in PT to learn how to improve their posture by drawing their shoulders back, broadening their chests, and extending their spines. Despite the fact that I also work at a computer all day long, I have the opposite problem. My upper spine is straighter than average, and with less curvature certain muscles in my back and neck are predisposed to being overworked.

When I started attending yoga classes a decade ago, I often heard instructions to "draw your shoulders down and back” and "extend your spine" to find a more upright posture. These movements were easy to feel in my body and before long I had unconsciously developed a habit of regularly making these adjustments, even when they weren't cued. While that is healthy movement to practice, there is equal–and for me, more important–work to be done in the opposite direction. Without placing my attention on how I was moving daily in my practice, I was unintentionally creating muscle imbalances.

As I thought about how my lack of attention on the mat had contributed to physical injury, I began to wonder about other areas of my life. Where else was being on autopilot causing me injury? How often did I unknowingly establish a habit without directly examining what is best for me? It wasn't hard to find examples. Like maintaining that one-sided friendship year after year. Or holding onto a job even though it doesn’t utilize the talents I am most passionate about. Or what about snacking during every waking hour of the day?

Each of these situations requires my attention so I can clearly identify what I need. Maybe I need to end the friendship or maybe I need to set firm boundaries to protect my time and energy. Maybe at work I can take on additional responsibilities in the areas of my strengths, or maybe I need to find a different position that feeds my passion. And I definitely need to stop putting things in my mouth all day long. That one should be a no-brainer!

Life is busy, we move fast, and it’s easy to unknowingly fall into routines that don’t benefit us. If we take time to examine what we are doing and what we actually need, we can start making intentional choices instead of letting our habits choose for us. We can better align how we live with how we desire to live. It is often uncomfortable work, because we are confronted with changes we need to make in our lives. Yet the result is less self-injury and more self-love. 

Come Up For Air

A few weeks ago I had an incredible opportunity to travel to Mexico with a conservation organization. I was drawn to the trip because it included whale watching in an area where gray whales frequently stop as they migrate up the coast. I had been whale watching once before in Oregon. Though I saw just one at a distance, I can easily remember how excited I was to see the spout shooting skyward.

So you can probably imagine the pure joy I felt when I saw my first gray whale spy hop from the ocean a mere fifty feet away, or the awe I felt when a whale surfaced alongside the boat and curled right underneath us, swimming so shallowly that I could see the barnacles clinging to its skin. The whales were beautiful, and for moments at a time my attention was captured by my senses–the sights, the sounds, the smells. Watching them I felt a humble mix of wonder, love, and camaraderie.

On my last day in Mexico, we were driving through a seemingly endless desert when I saw a small group of cows ahead. They were lying on the edge of the road, forcing the driver to perform an evasive maneuver. I was surprised and delighted to see these cows, and in my excitement I made some unintelligible exclamation (as I sometimes do). The guide turned around in his seat to look at me and laughed. He said, “You’re more excited about seeing cows than whales!” I laughed, too, because as I thought about his comment, he sort of had a point.

My daydreams about this trip had been saturated by my desire to see whales. What we saw or did the rest of the time didn’t really matter to me, so long as I had an experience with a whale. Yet the entire trip provided moments just as worthy of my rapt attention, like watching the sunrise over the mountains from the roof of the hotel or the sandpipers scurrying away from the waves on little stick legs that looked much too delicate for their bodies. If I had only paid attention to my number one priority, thinking that the rest wasn’t as important, I would have missed out on so many beautiful moments. I would have missed out on those sleepy cows, which I can honestly remember as vividly as the whales in all their majesty.

Yet how often do I do this in day-to-day life, so set on accomplishing one task that I miss out on the moments along the way? So determined to learn a song on the guitar that I don’t feel the way the sound cocoons me each time I play a note. So focused on willing my dog to poop before I leave for the day that I don’t notice the daffodils are starting to bloom. So fixated on getting dinner in the oven that I don’t notice the bright colors of the vegetables I am chopping.

Our rush to cross the finish line prevents us from experiencing where we are right now with focused attention. Instead one moment blurs into the next and the next until we accomplish the thing we set out to do, feeling a brief happiness in our achievement before setting our sights on a new destination and starting over. If we can slow down and give our attention to the entire journey, as if each moment matters, we can more fully experience our lives.

This might be easier to practice while on vacation in Mexico than at my office or the grocery store, but I’m still going to try. The number of moments in my life won’t change, but I’ll be present in more of them.

Love Is a Verb

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about love. Maybe it’s because I think this country needs it now more than ever. Maybe it stems from listening to John Mayer albums on repeat. Or perhaps my subconscious is just trying to remind me that I’m spending another Valentine’s Day alone. Regardless of the root of my obsession, I decided that the best approach to this enormous topic was to share the simple but impactful lessons my experiences have taught me about love.

When I got married at age twenty-five, I still had a hard time considering myself an adult but hearing my husband introduce me as his wife made my heart sing. I adored this man and loved him more than I had ever thought possible. I couldn’t believe that he wanted to spend his life with me, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. While I don’t think there is anything wrong with feeling this way, the problem was that my young self didn’t seem to have confidence in the opposite version of that statement–that my husband was so lucky that I had picked him.

Over time this imbalance in my thinking led to unhealthy relationship patterns. I started to think that being a good wife meant making my husband my number one priority and pushing my own needs aside. I thought that loving him meant that I had to give up some of the things that made me “me” in order to fit inside the “we” that we were creating. I thought I was being a generous wife by always considering my husband and what would make him happy, but I was actually becoming a very needy wife. With my focus on making him feel loved and appreciated, I lost touch with myself. I constantly sought his attention and approval, because I needed reassurance that I mattered. Meanwhile, I started to resent that my own needs weren’t being met.

There is more to the story, but fast forward nine years to when I found myself devastated and on my own. I started going to therapy regularly and reading books on mindfulness, relationships, and codependency in order to process what had happened. I forced myself to take a long, hard look at how I had contributed to the break down of my marriage.

In the midst of this messy and uncomfortable work, I discovered that I didn’t fully love and accept myself. This was a surprise to me, because if anyone had ever randomly stopped me on the street and asked me if I liked myself, I would have said yes. But as it turns out, I thought I had to prove myself because I didn’t believe in my own worth. I accepted people’s disrespect because I didn’t respect myself. My needs weren’t being met because I couldn’t identify them or ask for what I wanted.

I have often heard people say that before you can fully love others, you must learn to love yourself. As I started to understand my past and find healing, I recognized truth in this common adage. The key is that loving yourself is not a flippant “of course I love myself” kind of love but is a “creeping down the stairs to the darkest corner of the basement and making friends with what you bump into” kind of love. While easier said than done, making friends with myself and learning to love all my parts has changed how I relate to others.

When I accept myself without judgment–as is–I believe that I am wonderful exactly as I am. I feel less pressure to meet the expectations of others. I am able to be myself more authentically, which fosters deeper and more meaningful relationships.

When I respect myself, I prioritize relationships that are built on mutual respect and put less energy into those that aren’t. I make decisions based on what I want, not what someone else wants for me. I am better able to establish boundaries.

When I understand that I am responsible for meeting my needs, I feel comfortable spending time alone, pursuing my own passions, or practicing self-care without feeling guilty. By taking care of myself, I have the energy and enthusiasm to support others.

When I love myself unconditionally, I’m not constantly looking to others to meet this fundamental need. I no longer have to wildly chase or cling to someone else in order to feel loved. Yes, I want to connect with others and develop intimate relationships, but now I can approach these relationships from a place of wholeness and not from a place of lacking.  Instead of feeling resentful, I can truly give to the relationship with generosity.

This kind of love is work. It is hard work, my friends. I think it's supposed to be. As John Mayer so beautifully suggests, “Love ain’t a thing, love is a verb.”

Breaking Old Habits

Einstein is commonly credited with authoring a famous quote that the definition of insanity is doing the exact same thing over and over again while expecting different results. Yet we do this all the time in our daily lives and somehow manage to remain surprised about what happens when we repeatedly make the same decision.

For instance, every time I order a burrito my stream of thought goes something like this: “This burrito must weigh three pounds! There is no way I am going to eat this whole thing. I’ll eat half and save the rest for dinner.” Then I start devouring this delicious burrito that is full of all my favorite ingredients. I hit the halfway mark, but I’ve scarfed the burrito down so fast that my stomach has yet to register that it’s full. So I eat a little bit more, and soon it’s beginning to look like there’s really no point in saving the remainder for later–now I’ve got a burrito nubbin. I tell myself, “That’s not really enough for a second meal, and it doesn’t taste as good when it’s reheated anyway because the guacamole goes bad. I should probably just finish the whole thing so I don’t waste it.”

Even when there are just three bites left and my stomach has not only registered that it’s full but is now screaming at me to abort the burrito-completion mission, I still pack it in. And the rest of the day I regret it, because my stomach bloats to a size that could easily prompt a stranger to inquire about my due date. I feel heavy and uncomfortable, and I vow that I will never again eat the whole burrito in one sitting. But you can guess what happens the next time…

Now, this may say a little something about growing up with parents who forced you to clean your plate in order to leave the dinner table. But if I dig a little deeper, I find a similar behavior pattern in other parts of my life, where I somehow continue to do something even though it results in a negative consequence every time. It could be how I interact with a coworker, scheduling gym class on Friday night at 6 pm (like that’s going to happen), or how I react to heavier things.

As an example, I recently had a distraught moment (i.e. melt down) when I realized that I wanted more from a relationship than I could have. It’s quite painful to be close to someone when you want different things out of the relationship, and I was overwhelmed with sorrow for my situation.

No stranger to intense emotions at this point in my life, I immediately initiated my emergency response plan. I allowed myself to cry until I ran out of tears. I drew a hot bath (with a full tub, mind you–no holding back when you need to show yourself kindness!) and soaked until I was sufficiently calm. Then I took out my journal and honestly wrote about how I was feeling and how I might solve my problem.

That’s my typical plan of action when I’m struggling with difficult feelings, and I think it’s a healthy ritual. However, after I finished journaling that day I decided to read old journal entries that I had written exactly one year earlier. I read through detailed descriptions about what was happening, how I was feeling, what I wanted, and how I was reacting.

And that’s when I realized that I was insane–at least according to Einstein.

What I was writing about a year ago was the same exact struggle I was battling in the present. I wanted more from a relationship than was being offered. And I was dealing with it a year ago just like I was now: willing myself to be patient, trying to sit on my feelings and not force the conversations I needed, thinking that if I could just be the best version of myself that I would be seen. Same actions, same results. Red eyes, wasteful bathing, and hand cramps.

Well, my friends, I have decided that’s it’s insane to keep acting insane. I now recognize the cycle I have unknowingly been participating in; running into a wall, denying that it’s there, and all the while wondering why I’m not getting anywhere.

Awareness is the first step. That’s the good news! Once you are aware of your automatic behaviors, you can choose to continue what you’ve always done or try something new. I can (a) stuff the whole burrito into my belly; (b) stop ordering burritos; or (c) cut the burrito in two, wrap the second half in foil, and put it at the bottom of my purse where I won’t be able to find it for at least 8 minutes (because it’s impossible to find anything in my purse), giving me time to decide if I really need to eat that second half. I have clear choices now, because I have identified an unconscious pattern in my behavior. 

Now I get to discover what will happen when I choose a different action, however difficult that may be. I encourage you to examine where you feel stuck and to see if perhaps you might be experiencing a touch of insanity, too. 

The Space Between

In the last few weeks, it has become evident that the season is changing. The sun is setting earlier, there is a distinct chill in the morning air, and my neighborhood walks are punctuated by the sound of crunching leaves. With the arrival of fall, friends and family are inquiring about my Christmas plans and I am reminded that the holidays are just around the corner. I've seen several festive displays in stores and I'm already getting email alerts promoting holiday deals. It's as if summer ended and someone hit the fast forward button, skipping over fall in its entirety. 

This made me think about transitions, which happen so frequently in life and also on our yoga mats. Consider a typical vinyasa class. Students may transition from one pose to another dozens of times in one hour. Yet our focus tends to be on the actual poses. We are in a forward fold, then a low lunge, and then a plank. Once we get into a pose, we adjust ourselves according to the teacher's cues so we can perform the pose to our best ability. We hold the pose and breathe, bringing exquisite awareness to our bodies in that moment as we continue to fine tune our position.

Yet in the moments when we move from one pose to another, do we keep this same level of attention or do we shift to autopilot? We are still doing yoga–still breathing and moving with our breath. But we seem to lose our focused awareness in the transitions. We put all our concentration and energy into perfecting a posture and then we just let everything go, including our attention. This might be why it is common for yoga injuries to happen as we exit a pose. 

Off the mat we jump from pose to pose on autopilot, too. When we become dissatisfied with a job we grab for the next opportunity, assuming it will make us happier than our current one. When a relationship starts to have problems, we begin to look for other possibilities. And while there is nothing wrong with changing jobs or wanting to improve our situation, I think we can "injure" ourselves by trying to speed through these transitions without giving them the attention they deserve.

If we are dissatisfied with something in our life, do we listen closely to what we are feeling and explore why we feel that way? Or do we simply dive into the next thing, effectively distracting ourselves from our dissatisfaction? When we reach an edge and feel that change is necessary in our life, we are given a juicy opportunity to learn about ourselves. We have an opening to discover what we are afraid of and how we have been conditioned to respond to that fear. If we bring our attention to these internal struggles, we can gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and can make an informed choice about the change we want to make. We can act instead of react.

The space between two poses is a pose in itself, and each one is equally deserving of our attention.