Winter Blahs Guest Blogging

I am having them — the post-holiday, second semester, too dark too long, isn’t-it-summer-yet blahs.

I’m still writing, and I’ll keep writing. But one of the things that energizes me about writing is to share it with other people. And sure, I share my writing here, and I read what other people write. But sometimes it’s also fun and invigorating to share here what other people write.

So I think more guest bloggery would be awesome, if there are writers who are willing. If you might be interested but haven’t read the Official Fine Print, this is what I’ve got:

Things You Should Know Before Deciding Whether to Guest Author Here:

1. I cannot afford to compensate guest bloggers financially. Therefore, I hope to tantalize your sensibilities in other ways.
2. You of course retain the rights to your own writing, to do with as you see fit after it is published here.
3. Guest posts don’t have to be strictly on topic for Anytime Yoga. (For ideas about what’s on topic, check the tag cloud.) However, they should be in line with the values set forth here. For example, a post about how much you love [physical activity that is not running or yoga] or [issues you have with disability that is not endometriosis or PTSD] should be completely fine. On the other hand, posts about [how X weight loss technique is the coolest thing ever] or [how Y marginalized group is just whining or complaining] are better suited to… well, the majority of the rest of the Internet. But not here.
4. You’re more than welcome to include a link to your personal and/or community blog — and/or to cross post an appropriate (one you own the rights to and that fits in with Anytime Yoga’s values) piece that has appeared at one of those sources. Writing that has appeared in wider syndication— again, not the best fit for here.
5. I will do my best to promote the shit out of your post [technical term] according to your wishes [if you prefer I not, that's fine too].

In addition to other thematically-related post ideas you might have — and there are plenty — I’d like to offer some suggestions that might be particularly appropriate for guest bloggers (since they are by definition things I could not write for myself):

1. Your thoughts, feelings, or reactions on trying a particular yoga asana, practice sequence, or yoga class for the first (or near first or first few) time(s).
2. How you modify a particular yoga pose to suit you — whether it’s an always modification or a sometimes modification, whether it’s unusual or fairly common.
3. Your experience cooking and eating a new recipe for the first (or near first or first few) time(s).

Of course, other post ideas related to body image, disability, personal wellness, and social justice are welcome too. I just don’t have specific ideas about those right now. I do, after all, have the winter blahs.

If you’re interested — however determined or noncommittally — feel free to drop me an email at anytimeyoga@gmail.com to talk more.

Day 1 & Day 2

This post is part of my Daily Dose of Yoga December challenge. Each day is a suggestion for thoughts, breath techniques, or poses that are meaningful to me and that I hope will be meaningful to others. Of course, I don’t expect that everything that works for me will work for everyone else — and even when it does, it may not be quite the right fit for a given day. You should feel free to use, modify, delay, or ignore as works best for you.

Day 1: Listening

My goal for this challenge is to do some yoga every day in December, knowing that some days, I will have time and energy to do a vigorous asana practice while for other days, I’ll have limited or no time (or space) for asana at all. And of course there are the days when I’ll have sufficient time but limited energy or sufficient energy but limited time or both of those but pain, etc. My body is a complicated creature, and figuring out what it wants can be tricky.

And admittedly, there can be ulterior motives in the way. Sometimes, I am lazy and don’t want to do what I know I can do and what would be good for me. Other days, I don’t want to admit my real limits: I want to do what I know might not be therapeutic or even safe. Developing a habit of listening to my body — and discerning real need from excuse — is essential to keeping myself safe while growing in my practice. If I can even manage to do that every day this month, that is a good goal.

____________________________

Day 2: Restorative Knee Sequence

No special reason for this. I search YouTube (and other places — but mostly YouTube) for various interesting sequences. Sometimes I find what I’m looking for, sometimes not. I found this one when I was actually looking for beginning or morning routines. This is not meant to be either, but it seems like a nice restorative sequence that would be relaxing for anyone to do, knee issues or not:

Also, I think this is a practice a lot of people could do in bed — which means that if I hit bedtime and haven’t done my yoga for the day, this one is it!

Obese Health Happens

I received an email today in what I think is a response to this post (maybe among others) from a couple of weeks ago. It reads:

I don’t think it’s responsible to say that the only thing we can tell about a person’s obesity is the definition of obesity. I know a lot of obese people who eat crap and don’t exercise enough. It’s undeniable that obesity is linked to bad health practices.

You say you’re healthy and aren’t completely sendentary. But it also sounds like you don’t wantch what you eat. You might not be too unhealthy now, but wouldn’t you be able to your yoga or running or whatever better if you did it while you were at a healthy smaller weight?

I don’t agree with hating on fat peple, but it’s not honest to say that obesity is healthy.

Why is it that when I’m upset or angry, my favorite thing to do is answer in numbered list form?

One, defining health as exercising enough and not eating “crap” is overly simplistic and limiting. For starters, this definition does not address chronic non-weight-induced physical conditions such as endometriosis, nerve damage, or pelvic floor dysfunction. Additionally, it doesn’t begin to tackle mental or emotional health issues like PTSD. Dear world, when talking about health, we can do better.

Two, yes, really, the only thing one can tell from the fact that a person is obese is that the ratio of their weight and height-squared meets the definition of obesity. Certainly, weight and BMI are sometimes correlated with other bits of information like diet and exercise patterns — I’m not saying that never happens — but the correlation is not perfect because they are separate factors. If one makes a judgment about a person’s health based on all three factors, that inherently means knowing more than a person’s weight. (Not that I am suggesting that we go around judging other people’s health. But I am sometimes in situations — say, with my nurse practitioner — where I consult her professional advice on the subject.)

Three, while I can’t speak for running, I can definitively say that no, I would not be able to practice yoga “better” if I were at a smaller weight. For starters, a crucial aspect of my current practice is being present with the body I have now. Regardless of how my weight might change — down or up — my practice doesn’t get better or worse based on that. Even without a mindfulness aspect, I’ve been my current size (of course), and I’ve also been smaller. For my own body, I have more strength, more flexibility, and more endurance at this higher weight.

Four, “healthy smaller weight” really hasn’t been true for me. I’m sure there’s some small variation, but basically, when I was at a significantly smaller weight, the activities I was engaging in to get and keep that body size weren’t healthy for me. While I’m sure some people do have “healthy smaller weight[s],” I’m also sure that for others, “healthy weight” and “smaller weight” are two distinct categories. And coming back to point one, if all I know about someone is their weight, then all I can tell about them is… their weight.

Five, what I would suggest is irresponsible and dishonest:

• Saying “health” when what you mean is beauty, attractiveness, or other comment on body appearance.
• Suggesting that any of those is best measured by the quotient of a number on a scale.

Tori in plank pose.

Thoughts on a Chakra: Muladhara

It’s the first week of school for me, and over the course of the summer, my teacher life has been turned upside down. Certainly, a lot of these changes have been positive, but —

I’ve moved classrooms. Our whole school has moved classrooms as we’re basically instituting a school-within-a-school program. A program which, by the way, is under all kinds of scrutiny from other teachers, district administration, parents, and other members of the community. The talk is that this will change the way we do school, which, I know, is what the talk always says. But this time there is action — and budget dollars! — behind it; things are actually changing.

Only partly related to that, our current administration is, on the whole, less experienced than was our administration in previous years. They are competent, approachable, and enthusiastic, but they are not the leadership faces I’m used to seeing. Moreover, a lot of people with whom I interacted personally — the administrators who hired and evaluated me, the department chairs who mentored me — have moved on to the proverbial bigger and better things.

The two teachers with whom I was teamed last year are no longer in the same positions (one is not at school at all; I found this out late last week). In their places are two brand new faces. They are solid and resourceful and independent, so I know we’re going to be fine. But this is the first time I’ve experienced teachers (and administrators, even) regularly looking to me to know the ropes.

And that’s when it dawned on me: I am a leader at my school.

Someone zapped me into a grownup when I wasn’t looking, and I’m not quite sure what to do with that. It’s destabilizing, unsettling.

In the chakra system, the Muladhara or Root Chakra manages what might be considered “survival needs,” including physical location and finances. While I’m not actually afraid that my job is in jeopardy (I mean, no more than normal, considering a state legislature that believes public education is a tool of the devil), I can’t deny that my position in my profession — which has, for the past couple of years, been a grounding identity in my life — is changing in a big way.

In the body, Muladhara corresponds to the base of the spine as well as the legs and feet. It’s totally possible that I’m getting all touchy-cosmic-yoga-spacey, but this might explain why I’ve become immensely attached to my new running shoes so quickly — and why I insisted on wearing them to work for all my pre-student days. I mean, yes, they’re remarkably comfortable and also well suited to moving furniture and carrying boxes. So I might have worn them anyway. But unlike some other shoes that are nearly equally suited to setting up a classroom, these shoes let me feel the ground under my feet.

Because I know, in a few weeks, I’ll have a new routine — and it will seem like I’ve kept it for years. But until then, it’s nice to feel stability where I can.

Bathroom Passes

My yoga today was putting pink duct tape on a toilet plunger.

This is what makes my life as a teacher worthwhile.

Some Days

Some days, a car tries to turn into me as I’m crossing the street even though I have the right of way and they damn well saw me and knew it.

And some days, a stranger comes up to me as I’m walking out of the McDonald’s with my coffee and says, “You don’t need to be eating there.”

But some days, I find out that my student’s financial aid came through, and she really will be able to attend college at no cost to her.

And some days, on the bus ride home, I get to read a novel where the next chapter is called “The Ballad of Philonecron and Steve.”

Stretching Out: Western Edition

My brain is fried. I have been doing meaningful but meticulous curriculum work all week, and I’m needing some time to refocus and re-energize. It seems like a fitting time to talk about paschimottanasana or intense west stretch or seated forward bend.

Generally speaking, forward bends are calming, and they tend to facilitate introspection. Fair warning: Introspection can sometimes be a tough thing to do as it requires just sitting with oneself and remaining present with whatever comes up. To be prepared for that and to balance it, I try to consider intent before entering into paschimottanasana. If my intent is primarily to stretch out my back muscles physically, I might work to get physically deeper into the posture, but I’ll generally stay for a shorter amount of time. If, on the other hand, my intent is primarily to be with my own mind, I’ll stay longer in the asana but enter into it less deeply.

From a physical perspective, if the primary purpose of the pose is to stretch the erector spinae — as is my intent here; YMMV — it makes sense to adjust the other parts of the body in order to accommodate spinal length. As the above video suggests, one way to do accomplish this is to bend the knees, possibly supporting them underneath via a rolled towel or mat. Another option is to elevate the hips as in dandasana, thereby possibly freeing up some range of motion in the low back, pelvis, and/or hamstrings.

Regardless of intent, when feeling my way into the pose, I try to move in slowly and with a straight spine. I do this because it helps me find the zone where I’m physically reaching and changing but also calm and safe. In terms of process, it works for me to think about expanding and lifting up on the inhale and relaxing and hinging from the hip on the exhale. Typically, if I’m hanging out in a yin pose, I’ll stop at about 75% of my yang maximum, let my spine round and relax, and just be. It is often difficult, independent of how far I have physically folded myself.

I sort of wonder if that is because, for a few minutes, my whole world is me. Depending on my spinal position that day, I’m staring at my thighs or my crotch or my abdomen — none of them emotionally neutral regions of my body. There is, by that point, a rounded spine — a position that is not revered but is often deemed necessary by the demands of having a job (and, you know, making rent and eating and all that shit). Entering it from a focus of spinal length and decompression, however, can sometimes yield vastly different results than does my current “sitting at the computer screen” spinal curvature.

For any purpose, I’d suggest watching this Yoga Anatomy video for a nifty anatomy tip in finding a different release — and therefore different sensation — in the pose. I’ve tried it several times, and I’ll offer a few personal observations:

1. Some days, the physical shape change is more pronounced than others.
2. Some days, the sensation of release — whether physical or emotional — is more pronounced than others.
3. There is no direct correlation between the visible shape change and any altered sensation.

In other words, what is seen in the body + what is felt in the body + what is experienced in the mind are three interwoven threads that sometimes meet and sometimes don’t.

And ultimately, I think this is part of what makes paschimottanasana so uncomfortable for me: the realization that, even if grand shifts are taking place in my mind, my body might not change. If it’s safe and accessible for you, I’d encourage you to sit with that idea for a few minutes. It’s a challenge.

Down Dog With the Dogs

Because cute, that’s why.

I’ve recently adopted a new dog. And because I don’t have an uploadable picture of the new dog, I am shamelessly going to insert a picture of my Old Dog (who is still with us and does not act old at all). Because when I first got Old Dog, she had this same reaction. Also, because cute, that’s why.

So now when I practice at home with New Dog, just like when I first started practicing at home with Old Dog, New Dog is certain that my adho mukha svanasana is his cue to play. And so he grabs his rope toy, butting it into my hand.

When it first started happening, I’ll admit, I was annoyed. I was very concerned that the dog was interfering with my Very Serious Business of practicing yoga. Then it occurred to me: Completing this asana — completing this entire asana practice — is less important than caring for and bonding with my dog.

Plus, it is kind of fun to see how long I can balance while playing tug of war with a small dog.

Now all I need to know is how to say Downward Facing Rope Toy in Sanskrit.

Aware in Dandasana

Initially, I was going to write about seated forward bend as a nice concluding stretch for the erector spinae. That post is still good, and it is still in the pipeline. As I was researching, however, it occurred to me that there was an intermediate pose — a foundation pose for beginning the forward bend — that I was overlooking. Judging in the relative dearth of resources I found, I think I’m not alone in my overlook.

Dandasana, or staff pose, is really the starting point for any number of seated poses, particularly various types of forward bends. What I sometimes underestimate is: a) how much alignment matters; b) how much muscular engagement is actually happening.

Alignment first. The big thing for me in this pose is to roll the flesh of my buttocks back and to the sides so that I’m sitting on my ischial tuberosities or sitting bones rather than sitting back toward my tailbone. Hugely important: This lets my lumbar spine and low back muscles be in a neutral alignment. Nothing is particularly stretched out or compressed, which means there is freedom for easy movement to happen in any direction. There are days when I can’t do this on the flat floor. In those situations, sitting on the front edge of a folded blanket, a rolled mat, or a block (guilty confession: at home, I sometimes use my confirmation Bible) helps.

For me, internally rotating my thighs helps “lock in” this pelvic alignment as does letting my thighs come straight forward from my hip bones, rather than sitting with my lets pressed together. (The difference may be more significant for people with wider hips, where the space between “legs together” and “hip distance” is greater.)

Which brings us to muscle engagement: When my spine is in its neutral alignment, my front abdominal muscles are lightly engaged to offer support. Translation: Sitting in staff pose counts as core work. It may be plenty difficult or refreshingly easy depending on the person and the day, but the core is still putting in effort. Pressing into the floor (or blocks) with my palms can lessen this effort somewhat. Conversely, raising my arms — to my heart center, out to the sides, or overhead — changes my center of gravity and can make the pose more difficult.

Also, legs. In this posture, my feet are flexed, engaging my calves. My thighs are drawing up into my hip sockets, engaging my quadriceps and protecting my knees. This is worth noting in dandasana as it’s key in seated forward folding, both for allowing the hamstrings to relax and for keeping the knees safe.

Ultimately, I find a lot of benefit in using dandasana as a meditative posture. When I find the right place in terms of both muscular engagement and skeletal alignment, I also find a place where there is both alertness and ease. And that is a good place to find before entering a forward bend.

Me & My Camel

Trigger Warning: This post discusses responding to sexual assault.

There was a time, just after I stopped sharing a bedroom with my sister, when I became… not afraid of the dark, exactly, but leery of what I couldn’t anticipate, what I couldn’t see. I never used a night light though I burned through the bulbs of several flashlights for after-hours reading purposes. I didn’t have nightmares, fear of bedtime, or insomnia.

But I remember always, always sleeping with my back to the wall. And I mean wiggling right up against the wall, which was cool and practical in summer but kind of shivery in winter. Additionally, if I needed to flip sides during the night — say, from right to left — I’d also flip head-to-foot on the bed so I could keep my back to the wall. As long as I could feel that no one or nothing — back then, I’m not sure if I was afraid of people or of monsters under the bed still — could sneak up behind me, I slept fine.

Mostly, folks just accepted this as an idiosyncrasy of mine; I have many and gradually grew out of this one anyway. A parent once commented casually about it, to which I just said, “This is where I’m comfortable.” It was at least part of the truth, and it’s a surface explanation I’d accept, except —

There was a time, just after I was raped, when I became afraid of what I couldn’t anticipate, what I couldn’t see.

This time, my back-to-the-wall vantage point expanded beyond my bedroom. I sat sideways in chairs in class and on the bus, with my back to a side wall, so that I could always watch out for whatever was there. Walking across campus with others, I found ways to be at the back of the pack. Walking alone, I checked regularly over each shoulder. At social gatherings, I found ways to tuck myself into corners so I could watch everything and every one — because now I was sure people were scarier than monsters.

I’m not sure how much these actions interfered with my ability to enjoy life, but the actions were symptomatic of fear, and the fear was entwined in everything I did, pervasive.

Which was why, when I was learning ustrasana (as part of a process of reclaiming my body and mind after my assault), it wasn’t just scary for me. It was downright triggering. Entering ustrasana, or camel, quite literally means dropping backward into what I cannot see. Even though the floor or my feet (or the wall or blocks or a chair or whatever I used as a prop) has never disappeared out from under me, there’s a difference between knowing my support is going to be there because, duh, that’s logic, and knowing my support is going to be there because I can always see it. Especially for someone who has not so logical reactions to the world around her, the difference between trusting my eyes and trusting my mind is huge.

Maybe aside from when I was first working to build the base amount of necessary muscle, I’ve always been more limited by my emotions than by my body in this pose. My body will bend back into kapotasana if I let it, but my fear relinquishes its hold in small and hard-fought increments. I’ve gone from camels that keep my hands on my pelvis to camels that use a chair to to camels that reach for my raised or lowered heels to camels that start reaching overhead for the ground behind me. It’s been years — eleven since I was raped and maybe nine or ten that I’ve been working with camel — and every time I begin in my kneeling shape, that wave of fear still hits me.

But I know now that the wave will ebb, not completely away but back to where I can move again. I know how to sit with my doubts and my terrors until they’re no longer coursing out my ears. I know how to acknowledge rather than fight my fear. I think, though I’m still not sure, this might be what people mean when they talk about cultivating courage.

The courage I’ve found from and in ustrasana is the emotional foundation of all my subsequent arm balances, the poses where I almost certainly have to fall on my face at least once. It’s the courage that lets me try headstand in the middle of the room when I know I have the strength and balance but really want to see the wall. It’s the courage that lets me talk about my experiences with rape and rape culture, to people who may well be unclueful or hostile, without seeing ahead of time what the response is likely to be. And it’s one factor in why I no longer sleep with my back to the wall.

Warriors, Out of Order

Finally.

In the posts in my head, this one has been a long time coming. In the posts that come out through my fingertips, there were apparently things I didn’t know I needed to get out.

But we are back to talking about strengthening the erector spinae some more, this time with warrior 3. It’s not the first pose in the warrior series, but it is the one that works my erector spinae most directly.

I will not lie: Physically, this pose kicks my butt and is a continued reason why I am on close personal terms with the floor. But I like it for exactly that reason. Well, no, I like it for a related reason, which is that this warrior helps me build courage. I mean, if there’s a good chance I’ll fall out of the pose and look silly doing it, but I go ahead and do it anyway — there’s something a little bit noble and warrior-like in that.

Despite being somewhat physically demanding, most of my work in warrior 3 is mental. As with most balancing poses, this one requires me to be completely aware of how the various parts of my body are reacting and moving in space. When things go “right” — more toward staying in the pose and less toward falling on my face — I am constantly making small adjustments to recenter my body. Alignment is not a static thing.

Because of its changing nature, it is more difficult for me to find sukha or ease here. Some points of focus I’ve found that help me:

1. Before I raise my back leg off the ground, I double check to make sure that my hips are both pointed forward. I have some nerve issues, so it’s sometimes hard for me to feel the alignment inside my hips. To double-check from the outside, I like to put my hands on my hips, with my thumbs on the back of my hip points. Then I can rotate my hips with my hands, checking to feel that my hip bones are parallel under my thumbs. I also like to keep my hands on my hips as I move into the pose to keep my raised-leg-hip from winging out to the side. (My body has a lot of muscle memory for ardha chandrasana, which is not bad in itself but which does mean that warrior 3 requires more attention on my part.)
2. Like the video illustrates, I try to keep in mind that warrior 3 is not about how high I can lift my leg. Rather, the physical focus of the asana is about lifting my body in that extended and forward-facing alignment. This requires some different muscle work than do other balancing poses I’m used to. But if my intent is to move into warrior 3, it’s more “honest” for me to do so with the alignment of the pose and accept where I have bone or muscle limitations — even if that means there are days when my back foot is only 6 inches off the ground.
3. I also draw in through the front of my core to offer muscle support from underneath. This helps out my erector spinae, which in turn keeps my back from overarching, which helps me prevent low back pain from hyperextending in my spine. Because my spine is more stable when it’s supported both on top (erector spinae) and underneath (abdominals), balancing is easier. Not easy, but easier.

There are also good videos on preparing for warrior 3 here and here. Even though warrior 3 isn’t a new pose for me, I still like experimenting with different props and arm positions, as they’re all alignment tools. It’s fun to experiment with how moving one piece of the puzzle changes it all. And it’s good knowing I’m not afraid to fall.

This is not how I wanted to start my day.

(TW: Contains discussion of violence.)

Dear New York Times:

Many men grow up in a world of hostile body language and real physical violence that is almost entirely invisible to women.

What the everloving fuck?

I’m sure a multitude of men deal with aggression, hostility, and violence, and I’m sure that for a significant chunk of them, working through this with a therapist who is also a man is beneficial and sometimes necessary. I’m not prepared to, nor do I wish to, police how other people seek mental health services. There are probably many good discussions of this elsewhere, but that is not what this post is about.

What I am prepared to do, however, is call bullshit where I see it. And pretending like that violence, actual or potential, is invisible to me is bullshit. Just because I don’t factor into your account of the situation, it does not mean that I’m not watching, that I haven’t witnessed and lived with this, in one form or another, for nearly thirty years. I do not live with violence at home at this point in my life, but my work environment involves this type of aggression pretty much every day. I’m not a counselor, but understanding, intervening, and — most importantly — planning to minimize and prevent hostile conflicts is a fundamental aspect of my job.

And that doesn’t even take into account the parts of my day where I’m not in a position of relative power and where I don’t have the option to call for backup.

Ultimately, in order to function in my world, I have to be acutely aware of posturing, insecurity, shame, tiny movements of body language, tone of voice, challenges, failing to meet someone’s eyes or holding their gaze for an instant too long, the frustration or justification after a moment has passed. Even if I’m invisible inside that, I don’t have the privilege of allowing it to be invisible to me.

NYT, for you to presume that I’m oblivious, to even entertain that as a fantasy, again — What the everloving fuck?

Poetry Break: Advice for Newbies

Two posts in a row about writing. Folks who know me were probably taking bets on when that was going to happen.

I am working my way through the Poetry 180 series, and today was the day I happened to reach Ron Koertge “Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?”. This part struck me:

And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.

Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author’s name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.

My best writing place ever was the third floor of my university’s library in the children’s section. Being a small town university library, the kiddie lit section was not particularly impressive, but it did have a tiny animal-shaped table — with tinier animal-shaped chairs — in one picture window corner. There was an elephant, a lion, and a panda, the first the table and the last two the chairs. I’d move the little chairs and park myself there on the floor between classes or on weekends. Especially on weekends when the library was otherwise silent. And with my legs stretched out or crossed at the knee or folded under me, I’d write and write and write.

It was not easy; I don’t think self-discovery ever is. I have memories of rain and thunder pulsing outside, reflected in the fury of my pen and the tears sneaking down my cheeks. (Because it was still public, after all. And I hadn’t yet given myself permission to shed public tears freely.) I wrote some good shit there, and it was painful. But I also think this was pain in a purposeful, cleansing way, and I was better for working through it.

From time to time, children, parents, and/or university students would come into the section, looking for a book, and I’d have to pretend that it was the most normal sight in the world for a mostly grown woman to be sitting cross-legged in a table shaped like an elephant’s butt. And for me, you know, it was. For whatever reason — let’s pretend something cool, like a metaphysical connection to the freedom and imagination of my childhood daydreams — claiming that space as a writer’s space (though I always offered to move when actual children entered the room, which was not often) let me be with a part of myself that was very intuitive and innate. I still cannot explain precisely why I continue to feel at home on the floor — my version of groundedness, maybe? — though I know that is what feels right to me.

Being alone in that space, grounded in that space, an observer in that space — more than anything, what it let me do was get comfortable with myself as a writer. And when I could see myself as a writer, I could let the words flow. I know I said I write some good shit at that elephant table, and that is true. I also wrote many steaming piles of elephant dung. And you know what? That is okay. Because I don’t think writing is about shitting diamonds and pearls at every first pass. (If it is, I’m screwed.) Rather, I think the main part of writing is as verb — to keep doing it. Because in the action, there is a connection, from soul to mind to body to words to paper.

I guess it’s not surprising that I frame my asana practice in the same terms. That’s about me putting my body to shapes rather than pen to paper, but still — it’s about the action and the connection. The doing is what’s important, more so than the visual result, which is just the snapshot of an instant rather than a true recording of the journey. So it’s fitting, I think, to continue the poetic metaphor in a yoga train of thought:

You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, “Shhhh.”

Then start again.

Whether I move gracefully or whether I fall — and believe me, even after 12 years of practice, I have a sound practice of falls — the connection and the joy comes from doing it rather than from any outside-observable result. That’s what makes it okay to laugh with myself, no matter what the visual result, and always to keep doing and start again.

Book Review: Lauren Oliver’s Before I Fall

I’m not really sure how directly this relates to yoga, but I’m going to write it anyway because — hey, it’s my blog. I thought about it and decided I would sooner change the name of the blog than not share this, so. I have made my choice.

But this is what I know: technically, I don’t have time for this book.

It’s the end of two semesters for me. Everything is due, and then some more things are due. There are dishes piled in the sink, I haven’t worked out in days, I’m going to order pizza for dinner because there’s simply no time for anything else, there’s research to be done for a paper due, my world is spinning out of control –

And all I can think about is this book.

It’s due back to the school library on Friday, and I swear to Bob that if need be, I will stay up all of Thursday to finish it. (Right now, though, I need to be on the computer so I can simultaneously order pizza and pretend to multitask research for other school.)

Anyway, Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver:

The premise (does not include spoilers beyond the book jacket): The main character, Sam, dies relatively early in the story. After her death, she spends a week reliving her last day — making some same and some different choices — and starts to see how the events and people in her life really play out.

Why I’m Writing (may contain spoilers, though I cannot give away the ending on account of I do not know it yet):

If I’m interpreting the book jacket correctly, I am, I think, two chapters away from the ending. On one level, I’m so excited to read the ending that I’m literally getting chills thinking about it. On another level — the one where I decided I must write this review now — I don’t actually care. This is because, even if Sam wakes up and finds it was all a dream (which would be a cop-out ending), what she and I (as the reader, along for the cathartic ride) have already discovered makes it worth it.

Sam and her friends are the girls I envied and measured myself against in high school: the ones who defined beauty, effortlessly navigated charm, set standards for social values, and never seemed to worry about the ways in which they weren’t “good enough.”

Now that I’m older and presumably wiser, I think reality can’t have been as simple as all that.

Sam especially — since she is narrating, after all — is aware of the difference between being popular and being liked. And of the difference between being admired for appearances and being appreciated for who she truly is. And also, I think, aware that — in the social battleground of high school — being popular does not necessarily even mean being admired for appearances.

Gradually, we start to see the insecurity that underlies and belies Sam’s initial appearance.

In that unwinding, Sam is me.

My freshman year of high school was socially rough. No-friends-for-months, doubting-the-people-who-were-gradually-friendly-with-me, figuring-out-I-didn’t-know-everything-and-was-not-the-smartest-kid-on-the-block, silent-in-conversations, alone-at-lunch, afraid-of-the-locker-room-at-gym, get-me-home-right-after-school kinds of rough.

The situation got better during my sophomore year (thank you, honors chemistry!), and my junior and senior years were pretty awesome. But I never really could let go of that concern that everyone secretly made fun of me and wanted me to leave. Even when I knew it wasn’t supported by present reality, I couldn’t let go of that past baggage fear.

That past baggage fear is a big deal in Before I Fall, both because of how it impacts the present and of how it reveals the fragility of the present.

I am not proud to admit this, but during my sophomore through senior years, I made fun of the targets designated as acceptable by my social group. In some cases, the person was somewhere above me in the adolescent pecking order and may well have been deserving of criticism. In others, the person was lower in the hierarchy without access to the same sort of friend support network. Either way, I know my own motivation was to selfishly gain, maintain, or salvage my reputation capital. It was never right, but the motivations were sometimes different flavors of wrong.

In some day-interpretations, Sam and her friends cut down other people out of selfish glory in and expression of power. In other words, they act simply because they can, because it’s better to be the insulter rather than the insultee, after all. Other days, however, it’s clear that one or more characters is engaging in the same type of put-down behavior out of fear, desperate not to become ostracized or humiliated their own selves.

So I alternate between hating these characters’ actions, recalling my own fear and insecurity, and sympathizing with the characters themselves, flushing with shame for the times I treated others as social collateral. The difficult reality is that it’s all me or pieces of me, and Before I Fall makes me sit with that and work that idea ’round in my head. It’s a tricky thing, learning to hold a space of compassion for oneself and others while being rightly critical of and maybe even enraged by the harm we’ve caused.

As I finish the book, I will be hoping that Sam discovers or creates or recognizes that balance in herself. By my count, she either has an eternity or two more days to do it. And of course, if there’s hope for a fictitious character who also happens to be a dead person, that means there’s also hope for me.

Eating What I Deserve

By Liftarn (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Today, I learned something new, via here and here: There is such a thing as International No Diet Day, and it happens to be this day, May 6th.

Certainly, I am a fan of both conscious and healthy eating habits. But key to that is that “health” includes mental and emotional facets as well as a physical aspect, and dieting is all too often wrapped up in a rhetoric that doesn’t serve me.

I grew up in a household where both guilt (or Guilt, of the religious variety) and food policing (first mom-induced and then self-sustaining) were fundamentals. At its core, this food policing involved imbuing various foods with both moral qualities and powers of transfer. So some foods, like lettuce, were “good” while some foods, like chocolate pudding, were “bad.” Anyone could eat a “good” food because, hey, we can all use extra goodness (or moral superiority or bragging rights or whatever). But you had to be extra good (usually in the combination of exercise and being “skinny enough”) to “deserve” to eat a “bad” food in order to counteract its inherent badness, which it would ultimately transfer to the eater — usually in the form of larger clothing sizes.

As I hit puberty, parts of my body grew wider and fattier whether I liked it or not — and completely separately, I might add, from how “good” or “bad” I was in my teens. And I would unequivocally label my adolescent eating habits as unhealthy — not because of foods I did or didn’t eat, total calories consumed or unconsumed — but because I was primarily concerned with eating for appearances. My own physical appearance was a part of that. My mom had often told me I was developing the same “trouble spots” on my body that she had, I changed in the locker room for gym just like everybody else, and I was 110% terrified of being labeled by myself or by others as fat. Also included was my social appearance: I wanted to be seen eating the “right” foods, which were sometimes the “good foods” (carrot sticks, Diet Coke, nothing at all) of my childhood and — in the spirit of teenage rebellion — sometimes “bad foods” (tater tots, Twix bars, Mountain Dew) that had to be eaten with a sort of “fuck you, world!” attitude.

I was way good at “fuck you” on the outside; I was less good at it on the inside. There was no place in those years for eating for the pleasure of taste or even for eating for simple physical hunger. Even if I didn’t count calories, every mouthful had an emotional weight.

And here’s the kicker — At least among my social acquaintances and peers, I’d consider my relationship with food to be about average.

Average, as in, “in the middle of the bell curve.”

Maybe let that sink in a minute.

It’s only been in the last year or so that I’ve been able to love and accept myself enough to stop justifying my food choices to my moral compass — and I certainly don’t manage that every day. But eating because I personally enjoy it has become part of my skill set. I practice taking a little bit of that “fuck you, world!” and applying it to my insides.

Tonight, we’re having tacos, and in honor of the day, I bought sour cream. On one level, I’m intensely aware that sour cream = a metric buttload of extraneous calories and fat. Saturated fat. On another, I’m anticipating the cool, creamy tang that is the perfect complement to the jalapeno and green chile in the taco filling. And that is its own little piece of glory, right there at my kitchen table.

Triangle: Back on the Lat-Stretching Asana Bandwagon

Not gonna lie, I’m partly talking about this asana as a latissimus dorsi stretch because I have plans to talk about revolved triangle in the near future. And also, of course, because it actually does stretch the lats. Going back to the anatomy — I do this from time to time — one position that stretches the lats are when the arms are laterally abducted (i.e., held in a T-shape away from the torso). If I pay a lot of attention to creating a long spine in the pose, I find that trikonasana does this pretty aptly.

Before I talk about the pose itself, though, I want to back up and highlight a triangle misconception I had for a long time, especially because I know a fair number of other yogis who’ve had the same hangup. To speak bluntly, enlightenment is not on the floor. (At least not inherently. If staring at the kitchen linoleum is your spiritual cup of tea, go for it.) Often, we get the impression that the “fullest” (which some yogis imply or interpret as “best”) expression of the pose — and therefore the ultimate purpose of the pose — is to reach the bottom hand to the floor, no matter how it affects the overall alignment. And sometimes, particularly for yogis with tightness in the hamstrings, hips, or spine, getting the hand to the floor can mean limiting hip rotation or rounding the spine. These aren’t inherently bad things. However, if the physical focus of triangle is to open the hips and lengthen the spine (which helps give some digestion and stress reduction benefits), then it makes sense to focus on the hip and low back position and to let the position of the bottom arm flow naturally out of that.

And I think that for the lats to be free to stretch in this pose, the muscle-contracting work of the asana has to come from the thighs, hips, abdominals (front and oblique), and the low back muscles of the core. If I’m using this pose to release my mid and upper back — lats included — they have to be free from a big chunk of the weight-bearing necessity. (Not that the bottom arm and shoulder bears no weight, but — if the arms are very T-shaped and open — it’s not the lats providing the support.) Thinking about trikonasana this way, wherever the bottom hand naturally finds itself when the legs are engaged and the spine is long is the “correct” spot.

This video explains trikonasana while offering a nifty tip for sacral and spinal alignment:

At least for me, when I enter this pose mindful of pelvic and spinal alignment, there is an increased need that I will need a block or other prop (or that I will place my hand on my leg) rather than reaching my bottom hand to the floor. This is 100% okay because enlightenment is not on the floor. Enlightenment is much closer to the place where I can honor my body regardless of what it looks like. On that note, if a prop isn’t working, there’s this version of trikonasana that involves lengthening with the bottom hand on the thigh, as well as utthita hasta padasana that incorporates the same spinal length and arm abduction (and therefore latissimus dorsi stretch) while minimizing hip flexion and rotation as physical goings-on.

This Post’s Teal Dear: I’m not sure there are benefits into modifying my outside into what’s “expected” at the expense of what I’m actually feeling. Enlightenment might actually work better the other way around. Also, triangles are brilliant — so sayeth Guy Smiley and Prairie Dawn.

Poetry Break: It’s Okay to Enjoy the Ride

“Introduction to Poetry” by Billy Collins:

(Text here.)

Sometimes, I am very goal-oriented with my yoga practice: entering the full expression of a particular pose, working a muscle group to its limit, creating a specific mindset. In balance, this is not a bad thing.

But sometimes I am so focused on wanting a specific result that I miss out on the exhilaration purely from experiencing my practice. It can feel really good to get in the rhythm of a flow or to hang out in a resting pose even when I could do more or to try balancing in half moon even when the odds overwhelmingly favor me toppling over. And it’s okay — beneficial, therapeutic, even — to just experience that and to love it for what it is.

Similarly, in life off the mat, I’m at that point in the school year, where the students think they’re done, only they’re… not… yet. And so, I will say, when faced with the student who tried to ditch my class by hiding in the library only to discover that class was going to the library, the finest reaction for me as a teacher was not to get angry about it (which I didn’t) but to enjoy the hell out of it (which I did), mark her late, and say, “Here’s what you should be working on and what you missed.” No Valuable Life Lesson was going to come from attaching myself to anger, but laughter moved the situation into something productive for both of us.

It’s okay to notice you’re whizzing away on water skis and to wave to yourself on shore.

Enlightenment Later

A fun, frivolous secret:
I love my home practice.
Not because it readies me for meditation better
or brings about enlightenment faster.
But because I get to do my favorite poses
and no one laughs when I fall down.

Look, Ma! No hands!

Or, another way to up the core intensity in not-so-core-centric asanas, this time focusing on the obliques.

There are 3 lateral bending poses I want to examine: side angle, triangle, and half moon. Except, let’s look at them with my super awesome stick figure drawings, where a similar trait has been highlighted:

Side angle: one of these sticks is not like the others.

Triangle: noticing a pattern yet?

Half moon: third time's a charm!

Two things:

1. Each side bend requires the obliques to support progressively more body weight, either due to gravity (i.e., the torso is farther off the ground in half moon and triangle than it is in side angle) or to added weight (in half moon, the back leg is raised off the ground, needing to be supported rather than supporting).
2. Each side bend is helped by that supporting hand, whether the hand is weight-bearing or is primarily there for balance.

How to ramp up the core work? Take away the supporting hand. But gradually, maybe. I’ve found that removing my support (YOGA TIP: SOMETIMES IT IS JUST PSYCHOLOGICAL SUPPORT) hand too fast is an excellent way for me to fall on my face and/or ass. (PS — Falling on my face and ass at the same time, we call that multitasking. Marvel at my efficiency.)

I use the process outlined below, and I sort of spiral this across the three outlined asanas. In other words, I might wait to feel comfortable with a particular hand position in side angle before I try it in triangle, and to feel stable in triangle before I try it in half moon. And just because a certain expression of a certain pose is my edge on one day does not mean this is what will serve me best in other moments, on other days. I find it useful to feel my way into poses, moving gradually:

If I’m comfortable with my fingers (and palm) are on the floor, I try tenting my fingers so only my 5 fingertips (or pads of my fingers) are touching. (Think Catwoman claws.)

If I’m okay with 5 fingertips, I try 2 fingertips.

If I’m stable with 2, I try 1.

If I can maintain my core support and balance with just one finger on the ground, then I very gently try to lift that. There is a place of almost hands free that is one finger ever so slightly brushing the floor: It makes my core work almost as hard as the no hands version but gives an infinite amount of mental security.

And when that place is no longer my edge, I take that one barely touching finger away, my hand a few centimeters above the floor or maybe all the way to my heart or opposite side waist. Maybe I topple out of the pose or maybe I don’t; the important thing is that I’m hearing my body and listening to what it says back.

MenstroMonster Yoga: Dragon

Oops. I was going to write about oblique abdominal stretches, except I’m pretty sure my pelvis is going to explode.

Okay, I know it’s not going to explode — but I kind of wish it would.

MenstroMonster Disclaimer: Due to a few different pelvic pain conditions, my period involves significant negative sensations for me. It’s awesome if you’re able to view yours more positively, but please understand that this is not the case for me (or for some others who experience chronic pain). Menstrual humor, crass and TMI though it may be, is a helpful coping tool.

I’m not sure if it’s my ergonomically unkind desk chair — the only thing that’s really changed since my last period — but my hip flexors about want to shut down on me. To counter that, I have been spending yin amounts of time (1 to 5 minutes, depending on comfort level) in dragon pose:

Yes, hanging out there is intense for my back hip, but it’s sort of cathartic to be able to feel like I’m directing the pain into something productive. Or, really, to feel like I’m directing anything about the pain.