Call from the Universe: Collect

Ever hear the saying that you always hurt the ones you love?

This has been my experience with my smart phone.  My passion for my phone, my dependence on it and the need to always be available, mostly to my kids has led to the destruction of six phones in less than five years.

 #1 was the victim of a hit-and-run accident.  It dropped out of my jacket as I was on a marathon training run. I noticed it missing soon enough to see if glimmering by the side of the road, but not so soon that I couldn’t get to it before an oncoming car.

 #2 landed in the toilet at Hynes Auditorium.

Less than 24 hours later, #3 landed in the toilet at my office.

#4 was buried in a snow bank for  48 hours.  It kinda sorta worked when I found it, but not for long.

#5 landed in a tub of hot bubbling  water at the local nail salon. The pedicure nearly made the loss worthwhile.

#6, my most recent victim, fell into the turkey brine at Thanksgiving.

Lest you get the idea that I’m one of those people who can’t put their phone down, let me set the record straight. I used to be that way, probably (though I don’t think I knew it at the time).  I’m much better now but I still like the idea of the phone more than actually using it.  

Which brings me to the question of balance, my greatest challenge not just in yoga but in all aspects of my life.  Just as I struggle with Garudasana (Eagle) or even, at times, Tree, I am constantly trying to figure out how to spend the precious hours of my day – whether to work or play, whether to hang with the kids or my beloved, and whether to answer the phone when it rings, to wait until the rest of the family is otherwise or  to simply turn it off and put it away so that whoever I’m with understands that my attention – my focus – is on them and only them.

And so I wonder: Are these problems with smart phones a coincidence or are they calls from the universe telling me to hang it up?

After destroying six smart phones  I’ve decided it’s time to try something different, at least for awhile. The old, definitely not smart phone that I’ve been using since Thanksgiving is a relic. I can barely make a call,  never mind text. It has no appeal to me whatsoever and, therefore, no risk of being tucked into a shallow pocket to be at the ready. That may be its saving grace. And mine.

namaste.

Don't Leave the Room

I took my first Bikram yoga class yesterday. For years, I had been ogling Bikram from a distance, curious about why anyone would choose to practice yoga in 105 degree.

But I was just coming off a few days of detox eating and thought that maybe a nice way to end it all (hopefully, not literally) was with a last good sweat and stretch in the heat.

When I arrived for the class, I was never greeted so warmly (pun intended) by fellow students. People could tell I was a first timer and all shared the same advice: Don’t stand under the panels (that’s where it’s hottest); keep a second towel nearby; take a knee if you need a break; and most of all, no matter how bad you feel, don’t leave the room. Leave the room? Why would I leave the room?

If I wasn’t nervous before arriving at the studio, I certainly was now.

I didn’t need to be. The assanas aren’t particularly complicated, and the pace is fairly slow. But I found it difficult to focus. It might have been the streaming dialog from the instructor who led the class through words, not demonstration. It might have been the close proximity of the student on the mat just inches in front of mine. Or it might have been the heat. The weakest part of my own practice on a good day is balance and so I wobbled, even during tree. The nausea began when tried to join a few of them by lowering myself into toe stand. I fought the urge to flee the room but took a knee instead. Fortunately, we were done with the standing poses and treated to a few moments on our backs and, after a few deep breaths, I was fine and ready to go.

Bikram is a series of 26 poses and breathing patterns that are practiced universally, in the same order, no matter where you study. There’s no centering at the start of class, no soothing music in the background, no gentle instruction from the class leader urging you to make the practice your own, no calming savasana at the close.

It’s the mirror opposite of my approach to teaching.

There was a lot about Bikram that didn’t feel right to me. I think I would hate to teach it. And yet, there was something pretty great about it, too.

The marathon runner in me loved the rush of endorphins and feeling the sweat flowing out of every pore.  Despite the forewarnings, I felt fabulous after the class and throughout the day. I had a surge of energy in the evening that I hadn’t experienced in a long time, but, I was also tired and slept like a rock.

I’m going to go back and see if I like it as much the second time around. If I do, I think I’d like to practice Bikram a couple times a week. In moderation, it may be the perfect balancecomplement to the gentle yoga that I teach.

Someone asked me if there’s anything I'd incorporate from Bikram into my own classes. There is, but it’s not a pose or breathing. It’s a lesson I learned from the other students that is applicable in and outside of the studio: No matter how hard it gets, stick with it. Take a break if you need to. Change your position or your perspective. But whatever you, don’t leave the room.

Namaste.

Signs by the side of the road

I found a screech owl today.  She was sitting at the edge of the road, barely moving but blinking her large yellow eyes every now and then to prove she wasn’t a stuffed animal that had fallen out of a stroller.

I got a box and brought the owl home and waited for the animal control officer to come deliver her to the local wildlife rescue center where, I hope, she will be nursed back to health. I mean, I assume she was hurt. Why else would an owl be sitting in the road? ( I also assume the owl was female but, really, I have no idea.)

It was such an odd thing, seeing that tiny owl there. I wondered if it was there for a reason, serving as a sign or an omen that I was supposed to somehow recognize.

So I searched the Internet to see if any of the various interpretations of owls in dreams, folklore, the Bible, even Wikipedia jumped out at me. Nothing did.

And then I realized that maybe the owl didn’t symbolize a thing; maybe the significance of finding the owl was simply that I noticed it.

I figured that the owl had been there for a few hours, taking her doomed last flight when it was still dark. Not at midday when I had found her.  So how come none of the dozens of people who drove or walked past noticed her – or, at least – did something to help?

As part of my personal journey with yoga, I’ve dedicated myself in the last year or so to being less of a multi-tasker (even though I thought I was so good at it) and more present to the here and now.  But lately, I’ve been struggling with that -  feeling a little too rushed again and definitely as though I’m being pulled in different directions as I try to feed my spirit as well as my kids.

Maybe the owl showed me that despite life’s many distractions – they really can’t be avoided – it’s still possible to slow down, be present to the moment and see what’s on the side of the road.