Today's theme, seemingly identical to "expand," started with a reminder to set the tone for today's practice. Seeing as I had flung myself out of bed in a panic that I had to do yoga and blog (and also that I had to get curtains for my new apartment in 2 months because clearly that's something I can do at this very moment). Forget that yoga and blogging were deadlines that I had set for myself.
But sheer panic and horror were what got me into this non-functional mess to begin with—an important part of recovery is not just setting a tone for a yoga practice, but setting a tone for the day. Panic doesn't necessarily lend itself to more productivity, but it certainly makes people stop and ask you if you've suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
Breathing is a tremendously effective tool in setting a calming, peaceful tone. Simply taking three or four deep belly breaths can remind you that everything is okay. That you are safe. Even if you have a million things on your to-do list, you can still make space to breathe, to take a few moments to check in with yourself.
Sliding into a cat-cow sequence, Adriene gently stated that we are worthy of good, and that we need to make space to allow that positive energy into our lives. While an ostensibly distinction from "expand," the semantics of these words are dramatically different: expand focused on taking up space and pushing against a tendency to make ourselves small. This wording suggests (somehow this series is turning into a close textual analysis) that the space is already there, being offered to us. We just have to accept the space. Making space is active. It's creating paths that aren't initially present. It's seeing a wall in front of our desires (true desires, not like "hey I want this new Colourpop palette. Although I would really like the new Colourpop palette) and walking around the wall. It's being presented with options A and B, and taking option C.
It's a nice start to with the flow and remain flexible and open to what life offers us. But we also have to remind ourselves that if we're not happy with our lives, or we want something to happen, we have the power to make that thing happen. Yes, there will always be external (or internal) obstacles that may make certain dreams and aspirations difficult or impossible. But we have power to work towards that which seems impossible. We have the power to make space.
This was a much-needed short practice, as I was still exhausted from my foray into running. I still woke up late, but found myself having much more compassion for myself, and vowing to listen to my body when it asks for a break. I even recognized that perhaps I don't have to wake up at 5:00 and exercise every single day of my life. Also that knitting is a lovely form of meditation that puts beauty into the world—or at the very least, mangled yarn that is trying to be a scarf.
Today's message was simple and repeated several times throughout the practice: you are in charge of your own happiness. You are in charge of your own happiness.
It sounds obvious, and it's easy to understand on a surface level. In the words of Jen Sincero, "an epiphany is a visceral understanding of something you already know." I have intellectually known that nothing and no one is in charge of my happiness. I can't be gifted a ukulele (that I would most likely play once and get discouraged) and suddenly have a clear, spiritual understanding of what I'm meant to do in the world.
There have been times when I thought I was happy, but I've started to develop an awareness of the distinction between happiness and ecstasy or elation. I have been ecstatic when I was surrounded by wonderful friends, when I got a job, and when I received positive feedback that I was killing it in school.
All of this happiness came from external forces. And the trouble with relying on external forces is that they are largely out of your control.
I once had a therapist who told me to think about control as a hula hoop. We are surrounded by people and experiences that we cannot mold to fit our wishes or our perceptions of the ideal. We each have a very limited space that is within our control: the hula hoop. When we visualize this control, when we ask "what's in my hula hoop?" it's (slightly) easier to let the other things go. Having to go to work every day is largely out of our control. Leaving a job is not. Having to feed your kids breakfast is out of your control. Deciding to start your day with some meditation and tea is not.
Your yoga practice is in your control. Whether you choose to follow Adriene's cues exactly, or curl up into child's pose for a rest, you are curating a practice that works for you. Moving into week 2 of this journey, you might notice a stronger awareness of how you react to difficult postures, and begin to shift that reaction.
Day 12 has shown me that the way I approach yoga is drastically different from the way I've practiced it for six years: rather than doing postures, I have been experiencing them. This might sound like mumbo jumbo to some, but essentially what I mean is that rather than show off a difficult posture, or feel like I must prove via Instagram that I can do side crow, I have been noticing how each posture feels, how I can modify for my own body, and how I react to situations off the mat.
It's not perfect. It has been long ingrained that I must be anxious and panicky that I cannot be a person in the world, that I cannot do what I have set out to do in a day, month, or lifetime. But I have started to make that shift between doing things in order to placate some abstract being that demands I have hobbies, and curating my own experiences because I want to.
I started jogging and knitting to seem like a person who does things, to appear interesting to those around me. In response to roommate ads, I said I liked hiking, despite having hiked like 10 times in my entire life. While I still mostly detest running, I have noticed a much more prevalent sense of calm and strength throughout the day. Knitting has turned into one of the most transcendent meditations I have ever experienced.
So yes, most things are out of our control. But how we choose to spend our precious time on this earth, and how we choose to react to others and more importantly, to ourselves is very much in our hula hoops.
Today's practice was also one I'd visited before, for obvious reasons. Having left a job and come home to Pennsylvania in a mental health crisis twice, I was feeling like a failure, a coward who simply couldn't handle life. I was ashamed that even when I was "doing well," it took a tremendous amount of courage to go to the grocery store. I denied that moving to Colorado was an act of bravery, as I went to grad school because it was familiar and safe. I went to campus and retreated back to my apartment. Going to Wal-Mart with my roommate felt like a grand odyssey. I was an imposter who feigned bravery, with the exception being that one time I got dumped and made it my life's purpose to be a strong, empowered empowered woman (this resulted in some very bizarre meetups with self-proclaimed psychics).
But Adriene, who has turned into something of an "angel on the shoulder" figure, in her inspirational, but not-taking-herself-too-seriously way, stated that just showing up was an act of courage: "it's not easy to show up for ourselves and examine what's inside, rather than just avoiding it."
This doesn't exactly apply to me. I have spent an embarrassingly high percentage of my life examining what's inside. But showing up for myself, rather than showing up despite or against myself, that's a new phenomenon. As a chronic self-reflector, I knew my attributes that made me "wrong" or different in some way, but rarely did anything to change it. Instead, wallowing in misery and self-hatred was my MO.
Talking about my feelings comes easily to me, much to the chagrin of everyone around me. Going to therapy and doing self-healing homework does not. But, low and behold, it helps. So does prioritizing things like yoga and reading as forms of self care, rather than efforts to "be better at humaning," whatever that means. And, ironically, when I get out of my head and engage in those hobbies for the sake of joy, I end up being physically stronger and more mentally focused.
Just because somebody else's act of courage is a more typical act of bravery, that does not discount your own ability to take yourself out of your comfort zone. I have friends who are taking solo trips to California just because. I also have friends who have lived with their parents their whole lives. That latter group demonstrates courage in other ways.
With courage comes compassion, an ability to identify people as no better or no worse than others. I may not be taking solo trips across the country, but I push past my preference for never leaving the house or learning new skills by finding new events to attend or groups to meet. I say yes to more opportunities. I go to a different grocery store. I've started jogging 3 days a week even though I'm terrible at it and can only run for a total of 8 minutes. But I'm doing it. I'm showing up for myself. I'm taking what I've learned through a miserable, eye opening, confusing year and moving forward.
This was the first video from Adriene's 30 day yoga journey that I'd done before. When I first arrived in Pennsylvania and dedicated myself to daily yoga practices, I picked videos that looked more vigorous and offered typical vinyasa sequences. After I completed "expand" the first time, I distinctly remember having a "meh" attitude about it: "it could've been harder," I thought to myself, only to subsequently watch 10 hours of television.
I'm not entirely sure if I'm a whole new person who can appreciate gentle practices, or if my entire body felt like it was on fire (see: jogging) and getting into child's pose felt like a great feat. Whatever the case, I've noticed being significantly more in tune with micro movements and my breath. The phrase "let your heart shine forward" no longer sounds like meaningless jargon. I have an awareness of how it feels to be in the posture, rather than worry about what comes next. That hasn't necessarily transferred to how I view my day, much less my life, but perhaps that's something to look forward to on day 30.
Today's practice contained two mantras: "expand your possibilities" and "take up space." As a person who has read a few feminist articles and calls herself an expert feminist scholar, I'm familiar with the notion of the gendered implications of taking up space (and wrote about it in 2012, when I thought I was sooo profound and clever). But more on that later.
I'm less familiar with the idea of expanding my possibilities. While a rather minute difference, the distinction between exploring and expanding possibilities can be monumental. Rather than sequestering ourselves into one path, we are encouraged to examine other avenues that are offered to us. While it's important to think through options that are right in front of us, there's a certain degree of passivity in this practice. Perhaps two items, experiences, or paths are presented to us, and we are told to pick one. We often forget that we have the power to pick neither, to continue to explore other options. Expanding possibilities connotes far more agency: we have the power to widen the scope of our choices, to intentionally move past what we initially see.
The mind-body connection has been long studied, and yoga is no exception. I have noticed that when I step onto the yoga mat, I instantly check in with myself about how I'm feeling and what I want. My mind stops chattering about all the things I should be doing, and instead I begin to consider what I want to be doing. That's not to say that to-do lists and daily, weekly, or monthly goals aren't useful. They are. But expanding possibilities simply lets us be open to evolving goals and priorities. It's not flighty or capricious. It's inquisitive. It's reflective.
Taking up space is a little trickier, and is something that I still struggle with. Not in the "I must be thin and tiny or I will die" kind of way, although hundreds of thousands of women struggle with this, and is beautifully expressed in Lily Meyers's poem, "Shrinking Woman"). I have a tendency to be clumsy and awkward, and try to compensate by making myself small. In uncomfortable situations, I duck my head down and squeeze my arms in, trying to get myself out of other people's space as soon as possible. I have apologized for being in my own kitchen.
That is, to put this eloquently, bullshit.
In the past year, I have found feminism in unlikely spaces, the latest being pole class. When I was learning how to do baseball grip spins, I curled myself close to the pole, partly because I was afraid of hurling myself into the air, but mostly because I'd made a habit of making myself small. Jinger, a fierce, firey instructor who tells her classes to "lead with your vagina," stopped me mid-spin.
"You need to expand your body. That's the only way you get momentum," she said.
I tried again. Jinger raised an eyebrow.
"As women, we are taught not to take up space. We want to make ourselves small and petite. That's not gonna fly in pole."
I restrained myself from saying I was afraid to come flying off the pole. But she was the expert, and I loved a good feminist rant, so I place my left hand on the pole, stretched my right side body as far away from the pole as I could muster, and sprang into a sail spin.
And she was right. That was the only way I could get momentum.
In her article titled "The Proliferation of the Shrinking Woman: How Women are Taught Grown Inward," Laura Argintar notes:
"We have been socialized to feel unentitled to our own space, to shrink our presence. To be feminine is to be small and contained. By contrast, to exude masculinity is to recline or spread out to assert power. It’s time we learn to create space for ourselves and weave an outwardly growing web. We are owners of the street, of our bodies, of our space."
To take up space in the world is to explore our own potential. To recognize that we owe it to ourselves to plunge into experiences and passions. To expand our possibilities.
Today's practice was no surprise, as finding the divine within is a common theme in yoga. Despite hearing this message that we can tap into our highest selves, I still have trouble believing that there is some spiritual goddess in me. I have only ever described brownies as divine.
Adriene did use this stereotypical language, yet she also has a way of making yogic concepts accessible for the general population, those of us that are suspicious of the highly spiritual, "woowoo" aspects of yoga. She asked us to connect to our best selves, the people that we have been or strive to be.
I often have superficial visions of the person that I want to be: this person has brilliantly white teeth, an overstuffed closet with exclusively cute clothes (rather than punny tee shirts that she's had since 10th grade). She wakes up at 5AM every day, runs 10 miles, and has the makeup skills of Pat McGrath.
This is obtainable for someone who has inherited hundreds of thousands of dollars and has no job.
Instead of thinking about my idealized self (but seriously, any tips for teeth whitening?), I thought about my most confident, stable self. Barring childhood, I was happiest, most confident, and most inspired in grad school. As someone who is used to feeling like an awkward outsider in almost every situation, I was surprised to find out that I felt like I fit in academia 100%. I was excitable, but not in the scary, AHHHHHH way that I've been before (it was more akin to ahhhh).
So while I was in a 3 legged dog (as one does), I concluded that I should go back to grad school. Which I am. So that worked out nicely.
While Adriene emphasizes connecting with the highest self, she also touches on considering the true: "how does it feel to be you today?" As someone who blends in with others, who waits for a clear sense of the social context I am in, I have struggled with a sense of a "true self." It's full of contradictions and hypocrisies. I am a dedicated yogi who eats copious amounts of cheese and meat. I am a makeup lover who doesn't pay attention to brand names and has a grand total of two foundations. I am an English major who avoids classic literature.
In many ways, my life—and subsequently my identity—is one giant paradox.
Despite these lived paradoxes, it's important to realize that experiences and identities ebb and flow. There is no set authentic self. People who seem to fit neatly into one category likely don't broadcast their contradictions or insecurity. Maybe Adriene has a drinking problem. Maybe she secretly goes to McDonald's every month.
Most likely not. But it's possible.
Just like some days are easier to get into that high lunge or half moon, some days it is easier to access our highest or best selves. Some days will be a total slog, or will feel purposeless. But in my case, there were days when I couldn't stop myself from doing research, from consuming as much feminist literature as I possibly could. And discovering those days, that sense of purpose is worth living for.
Just like the instructor said in rise and shine yoga, in order to access that better self, to confront obstacles we are facing, we must strengthen our internal awareness. In group therapy (yes, I've been there), we had daily check ins: everyone would rate their mood, have a daily word, a treatment goal, and a daily goal. While slightly cheesy, this daily exercise sparks the beginnings of internal awareness. The facilitator of the group said he does this every day while he's brushing his teeth. You need those two minutes to practice oral hygiene anyway, so why not go through your morning routine with an emotional check in?
You don't need to be in crisis or in therapy to value and connect with your emotional state—to access that higher, divine, worthy self.
After yesterday's slow, gentle practice, I challenged myself to get out of my comfort zone (both physically and geographically) and head to Yoga Lab, a newer yoga studio in State College. I'm not entirely sure why it never occurred to me to practice at this studio, seeing as I knew several of the founders from Lila Yoga. I have a tumultuous relationship with Lila Yoga, and while I can acknowledge that it sparked my love of yoga, going there is also a sore reminder of abandoning commitments early, of tense relationships, and of not quite accepting myself. Okay, not accepting myself at all.
On top of that, when talking with a teacher at Yoga Lab, she stated that one of the reasons the founders started the studio was in order to offer classes that focused on foundational physical cues, posture, and alignment. Given my newfound appreciation for foundation over exhaustion, I signed up for the "rise and shine" class at Yoga Lab.
After doing yoga for 9 days, I've found that despite being out of my comfort zone, I look forward to yoga classes. I know that I will feel invigorated and refreshed both during and after class. I've grown a fondness for shaking arms and legs as I feel myself getting stronger physically, and subsequently mentally (turns out that mind-body connection that everyone has been on about is really a thing). In noticing my anxiety about taking a level 2-3 class, I recognize that I am offering myself an opportunity to learn and grow, and to cultivate relationships with another community of yogis.
Much like Adriene's later practices, this class focused primarily on the physical. I came in roughly ten minutes late, only to be greeted with an ab exercise. I don't detest abs—most likely because I've been doing them wrong—but I don't voluntarily do 100 crunches or situps in my room. But I noticed a very slight shift in my mindset as I began to feel fire in my core: rather than panic and think, "oh god, this hurts; my abs are screaming at me right now," I thought, "my abs are waking up." As the practice progressed, I got far closer to a "flow" state than I ever have—and with that came an ability to physically do things I never thought possible. While I'm primarily doing yoga for the mental benefits, it's encouraging to see my flexibility, strength, and endurance improve.
There's a certain fear that comes with progression. We tend to avoid stagnation or discouragement. Putting an "advanced" label on something either makes us want to compete and show off, or we avoid it altogether. In keeping with my propensity for believing I'm utter shite, I tend to consider advanced yoga as something of an exclusive club for enlightened people who drink kombucha and can actually do headstands (working on it). I mostly picked this class because it was at a convenient time (there's nothing worse than having exercise hanging over your head for the entire day) and parking is free on Sundays, and in choosing an "advanced" class for those reasons, I quickly forgot about its assigned level. I did it. I did it well. More importantly, I enjoyed it and looked forward to the rest of my day.
A bigger mindset shift was my sense of ease with my to-do list. Despite not having had a job or any real, practical commitments for over a month, I still panic about everything I'm supposed to do to prepare for Colorado and get through the day. During one activity, I'm thinking about how I'm not doing the other. Then I scroll through Instagram and online shop for 2 hours, thinking, "how the hell am I supposed to do it all?"
A total mystery, if you ask me.
I've often done home practices in order to save time. Given that most yoga classes are an hour to an hour and a half, add on commute time, and you're giving two hours of your time. Yet when I do home practices, I often do them in a rushed manner, I half-ass the postures, and I spend the whole time panicking about "priorities" that I wasn't completing.
(It just now dawned on me that most of our priorities aren't life or death situations, and that, in the grand scheme of things, life is arbitrary, silly, and not to be taken seriously. A half-finished lesson plan or a dirty bathroom sink isn't going to kill anyone. If only I'd realized that before a very dramatic, very expensive mental health crisis.)
So yes, going to a studio takes time and money. During the busiest or financially tightest of times, it's not always feasible. But in my case, this is a situation in which the positives vastly outweigh the negatives, as I spent the majority of today knowing that I had tasks to complete, but recognizing that what doesn't get done today can get done tomorrow. Mindful productivity doesn't necessarily mean you're going through tasks like you're walking in molasses. It just means that you're doing things with awareness, compassion, and attention.
After all, Sundays are the perfect day to take a minute to slow down and realize that if we're not enjoying life, what's the point? Life isn't a giant to-do list or resumé. We can strive to improve and grow while taking a day to recalibrate. It's okay to take that nap, to eat that cookie, to watch that video of bunnies in cups for the hundredth time.
Towards the end of class, the teacher asked us to think about what makes us feel stuck, and to recognize that without that internal awareness, we can't change. Unsurprisingly, most of my obstacles have been mental. I'm not any physically stronger than I was when I frequented yoga classes in college. But without that mental filter that I can't make it through a difficult sequence or posture, or that I'm not flexible enough to succeed, I see improvement. Saying "I can't" for six years of yoga made me stagnate in such a way that I still moved like a beginner.
"I can and I will" has become my daily mantra. I'm aware that I get easily discouraged and overwhelmed. But if anything has become clear this past month, it's that I can quickly learn and dive into practices that I previously avoided. It offers a sense of curiosity and joy in learning new things, as opposed to fear and judgment.
Although highway driving still freaks me the fuck out. Some things are better left avoided.
Namaste.
Since there's no Yoga With Adriene video for this practice, I included a segment of today's practice like the narcissistic asshole that I am.
Based on today's title, I knew that the practice would be slow and relaxed. Per usual, I have grown to appreciate the slower pace and more foundational approach to Adriene's practices. Yet another thing that I admire about Adriene is that she's not afraid to try new things. A lot of yoga teachers can fall into a pattern. Their classes can start to feel predictable if not formulaic. While not necessarily a bad thing—especially for those who are addicted to routine—Adriene's journey is symbolic of life in many ways: some days are quick and firey, some days are slow and methodical; some days we're more chatty or philosophical, and other days we just want to move in silence.
Adriene doesn't skimp on setting the mood for the practice. While it was sunny and bright in State College, the light rain outside of Adriene's window was enough to feel sleepy and cozy. Even Benji—Adriene's beloved dog who makes an appearance in every video—seemed more lethargic.
As per Adriene's suggestions, I lit a candle, grabbed a blanket and pillow, and nuzzled into a comfy sweater. Adriene was quick to clarify that "if you were expecting a workout, try to trust that this is what you need today."
While I don't like it when other people tell me what I need, it turns out Adriene was right. As if she were reading my mind, she noted that we often try to overcome obstacles by muscling through, but pushing ourselves to do more. We think that if we just get this one project done, complete these five tasks, ten tasks, work ourselves to death, then we'll be happy.
And this is all true.
As I've been feeling better, I've added more and more items. But, in a state of panic, I wonder how I'm going to get it all done, or how I can possibly add work and hobbies into my routine. As I add to my to-do list, I do get it done. But I feel rushed, anxious, and on edge the whole time.
Not to say that we should avoid productivity or busy-ness all the time. But Adriene's meditation practice encouraged us to recognize that we need those off days to be ready for the on. We should listen to our bodies, trust our intuition, and let these slow days feel—as Adriene puts it—yummy. Slowing down and panicking about what we have to do in the next week kind of defeats the purpose.
When talking with a dear friend who frequently works 2 jobs, goes to school full time, regularly goes on 6 mile runs, and maintains a thriving social life, I asked, "how the hell do you do it?" I expected an answer like "well, I go to bed at 1:00 and wake up at 3:00, and oh did I mention I'm on cocaine?" (one of these things is not true). Instead, she said, "I've learned to listen to my body. When I feel like I need a day to binge Netflix and stay in bed all day, I do it. But other days I know I need to push myself and will feel better when I've been productive."
As everyone who has ever known me has noticed, I work in extremes. I'm either running through a 20 item to-do list, not stopping for a moment to breathe, or I'm immobilized, refusing to leave the couch. But the people I most admire embody the middle way in such a way that they listen to their own bodies as though they were trusted friends or family members.
When Adriene repeats "inhale lots of love in, exhale lots of love out," she refers to those we love and cherish as well as our spirits, but this was the first day I recognized that this love can also extend to the physical body. Our bodies are far smarter than our brains. They know when you're hungry. They know when you need to take a day to nap and snuggle with a blanket without extending it to two months (usually). They know. We just need to listen. To meditate. To be okay with that silence to check in with ourselves.
So there was no guilt with my slower yoga practice. I am taking tomorrow to pause Adriene's series, to nudge myself to take a level 2-3 class at a studio I have rarely visited. New things. New experiences. New things to listen to, to take in.
Today's practice was surya namaskar, or sun salutations. I found myself smiling at the irony that after day 5, I had vowed to expand my horizons to other practices. But much like the other days of Adriene's yoga journey, I appreciated the slow, foundational approach to the sequence. With each breath, I was able to tune into how I was feeling. I noticed my abs saying hey, a nod to yesterday's practice. I focused on the breath and the intention I had set earlier that morning—inner and outer strength—rather than "oh god, how am I supposed to keep up with this? Does that girl not have any limbs? How the hell is she doing that? Am I supposed to transcend gravity?"
While there has been a certain degree of inner judgment about my lack of physical ability, I have also noticed more moments of pride. I am slightly more flexible than I was when I (re)started yoga. I am far more in the present moment. I notice things outside of myself. When running for 30 seconds and feeling like I was about to die jogging, I took moments to observe the plants, the sky, and a little bunny that I scared as I came careening towards him.
In keeping with Adriene's last few videos, a majority of the practice consisted of physical cues rather than philosophical musings. Yet when she stops to remind us about our inner self, our inner practice, those words are all the more powerful: move intentionally. Live intentionally.
Many of my sentences start with "I didn't intend to..." I didn't intend to eat that entire pint of ice cream. I didn't intend to apply to grad school, but here I am" (twice). "I didn't intend to spill my cup of coffee all over the new carpet." I have often received feedback that in blindly going through movements, I have let things happen to me, rather than actively choosing what I want to do. I have gone through the motions, done things that other people have told me to do, mirrored others' actions and habits.
Moving intentionally in an exercise context is (relatively) simple. Living intentionally is trickier. For a long time when I could choose what I wanted to do, I went, "well, I'd like to huddle in my room and watch ten hours of Crazy Ex Girlfriend."
Obviously that doesn't create a very fulfilling life—I know what I would say to a friend who asked about living intentionally, but it's harder to apply to myself when the act of Trying to Be Like Others is so ingrained in my head. So, as one does, I took to the Internet as a guide to help me ruminate on how I can live intentionally.
Becoming Minimalist (already unintentionally there, ayyyyy!) offers a few key steps to live intentionally, the first being "realize that your life is made up of choices." On a logical level, this seems easy to accept. In the past, however, I have often felt cornered by one decision, or felt paralyzed whenever I had to make a choice between as little as two choices (Korea or grad school? Colorado or Pennsylvania? Soup or salad? The important decisions). Yet one thing that this article reminds us is that we are not ruled by our past. Life is riddled with bad decisions, questionable patterns, and a whole lot of "why the hell did I think that was a good idea?" The only thing we can do is try to move forward in tiny little steps rather than spring out of bed going, "today is the day I am going to be the most brilliant, giving, competent person alive!"
Improving as a person is a noble goal. Putting pressure on yourself to improve all the things at once results in disaster, regret, and whole lot of bizarre Amazon purchases.
The key here is little things. Maybe when I try to get exercise "over with," I can notice how my legs feel, how much stronger my arms are getting, how I appreciate that I have a healthy, capable body. Maybe when I feel inclined to judge myself for not knowing all the historical elements of WWII, I can ask someone to teach me (learning from others—besides teachers—has been difficult for me). And maybe rather than hate myself for learning and doing things slowly, I can set one achievable each day.
So yes, I did feel like I was going to die after 30 seconds of jogging. But I did it for the first time. I walked when I needed a break, and picked back up again. If I had gone in with the intention to run my entire route, I would deem myself a failure. But I went into this new practice with curiosity, to explore the level that I was at, and to congratulate myself for doing something new. No one asked me to. I wasn't trying to be like a person who runs. It was intentional.
Having gotten used to Adriene's pattern of philosophical musings, followed by a gentle warmup and a vinyasa flow, I expected today's practice to discuss the core self. I prepped for today by looking up articles on what it means to find a core self (still working on that one), anticipating only one or two gentle core-strengthening exercises. I was wrong. It was hard. My abs feel like they've been punched by a very strong, very angry person. Today's practice felt less like capital y "Yoga;" it was more akin to a proper workout, to the torture of a Blogilates video.
While alarming and painful, focusing on the core is important in almost every exercise practice. In both yoga and dance, I have found that when focusing on core exercises, there is greater ease in each posture or move—the strength I feel in my center extends throughout my body as though there is a brilliant light shining in my legs, arms, and torso.
While today's practice wasn't particularly philosophical, I decided to be philosophical anyway. In recognizing how emphasis on one area extends to the whole body, I thought about my personal mission to "learn how to human." In an anxious panic that I needed to learn all the things, I made a list of about twenty things I needed to learn how to do (including setting up a tent because apparently I camp soooo many times) on top of finding a job. I felt as though I needed to grow about five arms and ten brains. I didn't see a connection between the tasks I'd assigned myself, and wondered how I would learn everything before jetting off to grad school. But when thinking about the core requisites for learning anything, there's an obvious pattern: dedication, determination, and confidence.
If only confidence started with a D.
When considering the seven chakras in yoga, the third chakra, power, is located in the abdomen. This chakra symbolizes power. It invites "motivation, purpose, and confidence" (Yoga Basics). Referred to as manipura, or "lustrous gem," this chakra energizes, strengthens, and attracts strong will and determination. Connecting with this chakra makes you come alive and discover a fire and passion.
In my case, I used to have a great deal of passion; connecting with my third chakra allows me to rediscover a passion that has been in hiding for 6 months. It also diminishes a layer of fear of trying new things (okay, half a layer).
The power mantra reads, "may I be able to honor myself, be who I am in the world, and express that power without fear" (Yoga Basics). Yes, it is important to seek improvement, but honoring the self, the power that we already hold, ignites an ability to make strides that otherwise seemed impossible.
Today's yoga session was difficult to start. I had already woken up too late (shocker), and dreaded the faster pace that the title indicated. I nearly gave myself the day off, using yesterday's intensive yoga practice as an excuse. But if there's one thing that I like more than being lazy, it's the satisfaction of completing a task in its entirety.
A paradox, if you will. Life is full of them.
Adriene acknowledges this slower start, as she discusses the ebbs and flows of motivation and readiness to engage in a yoga practice: "some days you will spend the whole practice trying to land; other times you will drop right in." Today was definitely a landing day. I resisted even looking at my yoga mat. I worried about the other tasks I had to do. Because I had an appointment at 11:00, I deemed a 9:00 yoga practice a waste of time.
It's particularly difficult to ignore these thoughts during the first third of Adriene's videos, as her warmups are slow and steady. While I appreciate the manner in which Adriene builds the foundation of a yoga practice and makes it accessible for beginners, I still have the tendency to go "alright, let's pick up the pace," only to find myself in 3-legged dog for 2 minutes, thinking "why the hell didn't I appreciate the warmup?"
Despite the shaking and feelings of shame that I've done yoga for six years and still count the seconds until I can collapse into child's pose, there's a certain comfort in a physically intense yoga class. I feel more energized and flexible throughout the day. My muscles thank me for working for more than two seconds. I notice the physical benefits of the practice, as I can sink deeper in high lunge, and can almost touch my heels to the mat in down dog. But the best benefit of the vinyasa practice by far is not the physical flow—it's the mental and emotional flow.
The mental flow state, according to psychologist Mihàly Csíkszentmihály, is absolute immersion in the task at hand. An almost out of body experience, someone experiencing mental flow is "completely involved in an activity for its own sake. The ego falls away. Time flies. Every action, movement, and thought follows inevitably from the previous one, like playing jazz. Your whole being is involved, and you're using your skills to the utmost" (Cherry). With intensely focused attention, any sense of self-consciousness dissipates. You are your motion. You are just being.
Typically the flow state is associated with activities that one enjoys: music. Dance. Art. One of the most debilitating effects of depression is that nothing sparks joy. Starting any activity is daunting. Yet once I begin, I begin to find that flow state in all activities, including those I previously hated. When I'm driving, I can just be. As I clean, I mutter a mantra to myself (om namah shivayah—I bow with respect to my inner self), and let my mind go blank.
Vinyasa yoga lends itself to that feeling of getting lost in the practice, as you let your breath guide you through seamless movements. With each breath comes each movement, guiding the practitioner through sequences that build off one another. Inhale, plank. Exhale, chaturanga. Inhale, upward facing dog, exhale down dog. Breathe.
That's not to say that there aren't moments of frustration. I certainly place judgments on myself when I grow tired from a practice that is far less vigorous than the classes at Lila Yoga, thus snapping out of my flow state. Self-consciousness is a deeply ingrained mode of thinking that takes more than a 30 minute video to break. That being said, I've noticed that after stepping off the mat, I have spent far less time spinning through a cycle of negativity, and have just started doing. Going with the flow.
I took a break from Adriene's series to venture out into the world and go to Lila Yoga, one of my favorite places in State College. While it's still daunting to do even the most basic of tasks (see: driving), I've found that once I've completed said task, I think, "hey, that was easier than I expected it to be," and find the reward to be much more present than the fear.
I was the only student in class, with a teacher I didn't recognize (it turns out when you leave town for two years, things aren't exactly the same when you return—a shock!). Already feeling uncomfortable by these two factors, I almost retreated home when I realized I'd worn my pants inside out. But, rather than tuck my head in shame, I offered myself some gentle compassion, slid over to the bathroom to correct the pants error, and folded myself into child's pose.
The instructor, Denise, began with some musings about repetition, that we as humans crave routine. We watch the same movies and TV shows, read the same books, listen to the same music. We like knowing the beginning, middle, and end. There is a comfort in knowing what to expect. Part of what makes sun salutations so appealing is that they are the exact same sequence every time. We know we won't be asked to fold ourselves into pretzels, nor will we watch other people doing scorpion pose, only to feel inadequate and ashamed. It's predictable. It's easy.
I can relate to this addiction to routine, as I spent most of my life doing the exact same things—namely burying myself under a blanket and writing, freaking out about the future, being terrified of leaving the house, and worrying about what either people thought of me. While there was the occasional adventure, I would quickly scurry back home, glad to have gotten my "character building" out of the way.
That's not to say there aren't benefits of routine—especially a positive routine like starting the day by saluting the sun. The complementary nature of the 3 "padas," earth, water, and fire, help maintain balance and exploration. It invites a sense of grounding, ease, and passion both on and off the mat. Sun salutations have encouraged me to express each element in some capacity.
Yoga encourages its practitioners to live intentionally. So, one of my mini goals (as I've avoided setting hugely ambitious, unobtainable goals) is to consciously practice each pada throughout my day. When I feel inclined to worry, I may invite some ease by lighting a candle. When I'm feeling lethargic and unmotivated, I may invite some fire by dancing, going for a walk, or running. Okay, the latter may be an ambitious, unobtainable goal.
But in living intentionally, I have to acknowledge that the "transformation" Adriene brought up in day 3 means making some significant changes. Even though getting out of the house is a change from how I've behaved in the past month, tending towards the same practice is a lifetime-ingrained behavior.
So perhaps it's time for an all levels class, where I let go of expectations. Chances are I'll shrug and go "hey, that wasn't so bad."
In true Kira fashion, I have started a project for two days, then neglected to blog on day three. But one of the major lessons of Adriene's journey is to practice observation without judgment, as we often place self-assigned negative labels on neutral behavior. As it turns out, missing one day of blogging doesn't murder people, nor does it mean the world will come crashing to a halt.
Adriene began day 3 by asking us to maintain a sense of gratitude for ourselves. This is a hard one for me—I have a tremendous sense of gratitude for those around me, for my life circumstances, for the opportunities I've been given, but I rarely feel gratitude for myself. Even in trying to feel gratitude for myself, I would accost myself for being so self-absorbed, then would feel guilty about not feeling gratitude for myself, thus failing at the task at hand.
But, as Tim Miller argues in How to Want What you Have, one of the secrets of happiness is gratitude: "Gratitude," he posits, "is the intention to count your blessings every day, every minute, while avoiding the belief that you need or deserve different circumstances." And while I've spent obsessive amounts of time bemoaning the fact that I wasn't born smarter, more competent, more interesting, or better looking, I could recognize that it takes tremendous fortitude to show up on the yoga mat in the midst of recognizing these faults...or, as I tell my students, "opportunities for growth."
Miller's other proposed components of achieving happiness are compassion and and attention. Adriene touches on both of these in the first 5 minutes of her video. Attention, "the intention to avoid unnecessary value judgments about your own experience—to live without reservation in the here and now," is present when Adriene reminds us that we should avoid placing judgment on how we feel. Rather, we can observe how we feel. Maybe we can even smile at our thoughts, acknowledging their presence while knowing that they don't own us.
Observation, as I've observed, can also be helpful in interactions with others. Someone may say something to you that feels off or critical. In these situations, we tend towards fight or flight responses, and I am a major "flyer" (I guess you could say I'm a frequent flyer). In response to any kind of criticism, constructive or otherwise, I often feel like I should just quit the day, crawl under my covers, and cry.
You can still acknowledge the critical undertones of people's words without it ruining your day. Observing those comments gives you the freedom to shrug and go "that's something so and so chose to say. But I can choose not to fight or fly. I can just be."
Compassion, according to Miller, is "the intention to see each human being as no better or worse than yourself." This message is in direct correlation to Adriene's reminders to feel gratitude, as well as to observe without judgment. No matter where we or others are in life, we can appreciate that we are trying. We can feel compassion for those who criticize or mock or demean, as it's probably coming from place of deep pain. We can try to feel compassion for mass murderers (although probably with less success).
Much like gratitude, compassion is a tricky one for me. Ever since noticing that I didn't quite "get" life, or seemed 100 steps behind everyone else, I have felt shame, embarrassment, and extreme self-hatred. But as difficult as this has been to recognize, despite my deficiencies and awkwardness, I do deserve a space in the world. I can have compassion for my struggles. The real failure, no matter where you are, is when you stop trying.
Having this wakeup call at age 25 has been a shocking beginning of a transformation. I've felt a lot of shame that I didn't "learn how to human" earlier, but almost as if she were reading my mind, Adriene reminded us that "transformation and change happens when we're ready for it. We can't make it happen." We may have a certain degree of agency in what we prioritize, what we learn, but we may not realize until that moment of transformation that we have been looking at the wrong things all along.
Day 4, feel, contained 1 simple yet profound message: "we are in charge of our own happiness."
No matter how painful it is to get there, to break through layers of ingrained behavior and thought patterns, even those few moments of joy are so worth it.
I began day 2 feeling rather proud of myself, as I pulled myself out of bed at 7:00, rather than my usual 9:00. I have a tendency to deem the entire day wasted if I "officially start my day" after 9:00, and figure I might as well just wait for it to be bedtime. It doesn't make sense, and it isn't productive, but neither is most of human behavior, and yoga is all about observing human behavior and letting go of judgment.
So I'm essentially conducting research.
For the first time in years, I caught myself panicking that I'd wasted the day, even though it was 7:45 and I had a total of like 4 things to do today. So, picking up my discernment tools from yesterday, I reminded myself that I was here to peel away layers of anxiety and self-hatred on less productive days, and just slow down without becoming a blob under a blanket. There is, apparently, a middle ground between going 100 MPH and refusing to ever move.
As Adriene guided us through a slow warmup, I found myself more willing to listen to her words, to trust that we would eventually start moving. It wasn't exactly helpful to think about how many calories I wasn't burning when my entire mission was to improve my mental state. One observation in particular made me pause and consider: "I always find myself exploring off on a trail, and then having this moment where I remember, how's my foundation? How is the soil? How is that which I am building on? Is it steady? Is it cracked?"
While I've known that I needed to come back to the basics—in yoga and in life skills—for a while now, the way Adriene framed visiting the foundational made me recognize that I need to explore the foundation of me. While I very much relate to exploring the "trail of academia," so to speak, it was more akin to speeding through a marathon in which the finish line was external approval, professional merit, and financial reward.
While professional merit and financial reward aren't necessarily bad goals, they're still outward focused. Even when I thought I was checking in internally, I wasn't necessarily investigating my foundation, or my "soil." Rather, I was exploring how my "seeds" might be perceived by those around me.
Metaphors are weird. Basically, I was internalizing perceived outward judgment, rather than thinking about who I was or what I wanted.
I didn't spring out of my yoga practice ready to pursue a whole new career or explore a new hobby, but I have found myself taking more agency in what I want to do on a day-to-day basis. I already have a propensity for letting others tell me what to do, and depression Kira wanted everyone to drag me through each and every move. But whether it be therapy (in which I'm also exploring the foundation of me), drugs (thank god for insurance and modern medicine), yoga, or some combination of the three, I've found myself looking forward to trying a few new things, and for exploring the world, rather than letting it crash down on me.
There were also plenty of ab and arm strengtheners, which was nice. It's nice to revisit the physical foundations of pole and recognize opportunities for growth in that respect.
Today was day one of Yoga with Adriene's 30 day yoga series. I've been doing yoga on a daily basis for a couple weeks now, so it didn't feel especially symbolic or special as I laid down my mat 2 hours later than I'd intended to start my day. If anything, I felt annoyed that Adriene kept talking about life journeys and made me stay seated for longer than zero seconds. If it wasn't exercise, I wasn't having it.
As Adriene guided her viewers through a breath sequence, she asked us if we could discern why we're here. I interpreted this question first and foremost as "why am I here in this world?," as I've spent a great deal of time wishing I wasn't. But as she elaborated (while we still weren't moving, might I add), Adriene asked us to explore why we were on the yoga mat.
"Well I don't know, I feel like shit, and I'd like to feel less like shit," I thought to myself mid side-stretch. Not particularly yogic and profound, if you ask me.
Then we started moving. Not quickly, not in marathon ashtanga style like I had pushed myself through all of high school and college, but slowly, steadily, mindfully. And while Adriene thoroughly cued her audience through each pose, I found myself diverting from the instructed postures. Not dramatically, nor intentionally. I just turned my brain off and found myself swinging from left to right, or moving my arms with my breath in an otherwise static pose. It was then that Adriene said, "as cheesy as it sounds, this is a time to be yourself—your authentic self."
I have a bit of a complicated history with authenticity. Usually I'm confused by it, since I've spent my entire life mirroring what those around me have done. I'm perhaps attracted to studying the notion of authenticity because I have been unable to truly unveil it in myself. In researching authenticity online, I tend to conclude that authenticity has become commercialized, mass produced, a cleverly hidden cash grab for vulnerable teenagers who want none other than to find themselves, but only if their selves are sporting the newest Gucci bag.
While I tend to reprobate the notion of "real authenticity" and a "true" self, my small diversions from Adriene's postures gave me a twinge of hope that maybe I had the potential to find what feels good for me, as opposed to do solely what I've been instructed to do. It ignited in me the idea that perhaps I could "find my own path" because I wanted to, rather than because I felt shame that I was following those around me.
But, because I love a good paradox, I also focused on Adriene's reminder that we are not alone. A big part of what makes the 30 day yoga journey so powerful is knowing that thousands of other yogis across the globe are participating in the same practice at the same time—and this notion extends far past yoga. In the past week, I have heard an emphasis on connection in an interview with a co-founder of Facebook, an interview with Cory Booker, and Brené Brown's Ted Talk on vulnerability. Granted, we need to find our particular purposes as individuals, but we as humans cannot live without others. We need to connect, to let others into our complex, messy, and altogether confusing lives.
As Lord Tennyson once said, "I am a part of all that I have met." We don't need to be carbon copies of everyone we've ever met to recognize that our interactions and exchanges, our fleeting and lasting connections, and the people that we have learned from and taught have influenced us tremendously. And, more importantly, we can laugh at our foibles and mistakes, and delight and celebrate at our accomplishments with those same people.
My grandfather used to sing "we're here because we're here because we're here because we're here." The why doesn't always make sense. It doesn't have to. But we have thousands of other humans who are experiencing the same meaninglessness and deep meaning of life.
So returning to the broader "why am I here?" question, I have discerned that I am here because I have the power and agency to be myself. I am here because I can learn and experience life with others to build on my authenticity, rather than neglect it.
I'm here because I'm here. And I'm going to keep showing up.
As humans, we have to feel dedicated to something. Family. Passions. Work. Pets. I have, at various points in time, felt dedicated to one or all of these things, sometimes out of joy, but primarily out of fear. Fear that I would fail, that I would let someone down, fear that I would be perceived as boring or useless. Yet through this fear, through this determination to "win" at my job, to collect hobbies that would appear impressive to other people, or to prove that I was a family person, I burned myself to the ground and left myself wanting nothing other than to disappear. More importantly, I realized that most of what I was doing was in an attempt to appear a certain way to others, to win their approval.
Where I lacked dedication, however, was in self care. While I would do the symbolic yoga class, my main focus was either on exercise, or everything that I had to do after yoga. During the worst of my depression, I practiced a couple guided meditations, only to grow frustrated that after two fifteen-minute sessions, I hadn't turned into some spiritual guru who wore mala beads and said wise things like "life is suffering. Go live on a mountain and everything will be okay."
While I used to mock therapists who said "have you considered mindfulness?", after weeks of feeling no sense of purpose or self, I realized that I hadn't actually considered mindfulness. I considered hopelessness paired with some downward facing dogs. Morning after morning, I would peel myself out of bed to force myself to do a 20 minute yoga practice (on YouTube, as the notion of showing my unmasked face in public sent me into shock and horror). While I normally went through the motions of these practices, sure that I was the exception who couldn't possibly feel better, I started feeling a tiny sliver of hope, faith, and desire to know my authentic—rather than my performative—self.
With that desire, I want to embark on the first non-work or school related project I've worked on in years. Yoga with Adriene has a 30 day yoga series called Dedicate, with each day focusing on a guiding concept. As I build strength and dedicate myself to recovery, I will use this series to explore how I evolve, how I confront the challenges of cultivating self-love, and how I ultimately work towards finding myself.
Day 1: Discern
Day 2: Foundation
Day 3: Observe
Day 4: Feel
Day 5: Flow
Day 6: Core
Day 7: Surya
Day 8: Meditate
Day 9: Divine
Day 10: Expand
Day 11: Courage
Day 12: Curate
Day 13: Space
Day 14: Grace
Day 15: Reveal
Day 16: Dulce
Day 17: Learn
Day 18: Love
Day 19: Listen
Day 20: Lead
Day 21: Light
Day 22: Steady
Day 23: Joyful
Day 24: Balance
Day 25: Alive
Day 26: Drop
Day 27: Power
Day 28: Dedicate
Day 29: Celebrate
Day 30: Liberate
