Yoga and my life frequently seem to be at cross purposes.
Yoga is about slowing down, being in the moment, focusing on exactly what you are doing and nothing else. It is about not pushing, about slow and steady change, respect for one's limitations, and gratitude for the beauty within us all. It is about cultivating the ability to do nothing.
My life is not about any of these things. But recalling them does help, especially in the midst of my ironic struggle to make being a mother more about the principles of yoga (in the moment, gratitude, love) and less about what being a mother of a toddler begets (an extreme and insurmountable lack of time). Change, after all, happens slowly. Forgiveness is necessarily constant.
So yesterday I added this blog to my basket of Things That Are Keeping Me From Having the Time to Do Nothing. What I did not do was remove anything from that basket. You know, acknowledge that there is only so much any of us can do in a day and recognize that some things just aren't that important. (Do a load of laundry so I can wear my favorite purple polka-dot underwear when there are plenty of less appealing clean pairs in the drawer, anyone? Wash the single dirty sippy cup just in case I need it 12 hours from now?)
In that post, I suggested that one in my shoes -- as I was -- might want to clear her mind with some deep breathing and a balancing pose or two. I did not, I regretfully admit (regretting the failure to perform, not the admission, which at least counts for honesty) do any of these yogic things. I did not do them because it turns out the demands on my day demanded a different yoga lesson -- nonattachment.
Aiming for Stress-Free
Evening is my time to slow down and breathe. Few of us can have a life where stress rarely shows up and when it does melts off our cool yogified bods as we shrug and continue to gaze with unfurrowed brow at the stone buddha nestled amongst blooming rhododendrons in our quiet home garden. But yoga isn't about goals or perfection, and it certainly isn't about deluding ourselves into thinking there is such a thing as a stress-free life, especially when you have a toddler in the house. It's about accepting our limitations, doing what we can within them, and letting the change come gradually.
So my evenings are the time for me to slow down. It starts after Jake has had dinner, bath, and bottle. I carry him upstairs and we lie on the bed in the dark. I recite The Hound from the Pound as he slowly relaxes his little body against mine and closes his eyes. Rather than jump up the second he is asleep enough to transfer to his crib (or, heaven forbid, trying to put him in the crib before he's asleep -- a method that would deny me this beautiful nightly quiet time with my boy), I lie there with him sleeping on top of me and breathe him in. I am still, the room is quiet, and my heart feels as if it is growing through my chest and into his.
Properly slowed, I come downstairs to kitchen time with Mike. Together we cook dinner, wash Jake's dishes, and talk about our days. I can't say I love it when dinner isn't ready until nearly 9:00, but it's just not worth panicking about. Better to have the relaxed time to make it than to feel rushed at the end of the day.
A good yogi would write about how she now sits down at the table and eats mindfully, grateful for each nourishing bite. I could write about this ritual too, but I'd be lying. Luckily, yoga teaches me to forgive my limitations -- the ones that make me really, really happy to sit on the couch with my plate in my lap watching Reno 911. Laughter is therapeutic too, after all.
Together, in no rush, Mike and I clean the kitchen, get Jake's lunch ready for the next day, and find ourselves side by side in bed, each of us reaching for the book on our respective bedside tables. Our legs tangle together until I turn out the light and settle my head into the groove between his shoulder and chest. I close my eyes and drift to sleep to the soft thhthppt of him turning pages.
Aiming for Stress-Free and Confronting Reality
Now, here's how my first evening as a YogaMamaMe blogger went.
By the time I finished posting my first YogaMamaMe bit of advice, I had half an hour to shower and get to Jake's school. From school, we went to the Asheville Mall, a most non-yoga-like place of endlessly connecting hallways leading nowhere full of shops screaming the useless items they want you to think you need.
I would like to take a moment to make clear that I do not usually favor going to the mall at 5 p.m. on a Tuesday night. I am not that in need of my own yogic healing. But Jake needed shoes right away -- or, rather, he needed a shoe, since we had managed to bring one back from our weekend trip to Charleston. In the interest of symmetry, I decided to buy him a matching pair.
Happily, Jake quite enjoyed Stride Rite, which made me enjoy it as well. We arrived home with plenty of time for us to read That's Not My Mermaid as Lipstick Jungle chattered away in the background. (Hey, even the most centered mom deserves a little chick tv if that's what constitutes the equivalent of a foot massage for her.) From there, it was our usual ritual of dinner fed mostly to the dogs, joyous bath time, and far less joyous leaving the tub and putting on jammies. A few peaceful minutes holding him while he fell asleep, and then . . .
I walked into my office, sat down at the desk, and did legal work.
"Can I make you something for dinner?" Mike asked.
"I ate a little when Jake was having his dinner," I mumbled. I could hear Mike's teeth grinding. He hates it when I skip meals. I do not advocate it as a healthy lifestyle. Nor, however, do I advocate sitting down to do legal research at 8 p.m., although I am well aware that many, many people do.
My office is not well lit -- a good sign that I rarely work when the sun is not shining through the windows over my desk. I hunched over my computer squinting at the cases flashing by on the screen, my contact lenses shrieking with dryness. I jotted down quotes and case names with uncaring fingers, more concerned with getting this done than getting it done well. I was thorough, I was responsible, but I was not enjoying the journey.
This is not yoga.
Happily, I was done a little after 9, with plenty of time to put together Jake's lunch between bites of the acorn squash Mike had left me on the kitchen counter. Downing a few pieces of chocolate for energy (sleep be damned! I thought with growing mania), I cleaned off countertops, washed the few dishes Mike hadn't loaded into the dishwasher (why let them wait until morning when I can waste time washing them by hand?), and -- I really should be ashamed -- sat on the bathroom floor folding two baskets full of laundry. Because it really, really couldn't wait until the morning.
By the time I made it to bed with Look Homeward Angel (a great book for slowing down and reading each beautiful word), Mike was curled up on his side breathing deeply, his precursor to snoring. I did not get to entwine my legs with his. I did not fall asleep with his chest moving against my cheek. Instead, I read exactly one chapter of Thomas Wolfe and, feeling efficient if not restful, turned out the light.
Non-attachment: Letting Go of What You Don't Need to Get Done
Sometimes we don't have choices. I didn't have any choice but to do legal research after putting Jake to bed. But I didn't have to skip taking a few minutes to eat dinner with my husband. I didn't have to follow it up with housework. I didn't have to compound the loss of my quiet time by doing more.
The concept of nonattachment comes to mind. In this context, I am thinking specifically about avoiding becoming attached to notions -- notions of what I have to accomplish, what needs to be done before I can sleep peacefully, what is expected of me. I get caught in a groove that I can't see until I try to veer off of it and find myself sweeping to the right when I want to turn left. Before I know it, I'm on a rushed ride toward the land of No Time for Anything.
For example, even though I like to have Jake's lunch ready before I go to bed so I don't have to fuss with it in the morning (only recently have I discovered that I can read the first section of the New York Times while Jake chases the dogs with pieces of toast, and I'm loathe to give it up), there's nothing that says sometimes, when the circumstances demand it -- say when I have a last-minute request for legal work to attend to -- it's okay to make his lunch in the morning. It is even, dare I say it, okay if the crumbs stay on the kitchen counter overnight. And, honestly, if the clean clothes survived sitting in the laundry basket for five hours before I got to them, they could probably handle another eight or nine.
All these things weren't asking me to get them done. Mike wasn't asking me. Jake certainly wasn't. I wasn't even really asking myself. I was past thinking about it, beyond making choices. I had already become attached to the notion that I was going to do them, and there was simply no stopping me.
Practicing Non-attachment
The thing about non-attachment is that it truly is a practice. In this world, we can't be fully without attachment to things, partners, goals. And even if you thought you could come close, I've got news for you -- that beautiful little human being you are mothering has shot down your last chance at achieving non-attachment in this lifetime.
But no one is perfect, and perfection certainly isn't part of a yoga practice. Just the opposite. How can you practice non-attachment when you've already achieved it? The beauty is in the learning.
So one day soon I am going to leave Jake's lunch until the morning. Or I'm going to resist emptying the dishwasher when I have work to do. (I managed to do this recently, and Mike nearly fell over when he found the clean dishes still waiting to be put away come dinner time.) I'm going to celebrate the simple fact that I might recognize when I've become attached to an idea, even if I can't quite muster the energy to resist it.
And I'm going to practice some yoga that helps my mind work on non-attachment.
Pranayama: Kapalabhati (Breath of Fire)
Kapalabhati, or breath of fire, is a pretty cool way to become acquainted with nonattachment, especially if you've never done it before.
1) Sit in a comfortable position with a long spine and plenty of room to breathe.
2) Inhale and exhale deeply through your nose a few times, stretching your lungs.
3) Take a deep inhale, completely filling your lungs. Now force the exhales through your nose by sharply pulling your navel toward your spine.
4) Continue this action so you are working on exhales only. (Some people call this "bellows breathing.") Let the inhales happen -- don't try to inhale. Work only on the exhales.
Do this 10-20 times. It's a heating exercise, not recommended for, say, right before bedtime. It also helps force stale air out of your body.
The non-attachment part? It lies in letting go of the notion that you have to breathe in. Many of us panic at the idea that we're so deeply exhaling and not trying to get the air back into our lungs as quickly as possible. If that panic arises, just stop and try again some other time. You've still introduced your mind to the concept of non-attachment, and if you give it some more opportunities to practice it will, in its own time, start to trust the notion.
Paschimottansana (Seated Forward Fold)
Practically any yoga pose can help us become acquainted with non-attachment because we can picture how we'd like to look in every pose and feel really crappy if we don't make it. ("But my fingertips reached the floor yesterday!") Non-attachment is not worrying about the outcome, just accepting what your body does for you at this moment.
If you're an adventurous type, you can try unfamiliar or scary inversions (poses where you turn upside down). Sirsasana, or headstand, without a wall is great for people like me who have rather pointy heads. I never know if the balance is going to come easily or at all; what I do know is that I really, really don't want to fall. The thing is, when I do, it's really not so bad. It's just that I'm so attached to the idea that I can not, will not fall over. Especially if there's a piece of furniture in my path. Falling over, in fact, is a great way to lose my attachment to the idea that I shouldn't.
If turning yourself upside down is not something you picture yourself ever doing -- or at least, doing at this moment -- you can use a simple seated pose like paschimottanasana, or seated forward fold.
1) Sit on the floor with your legs straight out in front of you and your hands resting on the floor by your hips.
2) Inhale deeply through your nose, drawing your navel up toward your heart and feeling your lower back lengthen.
3) Exhale releasing your sitting bones toward the floor (but don't release your navel.)
4) On your next inhale, feel as if your heart is lifting toward your sternum and sending energy through the crown of your head.
5) Maintaining this lightness, exhale down your back and between your shoulder blades, feeling them slide down your back toward the floor.
6) In this strong position, look at your toes. And forget about touching them. Here's the non-attachment part. Try not to care where your hands will reach -- toes, ankles, knees. It just doesn't matter. Really. Your partner, your baby, your boss at work -- I promise you not a one of them gives a flying potato about whether you can touch your toes.
7) Now inhale again, lengthening your spine even more.
8) On the exhale, leading with your heart (not your head, that old attachment machine) bend at your waist and lengthen toward your toes.
9) Lastly, reach your hands forward and let them rest wherever they fall.
10) Hold onto whatever body part is available and just breathe. Don't pull too deeply -- that's attachment. Don't go so lightly you're not feeling a hamstring stretch -- that's plain old laziness. Find your edge, a place where you can sit with it. And just be okay.
The cool part is, the less attached you are to the outcome, the more beautiful it is when you find yourself going even further than you once thought you should. What a great life lesson, if we could only trust it with things bigger than touching our toes.
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