There are days when you don't have time for a yoga practice but can still practice yoga.
On these days I still eat in a way that nourishes my body (mostly -- we went to Trader Joe's in Charlotte last weekend and walked out with three packages of Droste dark chocolate pastilles that aren't very good for my otherwise caffeine-free body but that taste oh so good). I can be in the present moment, undistracted by tomorrow and yesterday. I can pay attention to what I am doing and fill even a task like unloading the dishwasher into a mindful yoga practice. (Actually, I quite enjoy the yoga of unloading the dishwasher. It is a close second to the yoga of washing the dishes.)
On these days, the tasks of everyday living -- the rhythm of an orderly-ish life -- seem as important as spreading out my mat and heading for Reverse Warrior. Because sometimes they are.
Then there are the days when you consciously take a break from your yoga practice. On these days, I practice ahimsa, or nonharming, and allow my body to rest and my mind to remain mindful without the assistance of a vinyasa flow. Even hardcore mysore practitioners take full moon days off, after all. It's part of the practice.
There are the days like today when you have foolishly injured yourself in a yoga practice and must take a day off in the hopes that your injury will magically heal itself in time for you to go to class on Tuesday pretending it is a perfectly wise choice to make.
Yep, there I was yesterday morning, three quarters of the way through a lovely, free, not-too-intense astanga primary series, and feeling pretty good about how far my body has come since I really made an effort to recover my post-pregnancy practice in December. I was feeling so good, I decided I was well up to chakrasana, a sort of backwards somersault performed from one's back. With great enthusiasm, I threw my legs and hips over my head, only to realize too late that this move requires the careful placement of the hands next to one's neck. So as to, um, help lift all those pounds contained in one's legs and hips over the far less weighty and delicate cervical spine. Belatedly, I noticed my hands placed carefully at my sides. Hmm, I thought. That's not right. I do not recommend practicing chakrasana in this manner. Unless you too want a day off like this one.
Then there are the days when you need to practice a little bit of Not Yoga.
Practicing Not Yoga
I practiced Not Yoga between midnight and two a.m. last night.
The first clue that I was practicing Not Yoga lies in the fact that it was between midnight and two a.m. Getting enough sleep, you see, is one of the loveliest of all daily yoga practices. Getting it during roughly the same hours every night gets easier as you age and don't have any qualms about turning out the light at 10 on a Saturday night (to sleep, I mean). It gets even easier when you know your toddler is going to wake up at 6:30 regardless of whether it's Easter Sunday or not.
Had you been in the living room with me, you would have spotted the other big clue that I was practicing Not Yoga sitting on the table behind the couch. The big, open bottle of wine had not been left there from a quiet dinner with Mike. It was nothing so cozy and adult and vaguely romantic. It was there so I could coax the maximum quantity out of glass sitting next to it and into my stomach.
Drinking is a mighty rare activity for me, as Mike will be the first to tell you. So plainly something was up. In fact, I had gone through a lot of trouble to open this bottle. You try wrassling a recalcitrant cork out of a cheap bottle of Pinot Noir in your pajamas while holding a 25-pound child in one arm.
Finally, shoved somewhere in the safe depths of the trashcan under the kitchen sink, there are the wrappers from the chocolate chip cookies I scarfed after getting Jake back to sleep. These, coupled with the fact that I actually had to get out of bed and creep downstairs a second time on a quest for the cookies, prove I was on an extended Not Yoga warpath.
No doubt every one of you who has ever experienced life with a 15-month-old knows just why I was sitting on the couch at 2 a.m. watching TiVo'd episdoes of Eli Stone through a growing haze of alcohol and going to bed with the residue of lemon ginger chocolate chip cookies clinging to my unbrushed teeth. Jake was feeling fussy.
Actually, he was feeling fussy at 10:30 when I was in fact brushing my teeth and looking forward to diving into the copy of Look Homeward, Angel on my bedside stand. (I did not throw that detail in to suggest I am studying the masters in the earnest belief that I have a Great American Novel tucked inside me. I'm 41 years old, after all, and grown up in some minor respects. The truth is, Mike bought it in deference to living in Asheville, and I decided one of us ought to read it.)
Jake's 10:30 fussiness seemed pretty honest: real howling and those active back arches that suggest gastrointestinal distress or new teeth or one of the other maladies we can't figure out but like to dose with baby Tylenol anyhow. Like clockwork, we assumed the positions. Mike headed for the daybed in the office. I spread pillows around the edges of the bed. And Jake settled onto my chest for as long as my sore neck could stand it.
His crying ceased after a while, but by then I had made two crucial mistakes. First, I had removed his sleep sac, the better to allow him under the covers in snuggle mode with me. This act communicated quite clearly to him that it was time for breakfast, not bed. Second, I began to reflect on the sad state of my life when I can't even read ten pages of Thomas Wolfe before bedtime and how deeply, deeply tired I was feeling and how my life otherwise is pretty pointless and Jake would be far better off without me.
An hour later, Jake was tossing and turning, sticking his thumb in his mouth as if to say, "I'm trying to sleep, really," while gazing at me out of wide-open clear blue eyes. I was sniffling and moaning, certain that the last thing I deserved was proper sleep or a beautiful little boy or even the husband who got to sleep through this whole sorry scene.
Plainly, the only thing that would make me feel better was television and wine and chocolate chip cookies -- the closest things at hand that were guaranteed to make me feel worse.
The Importance of a Little Vehement Not Yoga
Normally, I wouldn't tell many people (ie., anyone, even Mike) that I sat up in the middle of the night letting my son entertain himself in pajamas and bare feet while I drank wine until it made me queasy and cried the tears of someone who needs to see her therapist more frequently. But the sane corner of my mind knew what I was doing was perfectly fine. Good for me, even.
Sometimes the steady quest for mindfulness leads us to forget that calm and quiet are not normal states for our minds. The mind wanders. It kibbitzes. It fantasizes about the future and obsesses over the past. It tells us quite foolishly that our child would be better off without us.
It hurts when this happens. A lot. And so we try even harder to find the serenity we see in the Dalai Lama's eyes. If he can remain centered and compassionate after spending 49 years in exile, I tell myself, surely I can forgive the caregivers at Jake's school for making me feel defensive about using disposable diapers. (We did the research, really. It leaves just as much of a footprint using all the water and energy to wash cloth diapers as throwing away tons of disposables. We're not the types to make life harder for no good reason.)
The thing is, even the Dalai Lama says he doesn't feel all that serene seeing the violence playing out in Tibet right now. Even he explains that his first instinct upon considering the Chinese government is not to offer his compassion. It takes work.
So, when I ignore the fact that living calmly and mindfully is a hell of a lot of work, I set myself up. Because taking care of a toddler is a hell of a lot of work too. Being a mother, having a career, making sure there's something better than pasta with olive oil for dinner every night is a hell of a lot of work.
Last night my body, my heart, and my mind united for a rare concert of consensus. They told me in no uncertain terms that they were tired, tired, tired from all this work.
And I practiced indulgent, bad-for-me, slightly reckless Not Yoga. I pretended I was hurting myself. But something inside knew perfectly well that what was bad for me was also, in the end, good for me as well.
How Often to Practice Not Yoga, and Alternatives for When It's Too Often
I'd like to say I awoke parched, in great need of a toothbrush, but otherwise unscathed. I'd be lying.
The effects of a good Not Yoga session don't disappear in the dead sleep of the emotionally exhausted drunk. There are consequences. Alcohol consumption slows down a person unused to it for at least a day. Dehydrated bodies feel sluggish. Nighttime binges of chocolate chip cookies leave one feeling jittery and disgusted and eager for more.
Most importantly, it's pretty sad to feel so down on yourself. To state the obvious: it doesn't feel good to do things you know are bad for you strictly for that purpose. It's a trade-off -- part of who we are as human beings, but not necessarily the human part of us we welcome.
So -- aside from the occasional acknowledgment of last night, when I broke a habit of constant self-purification in a way that reminded me my constant quest for self-purification is a bit of a problem in and of itself -- what should I do next time I bury my face in a pillow wetting it with hot, salty tears?
First option, try to find stillness.
Stillness Breathing
There's a moment of perfect stillness with every breath we take -- between the inhale and exhale and between the exhale and inhale. Imagine a pendulum on an old grandfather clock. As it shifts from its swing to the right and prepares to swing to the left, it hovers for one moment, moving in neither direction. So, too, you can not both inhale and exhale at the same moment. The energy in you -- the prana that enters with every inhale, the old thoughts and emotions you release with each exhale -- is perfectly still in between the breaths. Just watching this space, trying to grasp it without holding your breath, is one of the most calming, beautiful exercises I know.
It might even have broken up my pity party last night if I had been inspired to try it.
Savasana (Corpse Pose)
Another option is savasana, corpse pose.
1) If you have room on the floor where a dog will not lick your face and your partner won't come running to give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and your child won't be forever scarred by the sight of you stretched out seemingly dead on your bedroom floor, lie down on your back. Let your legs separate a comfortable distance and flop outwards so your ankles turn toward the ceiling; let your arms move a comfortable distance from your body (about 45 degrees) and flop outwards so your palms face the ceiling as well.
2) Close your eyes and relax. Engage your mind in the process. You can continue to observe the moment of stillness between inhale and exhale and between exhale and inhale. Or you can scan your body, starting at your toes, and observe it relaxing. You can chant a mantra if you have one. You can watch your sweet, beautiful heart slowly feel safe and open like the petals of a lotus flower. You can watch your heart energy cover you like a blanket. Every time your mind wanders, bring it back to whatever you have offered to occupy it.
3) When you are ready, slowly return your attention to your breath, letting it fill the shape of your body. Move slowly, first just wiggling your fingers and toes, as if moving your body for the first time, with a new awareness of its beauty.
4) When you feel your body awake but your mind remaining still, roll onto your right side and stay there. You may find yourself in fetal position. Remind yourself how safe this place is. You may also notice that your left hand falls to the floor in front of your heart, protecting it as you move back into the world.
5) Tell yourself and your heart that you are safe. Then, with your eyes still closed, sit up in a comfortable position. Take a moment to settle, to find your stillness, to reassure your heart. Bring your hands in front of your heart in angeli mudra, prayer position.
Bow your head toward your heart and feel deep gratitude for who you are and what your life is at this moment.
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