Something occurred to me yesterday in yoga class as I observed the places where I feel just a tad tighter and achier than I did before my pregnancy.
"Maybe," I thought with a rush of horror threaded through with an unsettling warmth of acceptance, "I'm just getting older."
For the past couple of years I've had these built-in reasons for not feeling at my peak. Pregnancy. Infant. Recovery from pregnancy. Crouching over to steer the walker away from furniture as Jake pushes it in endless circles of our downstairs. Carrying a twenty-five pound boy on my hip while stooping to drop dog dishes on the floor because if I don't hold him he will steal pieces of kibble and put them in his mouth. Not getting enough sleep because I am forever hopeful that tomorrow will be the day he sleeps past 6:30. Growing accustomed to pushing forty pounds of boy plus stroller up the hills of Asheville. Hormones, hormones, hormones.
I've been so busy excusing myself with these excuses that I haven't had to grapple with the concept that maybe, just maybe, my body isn't as strong, flexible, energetic as it once was because I am -- surprise, surprise -- getting older.
I am, in short, slowing down while my child is just getting started.
Coming to Grips with Coming to Grips
I am not, I want to make perfectly clear, conceding to some kind of Centrum-Silver senior citizenship. I've still got a few arm balances left in me, thank you very much.
And, too, I'm not prepared to over-estimate the utter weariness created by caring for a toddler, no matter what your age. It is endless work, and no matter how much of a jump-start one huge smile can give you, it doesn't last as long as, say, a week's vacation with nothing more taxing to do than reading trashy novels on the beach. (My sister has been emailing me about her scheduled trip to Hawaii, and I'm feeling more than a little bit envious, not because she didn't invite me (she did) but because Hawaii, at this stage of my life, means about twelve hours on airplanes with a small child prone to temper tantrums and precious little time actually reading a book of any sort once I finally make it to the beach.)
Still, watching Jake reach the age where he seems to speed up -- it's astounding how he gains momentum as he gets bigger, learns new words, gains coordination, walks more steadily, understands things more readily -- only heightens the fact that I'm on the other end of the bell curve, slowing down. I know that's what parenthood's about -- passing the torch and all that -- but that knowledge merely depresses me more. You mean I don't get to be the one who will one day star in a movie opposite Andrew McCarthy? (His turn as the middle-aged rich guy with the bad New Yohk accent on Lipstick Jungle merely proves my point.)
It's not true, I know, that we don't get to keep growing and achieving just because we have kids. After all, my mother graduated from law school pregnant with my sister and didn't start her first job as a lawyer until I was in kindergarten. My mother-in-law got bachelors and masters degrees when Mike, the youngest of four, started high school. I'm just now figuring out what I might, maybe, want to be when I grow up, and I sure took my time having a child.
But there are limits. Our hours, energy, and even our single-minded drive to succeed (if we ever had it) are cut way, way back by this little being whose greatest ambition is to walk down stairs unassisted. Priorities, those shifting, shapeless blocks of our life, glom on to our children like fat cells to our hips. They are, quite simply, more important than our own ambitions.
Which isn't to say I don't have plenty of ambition. Only that when it comes to choosing between, say, finalizing the template for my website and keeping Jake home from school with the cold that proves daycare has not yet fully immunized him against illness, I push the website launch off to some future date and lie on the bed reading Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets (oh, how I miss The Wire) while my stuffed-up boy snorts sleepily on my chest. And there's no place I'd rather be.
So, I suppose "slowing down" is the apt way to put it. I haven't stopped yet. There's just more space between the Me things, space filled to bursting with Jake things -- blowing bubbles on the front porch, throwing a ball in Mommy's lap with admirable accuracy, running down the hill to ogle the dogs next door. Sure, it's hard to slow everything else down, but it's also kind of a rush to get swept up in the joy of childhood.
Yoga Age Versus Chronological Age
When I push myself, I have to admit all this fuss I'm making about hitting "middle age" is only skin deep in sincerity. Sure, I'm 41 years old. ("Melissa's forty?!" one of Mike's work colleagues cried recently. I treasure these moments and, even more, treasure Mike for knowing it'll stroke my ego rather pleasantly to hear about them.) But I also don't buy that 41 is as old as it's made out to be.
Consider the source of that statement. I started trying to get pregnant when I was 38 years old. I was, and remain, deeply offended by the automatic assumption of more than a few doctors that I would both need and crave assistance in the form of synthetic hormones and invasive surgeries. I truly believe there is a place for these things when women need them -- and I can think of more than a few beautiful children who wouldn't be here if it weren't for the forceful hand of medicine. But, just as truly, I knew I didn't need it just because of my age. And I turned out to be right.
It's not that I have some super youth genes or an inflated ego urged on by luck or even a misplaced sense of youth that makes me one of those unfortunate women wearing mini skirts when she is many years past the time she should have stopped. (The minis never make it out of my bedroom, if I'm foolish enough to buy them in the first place, so at least I know I'm not that deluded about my true age.)
What it is is simple. Yoga. Asana yoga; healthy eating yoga; getting (almost) enough sleep yoga; surrendering before I have a nervous breakdown yoga. Trying, faithfully, to remind myself that all I really have power over is how I treat myself.
I'm not saying that I am a superior, youthful being because I gave up cheeseburgers on a teenaged whim twenty-five years ago. Nor that you're going to be old before your time if you regularly subsist on five hours of sleep a night. I am not, I want to be clear, judging anyone else, though I fear it sounds that way.
All I'm saying is that I try -- goodness knows, not always successfully -- to respect myself. I mess up all the time. (Just witness the three pints of high-fat ice cream sitting in the freezer because, don't you know, they were on sale, or the way I dash around the house cursing when I'm late to pick Jake up.) But then, sometimes at any rate, I remind myself it's all a practice, and even that bit of forgiveness is a beautiful wallop of self-respect.
So I respect my body (most of the time), I respect my spirit (when I'm not too busy breaking down to forget about it), and I respect other people. Does it make me more youthful? Who knows what that means? It does, however, make me just a little bit more flexible, a little bit more open, a little bit more trusting, and, thus, a little bit less likely to succumb to true middle age before it really is time.
And, with any luck, I'll be respectful of that too, when the time comes.
Ardha Chandrasana (Half Moon Pose) -- If Youth Means Flexibility, Playfulness, and Sometimes Falling Down, This Is a Youthful Pose
Pretty much any asana is going to keep you "youthful," or whatever word best describes conscious, respectful, flexible, and strong. An asana practice, after all, is a lot like life. You experience moments of discomfort, sure, but the more open you are to transcending the discomfort, the more you open your heart, the further it will take you. Embrace your limitations and it's just possible they will melt away. The longer you do it, the longer it will take your physical limitations to catch up with you.
I chose ardha chandrasana here because it's both challenging and fun. It offers possibilities for variations and therefore a chance to practice respect for your own limitations. And, once you find your way into it, you get to fly.
Which, it seems to me, is strictly the province of the young at heart.
Ardha Chandrasana Instructions
1) If you're new to this pose, or experienced enough with it to know it always leads to frustration, try it by a wall. Place a block against the wall and follow the instructions that follow. The wall will be there to support you for balance.
2) I recommend using a block for this pose unless you are so experienced with it that you can open your heart and look up to the sky without one. In which case, you probably aren't reading these instructions anyhow.
3) Place the block about a foot to a foot and a half in front of your right foot and line up the left edge of the block with the outside of your baby toe. You may need to adjust this spacing depending on your body. If your hips are tight, set the block on the small end so you don't have to reach as far down for it. If your hips are relatively flexible, place it on the long end, so you will be reaching closer to the floor.
4) Place your left leg a large step or so behind you. Your intention is to start to open your navel and heart to the side wall once you are balancing, so think of this idea as you start to shift your weight to your right foot.
5) Place your left hand on your hip. Consciously bending your right knee, reach for the block. You should have space for your spine to lengthen; adjust the block if you need to.
6) Feeling the foundation of your hand on the block and your right foot on the floor, let your left leg start to float off the floor. Keep gazing at the floor, feeling the length of your spine, as your left leg floats higher and higher. The intention is for it to form a straight line with your torso.
7) As you find your balance, let your left elbow start to point toward the ceiling. This action will start to open your left hip so it stacks on top of your right hip. Keep your nose pointed toward the floor and your gaze steady.
8) Remain here for a moment and assess where you are in this pose. Draw your navel in toward your spine and up toward your heart for stability. So much is going on -- balance, flexibility, strength. Respect where your body is but don't let the idea of limits defeat you. Instead, let the energy course through the shape of your body and feel your heart start to open to the side wall.
9) Consciously let the changes in this pose happen. One day, perhaps, you will have your left hip stacked on top of your right, your left leg level with your torso. Perhaps you will be able to release your left hand from your hip and let the fingers point toward the sky so your right and left arms form one straight line of energy. Maybe you'll even be able to turn your head on your neck (an extension of your spine) and gaze toward the ceiling.
Or maybe not. Maybe you'll fall. But you'll fly for just a moment before falling gracefully. Or not. And you'll laugh either way. Because one of the biggest differences I've seen between middle-aged me and toddler Jake is his ability to laugh off his frustration.
So go ahead and laugh one more time when you come out of this pose and realize you get to try it again on the other (groan) side.
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