I was walking under a dogwood tree on the way out of my therapist's office this morning when I noticed the blanket of pink flowers it had dropped on the brick sidewalk. The tree, I thought, was telling me to let go.
For a moment, I considered the prospect. I was already late for my yoga class and felt like I had spent all morning doing nothing but rushing around tangled and confused. The plans I had faced when I woke up were stacked up in front of me like the giant Leggo-like blocks Jake fashions into shaky towers. Get Jake to school with his usual array of food and drink. Add to the collection the sheets and blankets for nap time that I had run through the washing machine to rinse out his school's laundry detergent because it gives him a rash. Throw in the chamomillia for his teething and the good diaper cream for his rash. Wear yoga clothes that can double as a plausible outfit for therapy. Don't forget the checkbook. And the yoga mat. And, as Mike suggested too innocently for the choking sound I made in response, the checks that need to be deposited. And my drivers license because today's the last day of early voting in North Carolina and I am finally over my fear that the early votes will somehow be lost, sent into an empty room somewhere to wait out the primaries.
Everything either stuffed under the stroller or strapped to my back, Jake and I set out on our walk to school. Because why drive when I can strand myself between too-close appointments with nothing but my feet, my rushing heart, and damp underarms to get me to my destination?
We arrived at school with just ten minutes to go before my therapy appointment a quarter mile away. And, because I wasn't strung quite tightly enough yet, pandemonium greeted us. Uncharacteristic amounts of crying and pushing and running were taking place. Jake seemed pretty nonplussed by it all, but I knew there was no way I was going to sneak his beloved "home" Blankie away from him to be replaced by the second-rate blankie I had designated for school use. I muttered something incoherent about this arrangement to a very kind teacher, ending with, "Never mind. He's in charge," and dashed off to therapy.
Even my appointment felt a bit like a cartoon train wreck, where the back end is moving faster than the front so the cars all fold up on each other like an accordion. Words poured out of my mouth, shallow ideas lapped over each other without gathering momentum, and my eyes shifted restlessly to the clock. While it might have been wise to wind down a bit early to avoid, say, rushing to yoga class, I was just enjoying myself too much. "A few minutes won't matter," I thought, even though I knew they would.
And then I found myself under that tree with the pink flowers telling me to let go. And for a brief moment I felt calm and like I had space to slow down. I could just let go of yoga for the day.
NO! screeched something inside. I could practically see the yoga studio just over a rise in the road ahead. So close. All I had to do was walk a little faster. I'd only be ten minutes late.
The woman who checks people in was standing out front as I pulled around the corner. I opened my mouth to ask her if it was too late to go to class. Before any sound came out she said, "Ashtanga is canceled today. There's a workshop."
Ahhh.
Sometimes the Universe is going to make you let go whether you want to or not.
Why Spring Makes Your Forget to Let Go
As I took a lovely, slow walk home past houses adorned with spring flowers, thinking that Asheville must be home to more birds than anyplace else I've ever lived, I found it hard to believe I was having trouble letting go. When your skin is enjoying the gentleness of a warm spring morning and the air smells like sunshine, it seems impossible not to.
And yet, I thought, spring isn't about letting go. It's about birth and forward momentum and energy. It makes you think you've let go of the past because you are enamored with a feeling of youthful energy. Everything is new and bright and full.
But new and bright and full can make you forget the old crap that's still hanging around. They can convince you it's not there when really it's just lying dormant, like all those irises waving their purple heads at you were during the winter. "Look!" they call, distracting you from all the things you carry with you in life. "Everything's great and you can wear tank tops now and feel barefoot and free and shed all that winter apathy!"
I'd love to take them at their word. After four years in Southern California, I had forgotten the feeling of spring. I'm still a little bit sore about having to endure a long winter to get to it, so maybe I'm not quite as welcoming as I once was, when I was young and stupid and didn't mind being so cold my teeth hurt. But it's still a pretty nice thing.
Much as the irises beckoned, for better or worse, the Universe has done a great job lately at reminding me of the things I carry with me, things I should be letting go of but instead cling to as stubbornly as Jake clings to the Blankie to which he has suddenly developed an intense attachment.
There is, first and foremost, the fertility thing, the fear that I am having a recurrence of the condition that caused me to have several miscarriages before finally getting diagnosed, treated, and pregnant in short order. I'm not even sure I have the condition again, and yet my fears have wound around me, trapping me in a time two years ago, a time I thought I was over the moment the doctors told me they could see future-Jake's heartbeat and were releasing me to the care of the midwives. Turns out that pregnancy -- not coincidentally like spring -- can make you think you've let something go when in fact you've just buried it under a rich, loamy layer of fertile new soil.
So, too, Jake's burgeoning food allergies are awakening some mighty hard feelings from the months I struggled to breastfeed him. Just as we enter another round of "what did he eat right before raspberries blossomed on his cheeks and his butt turned a shade of red a baboon would envy?" I read yet another one of those New York Times articles which frequently make their way into my musings here. While the thrust of it was positive -- more women are breastfeeding than in the last decade or so -- it contained the usual litany of the evils of formula: increased risks of diabetes, obesity, asthma, and, you guessed it, allergies.
Okay, so Mike was exclusively breastfed and yet he is plainly the one who provided the genetic material for Jake's food allergies. I, on the other hand, never tasted anything better than formula and am rather disgustingly allergy-free. The fact remains that Jake had far more formula than breast milk in his first seven months (before I gave up altogether). So when his allergies flare up, so does my stuck sadness from the days when I felt like a failure because I couldn't feed my son.
I am, in other words, holding onto old sadnesses with the same intensity with which Jake holds onto his Blankie.
Why Is It So Hard to Just Let Go?
"Are we not making you feel secure enough?" Mike asked Jake half-jokingly a few days ago, when it was becoming apparent that the Blankie fixation was here to stay. Why, we both wondered, does he suddenly need a security blanket?
A toddler's security blanket, I think, is no different from the moments in our past we refuse to let go. Sure, it feels a lot better to hold a soft square of chenille against your cheek than it does to cry about old miscarriages and long-ago discarded Supplemental Nursing Systems. But I don't think Jake is as entranced by the physical feel of Blankie against his skin as he is by the desire to grab a hold of something knowable at this time when so many new things are opening themselves up to him.
Bad things that have happened to us in the past are knowable. We may not exactly like the way they make us feel when we revisit them, but we surely know what to expect. The emotions were so strong at the time we are unlikely -- seemingly unable -- to forget them. They come rushing back at the slightest hint that they're welcome. Because, even if we think we're not welcoming them, we often are. It's just comfortable to gravitate toward what we know, even if the unknown holds so much more possibility.
I'm conducting an experiment right now, telling myself to just forget about the past miscarriages. And my first reaction is resistance. I suffered, I think. It seems unfair to just discard it, to let that sad me be forgotten, what I've been through discounted.
Except, when I look at it, that's just ridiculous. I was sad once. I have no reason to be sad right now, in this moment, with spots of sunlight and shadow traipsing across the leaves of the tree outside my office window.
Ridiculous though it may be, when I try to pry those old feelings away, I respond in much the same manner as Jake does when I try to pry to Blankie out of his hands. I go primal, just like he does, forgetting everything except my need to hold on, hold on, hold on.
So how do I get Jake to let go of Blankie? I just tell him he can't eat his yogurt and hold Blankie at the same time. He gave this proposition some serious thought the first time I made it. Having a bit of his mother's determination running through his veins, he let his need for Blankie convince him he could subsist on dry cereal alone. But after a few minutes, he saw how it would be worth letting go of Blankie to eat some yogurt. And now he finds it very easy to let go. At least for yogurt. Letting go of Blankie to wash his hands is a whole different story. But we're both learning.
Practicing Letting Go
All of yoga is infused with the practice of letting go. We practice letting go of the thoughts that sail through our minds. Of the tightness in our muscles. Of our fear of turning upside down or our belief that we will never, ever sit in pigeon pose without blankets. We try to let go of the past and of any preconceptions about the future. We work on letting go of the need to control everything and of the belief that it's possible to do so. And we end every single asana practice with the gift of deeply letting go in savasana.
It sounds so simple and yet it must not be, or else why would we spend a lifetime practicing it? I think of Jake learning to let go of objects. When he first learned to grasp he hadn't a clue how to let go. Then he began shoving a ball toward me but still needed me to take it from him. After a while, he could let go of the ball at some indeterminate moment and glance around wildly wondering where it had gone. He's pretty good at throwing a ball right now, but he's still a long, long way from shooting hoops.
The best way to practice letting go of the past is to exhale. We all do it naturally when we're feeling frustrated or angry. We sigh. And it helps.
Being conscious of the release in an exhale helps us let go of what we're feeling at the moment. But, like the breath, it will continue. It's just a matter of reminding ourselves to exhale each time the old feelings reappear. No need to hunt them down and pry them away because, as anyone who's ever had a toddler knows, you're just running the risk of making that attachment stubbornly stronger. Instead, exhale when they come up and let them go in the moment. Just as -- who knows? -- Jake may one day be a champion basketball player, you may one day find yourself free. In the meantime, enjoy the distraction of a beautiful spring day.
Bhastrika (Bellows Breathing): Inviting It In and Sending It Out
I hesitated about offering bhastrika (bellows breathing) here because it involves a forceful inhale as well as a forceful exhale. But then it occurred to me that it's healthy to invite our old feelings in, to confront them, bid them farewell, and then consciously release them. I'm not saying they won't come back, but if they do, it will be on your terms -- you will be conscious, steady, and ready to send them away as many times as it takes.
I also like the idea of bhastrika as a way of welcoming in the freshness of spring. It's sort of a housecleaning. You open all the windows to let the fresh air surge in. And you shove all the dirt and dust and detritus you don't need back out again.
Finally, there's a very energetic, core-awakening aspect to this pranayama (breathing exercise). It requires you to use your abdominal muscles (which, after all, we all feel could use a little workout as summer approaches). Engaging your abdominal muscles heats your core and gives you energy. Stronger abdominal muscles also mean a well supported lower back, less back discomfort, and a longer, taller spine.
Altogether a lovely way to walk into a spring day.
Bhastrika Instructions
One caveat about this pranayama exercise -- it is strong and may make you feel dizzy. If you feel dizzy or out of breath in any way, stop immediately and just breathe until you feel better. I do not recommend attempting this one if you have respiratory issues or high blood pressure.
1) Sit in a comfortable cross-legged position. Unless you can sit comfortably in padmasana (full lotus) -- and who can? -- this is a great time to sit on the folded edge of a blanket. Just your sitting bones should rest on the blanket, not your thighs, to tilt your pelvis forward slightly and give you more space to breathe. Alternatively, you may kneel and sit on your heels or place a block between your heels and sit on the very edge of it. Either way, find a place where it is easy to breathe.
2) If you are in cross-legged position, rest your hands, palms facing up, on your knees. If you are kneeling, place your hands in your lap, palms up, one on top of the other, thumbs touching. Close your eyes and breathe in and out through your nose. Spend a few moments watching your breath, becoming conscious of it.
3) Slowly begin to lengthen your inhales and exhales, gently stretching your lungs. Feel yourself filling with the prana (energy) that comes from the air around you. Consciously exhale completely, feeling the stale air leave your lungs.
4) When you are ready, at the bottom of an exhale, pause for a moment and see if you can use your abdominal muscles to squeeze out just a little bit more air. Think of your navel moving in toward your spine and up toward your heart.
5) Inhale completely and continue to practice using your abdominals to squeeze out more air at the bottom of your exhales for a few more rounds.
6) When you feel like you have command of the abdominal push, take a deep, full breath in and then strongly pull your navel in and up for a quick blast of exhaling through your nose. Then just as strongly let your navel move away from your spine and fill the space with air, creating a sharp inhale through your nose. Exhale by pushing your navel in and up and sending the breath out your nose again.
7) Continue with these strong, short blasts of air in and out, working like a bellows. Count 10-25 rounds before resuming slow, deep, even breaths.
Make sure you breathe slowly for a while before you stand up. Then see if you don't feel a little bit like the spring day that awaits you.
No comments:
Post a Comment