To suffer, to be restless

Warning: this will be reflective and rambly. Until tomorrow, when I reluctantly drag myself into the office to get caught up on work, I'm on spring break. I'm sleeping a lot, observing cats, reading, hiking, doing yoga, and catching up with friends. As a result, the normal constrictions of time, routine, and purpose have been loosened. I love it.

One of the things that often comes up when I'm "on break," though--be it summer, spring, or winter--is a sense of restlessness. When I am in the throes of grading, when my day is accounted for in 15-minute intervals, I crave a break. Try as I might to balance things out by taking it slowly and appreciating the moment, at a certain level of business, I shift into a hyper-manic mode. Whatever I might be feeling deep down is completely washed aside by the tsunami of activities.

Then, the break finally does come. And it's beautiful. I have a deep appreciation for things I ordinarily don't even notice: the cats' daily routine. The feel of the finished wood on top of my computer desk and the rough, unfinished wood beneath. I notice way the dirt crunches under my feet; the way the pavement refuses to break apart under my weight; the squish of mud next to a creek.

I also notice a profound sense of restlessness. "The break is here! Lovely! ....And, now what? OK, we'll read for a half hour. Then, some light yoga. Then, a snack, meditation, a nap, and finally, Bikram." And before I know it, half a day has been spent in planning the day. It was this dharma talk by Sally Clough Armstrong that gently reminded me how great a part restlessness plays in Westerners' lives. (In the talk, she also refers to her experience teaching meditation to new converts from India, and how students from the region don't seem to have the same problem. Interesting stuff.)

If you find yourself also noticing a deep sense of restlessness, maybe this insight I got will help you too: it's progress to notice your restlessness. If you notice this at any particular moment, treasure that realization, because that feeling is probably there most of the time, but it's been hidden beneath layers of activity. As I see it (and as I derive from Armstrong's talk), restlessness is one layer beneath the "doing," the relentless onslaught of activities we schedule to avoid boredom or anxiety.  Under the layer of restlessness is probably something even deeper we've been avoiding. But we can't get there unless we keep diving past the layers!

I remember reading literary criticism of Toni Morrison and William Faulkner, and critics referred to both of these authors as having an "unflinching gaze," a willingness to look, and look, and look, despite how ugly (or restless) the picture seemed. So, I'm thankful for the break's opportunity to continue looking, despite that continual urge to run away by going to Target or out to dinner ;-)

To end, here is a quote by Woody Allen on suffering that Armstrong refers to. On my better days, I compare myself to Tina Fey in 30 Rock. On my rougher days I've been known to think of myself as the female Woody Allen. That can't be a good thing. Don't be like Woody Allen.

“To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But then, one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be happy, one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness.” --Woody Allen

When Life Gives You Liz Lemons

Tonight’s class was just peachy. There are two visiting instructors to our studio, both of them former yoga champions. Or finalists. Or something. Anyway, they rock—as teachers and, obviously, as practitioners. Sometimes, one will practice with us. Admittedly, if I fall out of standing bow or head-to-knee a little early I will sneak a peek at their picture-perfect postures.

As a teacher, this particular chica has just got it down. Great balance between motivating individuals and sticking to dialogue. She is disciplined about allowing the full 20-second savasana between the postures, so I always feel nice ‘n ready for the second set.

The other fun thing was that the entire girls’ tennis team from some high school showed up. As a result, the late afternoon class, which usually has about 15 people, was totally packed with giggling teenaged girls poking fun at each other when they realized, again and again, how hard it was. Although I had groaned inwardly upon seeing the vibrant youngsters crowd the lockers, their silliness wasn’t irritating—there was just this fun energy in the room. The teacher harnessed it well and hammed it up for half-locust: “good for tennis elbows!”

OK, so, you yogi vets, think back to the time when you started practicing up front. Remember the doubts—“Am I ready to stare at myself so closely for 90 minutes? What if students think I think I'm some sort of model yogi? Am I ready for the possibility that other students will be looking at my ass?"
Talking to a Bikram vet helped me get over myself. She reminded me that we are there to meditate on ourselves and not other students, so of course it’s OK if I’m in the front. Even if I fall out of standing-head-to-knee sometimes.

I also think that the goal is less the execution of the postures and more focus, more… the ability to be still. That’s been the priority for me since I came back to yoga. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I’m really proud of myself that I’ve gotten to the point where I’m not fidgety anymore, especially between the postures. Admittedly, I wipe sweat before the forward bending poses, and I usually sneak a drink of water before triangle and fixed firm. It’s all a gentle unfolding, right?

Anyway, I’ve given myself permission to stand in the front lately, and I love it. I’m curious about what others think about practicing in the front. Anyone have to fight the, “I don’t want anyone to think I’m an arrogant SOB” feeling?
For no particular reason, please enjoy this picture of Liz Lemon/Tina Fey. She is my TV alter ego and I find her dorky self-deprecation quite amusing.

"Why do you sound surprised? I love America. Just because I think gay dudes should be allowed to adopt kids and we should all have hybrid cars doesn't mean I don't love America."