Triumphant, Uncomfortable, Still employed, and Groggy: A Week in Review.

Looking back on my little post on living in the "discomfort zone," it seems like quite an optimistic rallying cry. I love getting the positive feedback, of course, and I'm overjoyed if it brought an ounce of happy to your life. It's good to be reminded that things can feel that right.

So. One week down. How's my list of resolutions going? Admittedly, a couple of work crises, a pile of papers weighing on my shoulders, and a cold rainstorm this weekend have dampened my spring-filled spirit just a titch. As I write this post, a pack of coyotes fill the wet air outside my window with childlike yips, rejoicing over a kill. It's an ominous note to end a Sunday on.

In looking back on the week's events, I realize the fatal flaw in my play to intentionally step out into the discomfort zone: The world will present you with discomfort at every turn. You don't need to seek it out. Darn that hasty post! How rarely we have the energy to actively seek out challenges.

All that negativity/self-doubt stuff aside, though, I think these resolutions are ultimately a good thing. 

As the first of two work crises raised its ugly head earlier in the week, I watched my old patterns flair up--anxiety, a need to pull into my shell. At one point I felt a desire to rescind a commitment to a social obligation in favor of some Netflix and an early night. I remembered this idea of the discomfort zone--simply doing seemed to steady myself. I ended up having a great time at said social outing.

So, highlights from this week (well, the ones that I will mention on a public blog ;-) 

• Got up during a sleepless night and scoured the internet for laughs from happyplace.com. Got some kind consolations from a fellow insomniac on Facebook. Woke up feeling triumphant, if a bit groggy.
• Had some really tough conversations with coworkers--the kind that make me feel like an eight-year-old girl dressed up in her mother's heels, just waiting to be called out. Still employed.
• Said no a couple of times. Said yes often. Loved it all.
• Did something loving for a relative. Uncomfortable. But ultimately, a good move.

In Bikram, we do 30-day challenges. On New Year's, we write our resolutions. Some pledge to love Jesus, Buddha, and Allah. I guess the benefit of these commitments is that they serve as a compass: remind me of the path.

The Discomfort Zone: Where Life really Begins

No, this ain't a post about contraception :-) For more on that, turn to your preferred media outlet, which  greedily catalogs the Republican presidential nominee race.

Have y'all noticed? Spring is here.

Flowers in the Anza desert

I hate to be cliche, but I'm working on sharing honest opinions. In this case, my thoughts toward spring probably mirror most other folks'. Spring is alive. It's hopeful, and it's bright. It's blue, shiny, green, laden with scent and fluttery animals. Shoot, out here in the SoCal desert, even our cacti bloom, exhaling radiant colors into our atmosphere.

And, dare I say it, I come to life. I admit that I kind of hibernate during winter. It's a time to hunker down and pull into myself. (An aside: I think there's a reason our major holidays are in winter. We've gotta put dates on family celebrations, or else it's likely we'll sink tragically into ourselves for the remainder of the dark months.)

Don't get me wrong. I love me some introspection. Enough about yoga as an Olympic event: if Rumination were a contest, I would take the gold medal.

I guess you can imagine my relief when daylight savings time arrives and the weather starts to tick upward a few degrees. I'm propelled to get outside and out of my routines and out of my head.

It was at this moment of springtime appreciation that I saw a delightful fellow blogger's FB status update that she was going to make adventures a priority. Not just any adventure--as she put it, she's looking for adventures that put her "out of her comfort zone." A ding of recognition went off in my head as I read her post. What if I did the same? What if I identified actions that would put me out of my comfort zone, and then, drawing upon the inspiration of this beautiful spring, tackle them one by one? What would happen if I actually went through with this little experiment?

I am tempted to try it out. 

So, the first step is to identify just what constitutes adventure for me. It's not as easy as it sounds. In my case, I do not need to sign myself up for more traditional occurrences that would be labeled "adventurous." I have been spelunking. I have bungee jumped. I dove off cliffs into cool pools of water in Belize. I climbed rocks and rode horseback in the Rockies, I've swum with sharks; I traveled to South and Central America alone; I have ridden across the border into Mexico on the back of a motorcycle, my arms around a man I hardly knew.

Those aren't the kinds of adventures I need. For me, those are comfortable adventures. Although I plan to get back to Asia one day, perhaps to stay in a monastery in Bhutan or to soak in hot springs in Japan, I don't have to rev myself up much to make that a possibility.

The kinds of adventures I need are the ones that will knock me off balance. I am one who walks through life as if on a tightrope. As you can see from the list above, I can manage some real feats! However, those feats are accomplished under a microscope of minute calculations--none was taken up as a result of true spontaneity. Everything is planned, analyzed, evaluated, and teased apart for potential complications and consequences. Don't want the week to be too exciting--tomorrow, I might get exhausted and behind on work. Don't become too much of a recluse--boredom and anxiety can breed under such conditions.

What I need to do is take myself off balance. Below are actions, listed from simplest to most complex, that would do precisely that. This would get me into the discomfort zone.

• Stay up late doing something I love, the night before I've gotta do some heavy-duty teaching or grading. Enjoy myself without worrying about the consequences for once.
• Tell students, point blank but with compassion, that they simply will not pass this time. Feel the discomfort and tell them anyway. 
• Have a drink when I'm out with friends. Don't have a drink when out with friends--do what's more uncomfortable.
• In yoga: do not leave the room. 
• **Unless staying in the room is something I'm doing out of fear of the teacher's disapproval. In that case, leave the room.
•  After lying in bed for two hours, trying desperately to sleep, mind stuck like iTunes on repeat, get up, and do something I love. Do not worry about the consequences.
• Do something really, really loving for someone I'm related to. It has to take the form of an act of love not typically expressed in my family (i.e., money-bestowing or letter-writing). 
• Say no--repeatedly--when I am asked to do something I'm not up for. Say no, especially to men. 
• Get uncomfortably intimate (emotionally) with someone I care about, knowing full well that doing so will feel like inhaling water. 
• Do not make important decisions without knowing how I truly feel.
• Be who I am, who I really am, around the people I'm often not.
• Recognize that this list might contradict itself and make decision-making even tougher.
• Sit. (Meaning, meditate. On a regular basis.)

This may not be your list. But if I could get through this, even once (except for the yoga/meditation ones: those have to be regular), I would be taking a long stroll through discomfort. And as they say, life begins when we leave our comfort zones.

So. How do I proceed from here? Well, some of that stuff can't be scheduled, so I'll have to keep 'em in the back of my mind and act when the moment arises. Others, like yoga and meditation time, are easier that way. I recently bought tickets to a concert that will take place on a Tuesday evening. It's almost mandatory that a couple of adult beverages will be consumed at this show, and wouldn't you know it? Wednesday is my longest (and earliest) teaching day. But I won't worry about the consequences--at least for that one day.

Part of me wants to keep writing and address questions like, "for how long is this experiment an actual focus of mine? How often will I report on it?" But I think I've done enough obsessive planning. I'm trying to do less of that, after all.

It's in the name of science that I undertake this little experiment. Does life really begin when we leave our comfort zone? And what would be on your "discomfort zone" list?

Liar, liar!

Lately I've been thinking about what it means to be honest. I mean, really honest. Some of us have a habit of telling white lies. Some of us construct elaborate scenarios about our pasts or future in order to get us what we want. We can lie to ourselves about who we really are--we can say we're stupid, no good, and undeserving of anything good that comes our way, when really the opposite is true. And then, there are other kinds of lies that we tell ourselves. 

I am not a chronic liar. Nor do I enjoy telling white lies. But one of the few concrete memories I have of being a little kid involves a lie. When I was about three years old, I sat with my brother, staring at a tiny nick in my bedroom's rainbow wallpaper. I looked at my brother with what was probably a devilish grin and grabbed at the nick, pulling off big chunks. My brother, who was less than two years old and didn't really talk yet, sat and watched.

Of course, all good things must come to an end, and my mother walked in after my brother and I were admiring my handiwork. "Who did this?!" she shouted. Fear filled my gut, and I pointed my finger at my brother and spoke ever-so-convincingly, "He did!"

My poor brother, who was too young to talk and defend himself, knew before the shit hit the fan what my false accusation meant. He started crying immediately, one of the few expressions his little toddler vocabulary allowed for. My mother, who was always the most restrained, loving, and gentle woman, must have reached her wits' end. We were never spanked, but my brother got one that day. 

I remember four-year-old me listening to him cry and feeling this strange emotion come up in me. I sat on that story for a good long time. Not until I was a teenager did my brother, mom and I talk about that day. My mother was shocked to learn the "real" story. My brother also remembers the incident and still feels just the tiniest bit pissed off about it. Thankfully, we can laugh about it now. It felt good, even as a teenager, to talk about it.

I don't think I tell such bald-faced lies anymore. But maybe I've just learned to tell more elaborate ones--especially to myself.

I've been practicing Bikram yoga for over a year and a half now, and I always had a regular yoga practice before I started this. I should be no stranger to stretching and strengthening by now! However, when it comes down to it, I admit I rarely give 100% in class. This is especially true in any hamstring stretch poses. For no good reason whatsoever, I am terrified of pulling a muscle in hands-to-feet pose or any of the head-to-knee poses. I get myself "into" the posture and hang out right in the comfort zone. "Save some energy for later. You're gonna injure yourself," I tell myself. "You're already working hard enough just being in the hot room."

It's as bad as the straight-up lie I told my mom as a child.

OK, so, lying to yourself about how hard you're working in yoga class isn't the biggest problem on the planet. But isn't what we do in class a mirror of what we do in life? The little lies we tell ourselves are just the walls we build to our own prisons.

Tonight, I stopped the lying in my yoga classafter being present enough to first recognize that there was no need to hold myself back in standing-head-to-knee pose. I was able to see it was just fear. I pulled my head just a little bit further toward my feet. I allowed myself to feel discomfort in the back of my legs. It may not have been "Pain sensation," but for the first time in a long time, I let myself really feel something. No fear, no lies, just feeling.

And guess what? It felt good.    

On Crocodiles, Carp, and Cowardice

I'm going to blog about a topic that is usually the death of conversation and writing everywhere: a dream. No, it's not a cool aspiration for the future or hope for humanity. It's about what little movie my brain ran when I was asleep last night.

Stay with me! I promise there are profound realizations ahead. OK, well, probably, there won't be much of that. But there will be crocodiles!

They say that dreams are a way of processing. We process a monotonous day's events (I dream of grading papers. Seriously). Sometimes, they're epic. We use them to relieve stress and make sense of the world. Sometimes, we use 'em to force ourselves to face the yucky stuff buried in the backs of our minds.

Last night, after a pretty rough day, I had one of those dreams I will take to the grave. Especially now that I blogged about it :-)

I dreamed I was in the middle of a gorgeous lake. There were hilly, lush mountains around, and I was paddling in the middle of it with a friend. Instead of a boat, we had a shack. The shack, crumbling, mossy, and falling apart, began to sink as we paddled to shore. My friend and I looked around and saw hideous carp and crocodiles swimming about.



Really cool shack



But instead of being scared of being eaten alive or drowning, we just laughed. I tell you, I haven't had such a lovely dream in months. I found beauty in the scales of the crocodiles and carp. The trees dotting the shorelines and the closeness I felt with my friend overshadowed the fear of drowning. And that shack was just freakin' cool.

Isn't this just like life? Isn't this just like yoga? We're paddling as hard as we can to a shore that's impossibly far away. And we're surrounded by horrible things in a vessel we didn't predict we'd use. That's what our experiences are always like, right? We didn't choose our bodies, our towns, or our families. Heck, even the things we "choose"--jobs, friends, and soulmates--can seem oddly imposed upon us by forces beyond our control.

But life isn't lived in the absence of fear. We don't have to react cowardly. The opportunity to obsess on the scary stuff--the crocodiles, the standing backward bends, whatever pose puts the fear of God in you--will always be there. Maybe the point is to just paddle on, knowing full well we could drown on our way to the shore. So long as we can enjoy that moment with a friend and appreciate the funky moss growing on our little shack, what's the difference?

There are always going to be rough, scary days. And there's always the option of staring that scary stuff right down and loving it to its scaly bones.

Aftershocks

Us SoCal folks had a bit of fun today. There was a 6.9 magnitude earthquake off Baja, Mexico, and the effects were felt throughout the region. I was just on my way to my first yoga class--after a week off due to travel--when it hit. My CD towers were swayin', my cats were freakin', and I had a moment of "Hmm. Perhaps I should consider moving away from the windows." But then it was off to class. Californians get remarkably desensitized to earthquakes.

Or so I thought! At yoga this evening, a normally average (15-20 student) class was down to eight. I don't know if it was Easter or the earthquake, but something scared the students off. As we stood up for pranyama breathing, there was a little aftershock. The teacher politely reminded us that the emergency exits were open and that we just might want to move out from under the heaters.

It turned out to be a nice, intimate class, and by the end I'd had a couple of revelations about just what happened this past week while I was on spring break in Mammoth. And, of course, how yoga ties into all of it :-)

First, I'm making progress on the fear front. A year ago, I would not have gone to Mammoth. I would not have taken up my friend's offer to stay at their lovely condo and try an unfamiliar, cold-weather sport, leaving my kitties, a warm climate, and stacks of papers to catch up on behind. I tend to have a little social anxiety, so just saying, "YES" to their wonderful offer was big for me.

Another part of this overcoming fear thing, of course, is trying new things. I have always claimed to hate the cold and heights, but at my friends' prodding, I got myself out on the ski slopes, despite the 20 degree weather, snow, and wind. And I loved every minute of it. The gentle lift to the top of the mountain, the mounting anticipation, the sight of the wide trails and disarming vistas, to say nothing of the actual thrill of skiing--I just drank it all up and had fun, on the slopes and hanging out with friends. (Well... my friends might tell you about the time I called them in a panic from the mountain, but in hindsight, it's just a funny story :-)

The second realization I've had this week is that Bikram yoga gets you into rockin' shape. I skiied three full days in a row, and although I was tired, I did not get nearly as sore as I thought I would have given the amount of new activity I was doing. Those Awkward pose squats prime your legs for some ski turning and wedging, alright, and being flexible means that you can fall and not get injured as easily. I was just grateful for the physical ability to enjoy myself out there.

What ties this all together is that getting yourself into the yoga room is overcoming fear, one posture at a time. Before coming back to yoga last summer, I definitely would have let this spring break opportunity slide by me. "No, thanks," I'd have told my friend. In my head, I'd have thought, "You need to catch up on work this spring break. You hate cold weather. Staying with people for long periods of time is hard for you." Stupid excuses robbing me of the chance to experience something wonderful. But I think it was primarily the yoga that empowered me to say YES to those experiences. Now, I can't wait to go skiing again. I've even ordered a really cute ski jacket!

I'm thinking the aftershock of this wonderful week will stay with me for a while. I'm hoping y'all have some good aftershocks, too! :-)

Don't miss out on the view from the lift.

Dedicated to C&J.

Sticks and Skiing

Even on a mountain, in 15 degree weather, the yoga is present.

I took my first ski lesson today. To get the feeling of leaning down the hill in a no-fear embrace of wind, snow, and slope, the instructor had us balance on one ski, letting our other leg point straight back. I thought, "Balancing stick, baby! Tuladandasana forever!" Despite the wind and low visibility, the teacher noticed my balance and said, "Hey, you do yoga?!" An awareness of hips and alignment is necessary, too, as there's a tendency to stick the butt out when you actually want to pull it forward as you do in half-moon.

But you skiiers know, skiing is no joke. Remember my post on sprezzatura? It looks so easy, yet it's tremendously difficult and initially counterintuitive. Much of the technique goes against our instincts (i.e., leaning forward), and that whole flying down a mountain thing is bound to get your heart rate up. What a way to meet your fears head-on.

My first two runs were a little terrifying. I realized at the end of the second that I was holding my breath as I wedged slowly down the hill and knew that had to change. Perfect situation to bring in yoga principles. One thing yoga has showed me is that I tend to be guided by fear. I hold back a lot--in class, in life, on the slopes--and as a result, I don't reach my full potential. Skiing totally tapped into that. After those first two runs, I didn't want to go back up, but I managed to get myself back on the lift. As I rode up, I did some pranyama--in through the nose, out through the nose (no hand movement, of course--had to hang onto my ski poles and gloves!). Doing so helped tremendously. And I have free lifts and rentals tomorrow, so you know I will be back out there. Still a little scared, though :-)

No Bikram yoga classes up here, but the principles find their way everywhere!

 Don't mess with Mother Nature. Just wear good clothes!

Escape from the Ether

Final savasana.

 We’ve been here countless times. No matter how terrible a class I’ve had, I always have a “heck yeah, you made it!” moment as I lie on my back, honoring myself, the teacher, and fellow yogis for being there and getting through another class.

I always experience fear when I’m in the hot room. Backbends were my forte when I practiced Ashtanga, but in Bikram yoga, they terrify me. I need that teacher to shout, “Don’t be scared!” during Half-Moon pose as much as anyone. My mind races with fear—“You’re gonna die! You can’t do it! The teacher is going to eviscerate you with a samurai sword!” Of course, I don’t die, and, so far, no one has ever busted out a sword. (Although there is that one quiet guy in the corner who brings a really big towel… it’s the perfect cover, really ;-)

By final savasana, though, I feel … cleansed. Emptied. The fear is gone, and the problems with work, my endless doubts about my ability to succeed, all that is quieted.

In savasana earlier this week, that line from the T.S. Eliot “Prufrock” poem came to mind. I thought I kinda felt like Prufrock, a “patient etherized upon a table.” Initially, I was pleased with myself for making such a profound literary connection ;- ) But is that really the right description? Does yoga really etherize us? Or does it do the opposite?

Because my literary geekiness parallels my yoga dorkiness, I just have to explore the poem a little more. Here’s my attempt to sum it up succinctly, admitting that it’s a complex poem that warrants several reads. “Prufrock” centers on a man of a certain age who looking back on his life. He seems to be angry with himself for having lived his life cautiously. Full of the wisdom to know what choice he should make, he has never been able to act on anything. He tells us that he has “measured out [his] life with coffee spoons,” that he is “politic, cautious, and meticulous.” By the end of the poem, we learn that Prufrock is simply afraid. That etherized patient is him—immobile, paralyzed, aware but unable to act.

 Is yoga an etherizing agent? Or is it an escape from the ether? I’m thinking it might be the latter. Throughout my day (the non-yoga part), if I’m lucky, I’m aware of the fact that I’m not aware of much. The thoughts that run through my head are utter nonsense. Even when I’m teaching I have to fight to get control of my thoughts: “How do my clothes look?” “I wonder what bakery that donut came from.” “Am I rambling like an idiot here, or have I tricked the students into believing I might know what I am talking about?” And it’s when I’m teaching that I’m the most present, yoga or other intense experiences aside. That’s a pretty terrifying realization.

But in yoga, uh, wow. Our fear, anger, and self-doubt, it’s all there. It’s right on the surface, in fact. That means we’re aware of it, right? That means we’re working on it. Unlike poor Prufrock, we’ve “bitten off the matter with a smile.” We fucking owned it. We ate the yolk.

I think that the way we feel in savasana is how we should be feeling all the time. Anyway, I wish I could carry that feeling around all the time. I appreciate my strong heartbeat. I can practically feel my little cells vibrating with life. I actually like the fact that I’m lying in a puddle of my own sweat. “Hey, ma, look what I just did! Enormous sweat puddle!” (Sorry, couldn’t resist!)

For a few minutes, anyway, we can lift ourselves out of the ether.