Do you wish you looked more like you?

During my last hair coloring appointment, my hair stylist Katie, who is also one of my yoga students, shared this great quote with me, "Do you wish you looked more like you?" She was of course using this line in reference to finding the perfect style, the perfect color.

I love that quote. Looking more like me is where I get when I do yoga. In my life, I have spent too much time trying to get it just right. The right haircut, the right body, the right job, the right partner. Everyone searches for something, some of us more that others. The problem is that the search, while focused on an individual, is too often motivated by external factors.

This morning one of the students in my class said, "I am going to do my best to not hate myself when I look at myself in my yoga clothes." She bravely said aloud what many, many people (women and men) think in their heads. In response, I told this courageous, honest student, "When you start that nonsense in your head, work harder, sweat more, get yourself out of your head."

Those of you who practice yoga know what I'm talking about. It's kind of magical. While nothing external changes over the course of your practice, you start to look different in those 90 minutes. You see yourself through a different lens. At the beginning of class you see your thighs or your belly or your eye bags. But by the end of class, that stuff, while it's still there, isn't the predominant image in the mirror.

It's almost like the inside comes out. The outside stuff becomes less visible, less relevant. Through the hard work, the sweat, focus, you've set the inside stuff free.

The other day in class, Kristen repeatedly encouraged us to see ourselves in the front mirror. "Look up", she'd say or "Look at yourself." "Don't look down!!! Look at your beautiful reflection." At the beginning of the class, this direction was hard for some of us. It's hard to look at something you don't want to see. It happens for me every single time I practice. But by the end of class, I truly am more me. I feel more like me. I look more like me. At the end of class, the image in the front mirror is so much more than my thighs and my belly and my wrinkles.

Katie's a great hair stylist and I always feel more like me when she's finished with my hair. But I can only justify getting my hair done every few months, so in between appointments, yoga will get me to that place- looking (and feeling) more like me.

It only gets easier after it's harder

Right now my daughter Lucia is learning a new song on the piano. It's by Brandi Carlile-- "Before it Breaks." It's really cute to see her playing a real song. When she first started practicing this song, she was still new to combining the chords with the melody and she struggled mightily. She reached peak frustration minutes after starting her piano practice. I tried different techniques-- play the right hand separately from the left. Just sing the song. Take a break and play another song. But the truth was, it was going to be hard for the first little bit while she learned it. One day before practicing, to get Lucia geared up, I found a YouTube video of Brandi Carlile playing "Before it Breaks". In the video , she introduces the song by saying, "I'm just learning how to play piano live. This song took me 9 hours to play. I cried twice."

Lucia snickered a little bit. "9 hours!", she gasped, feeling smug that she could probably get the song in less time than that. But she got the message-- learning this song was going to be hard work. The rest of the video, of course, is Brandi Carlile crooning and playing the piano with what seems like very little effort. I watched Lucia as she mouthed the lyrics and watched this "rock star" singing the song she was learning. Riveted. Inspired. Excited.
For the next week or so, Lucia practiced "Before it Breaks" a lot. And it got easier for her. A lot easier. She memorized it. She loved it. And next week, she's playing the song in a recital.

Sometimes I use Lucia's piano playing when I teach as an analogy for how yoga practice, and certain postures in particular can sometimes feel. Some days, practice is so goddamned hard. It feels pointless. You wonder why you bothered to come to this literal torture chamber. You ask yourself when it will ever get easier. And why isn't it getting easier. It's because it is always harder before it gets easier. I am not sure what it is about the human brain, but we tend to focus on the experiences that are hard and barely give a wink to the moment when "it" (piano, yoga, fill in the blank) finally gets easier.

The next time you are practicing yoga, or piano, or your challenge of the moment, try to remember that, if you're in a rough patch, a hard time, that you're on a path that's taking you somewhere else. Eventually, you'll get to the place where whatever it is isn't so hard, and maybe one day it will even be easy. The easy part only comes from experiencing the hard stuff. And, then, when you reach that moment, like when Lucia finally "got" the song, take a moment to appreciate that you got there.

I can't believe I wore those underpants!

Remember first grade? Fourth grade? Eight grade? Everyone has some time in school that kind of sucked. You got teased or bullied or wore a kilt with really loud underpants on tumbling day in gym in third grade. It is that indelible memory that you have for years, maybe your whole lifetime, of utter embarrassment or despair or humiliation. It enters your semi-consciousness periodically. As the years go by, it has much less power. The memory is more like a whisper that a kinesthetic jolt.

This year my daughter Lucia had her time (or at least one of her times). Three boys singled her out and decided she was the one to whisper about. Lucia never knew the content much beyond, "Lucia has a boyfriend." As a first grader, Lucia was embarrassed, humiliated, and ultimately, after too many days of the same unrelenting teasing, in despair. The situation has since been remedied and I think if that is "the" big moment that will plague Lucia's psyche into adulthood, she is very lucky indeed.

While Lucia was enduring this, I felt conflicted. On the one-hand, I thought, "I should kick those bad boys in the ass and tell them to take a hike." On the other-hand, I thought this is an opportunity for Lucia to take on some discomfort and find her way through it. The situation was bad enough that the teacher and principal did end up getting involved. The boys targeted another girl in Lucia's class and when Lucia told her to just ignore them (as she'd been instructed), one of the boys pushed her, knocking her to the floor. In a private meeting with Lucia, her teacher and the principal they told her that she had been brave to help the other girl. They told her that they were there to support and help her. At the end of the meeting, Lucia felt proud, special, and courageous. She had new energy to take on the problem.

Lately, I've noticed that there is surge in people struggling on their mats. Could be weather related. Could be because we have lots of new students. Maybe it's me. I struggle myself--often. When I see people fidgeting compulsively or leaving their mats at random times to fill their water bottle or go to the bathroom or do whatever, I think (and often say aloud), "Just hang in there. Stay the course of your discomfort or anxiety or dizziness." I advise this, because when we do stay the course, we learn that we can get through it, so next time the fidgeting or leaving the room won't be our first choice.

I can see it with Lucia. She didn't get a new classroom. She got some new tools and some thicker skin. I know sometimes it is hard to stay in a class that feels challenging and frustrating and overwhelming. But try. You'll find that what you get is much more satisfying. At the end of your class you will feel proud, special and courageous. Staying the course might not be your first choice, but it's the best choice.

Broken phone

Last week my phone broke. It was kind of traumatic and kind of awesome. I happened to be in Belize (poor me) so my phone was really only with me so I could receive any information about my daughter who was not with me. Emergency only really. But on the fourth day, I dropped my phone and the screen just went black. I could hear the phone ring, hear when text came in or a reminder for an event, I just couldn't see the screen to activate anything. It was okay. I used my partner Nancy's phone when I needed to, but the broken phone really was a major challenge for me.

This past Sunday (4/22/12)in the New York Times, there was an article titled "The Flight From Conversation" by Sherry Turkle about how texting has compromised the ability of many to have conversations. Yes, we talk to each other, but are we really there? We text while we talk, always one foot out the mental door to the next thing. We are able to edit ourselves, monitor what we share, even with the people we are closest to. Some of us text all the time. I do. A few weeks ago I had a friend over who I rarely see. She was texting intermittently while we talked in depth about our love lives, children, struggles, deep things. It was just weird! Last week in Belize, I was on a tiny little 10-person plane. It was a very short flight, a very small plane, with lots of water below. The pilot was texting!

Yesterday I went to get a replacement phone. The woman at the Verizon store told me that I use very few talking minutes, but LOTS of texts. She confirmed what I already knew. I'd rather organize my thoughts and present them as I want them to be heard, rather than pick up the phone and talk. After I got my new phone, I went to work, but you can bet I checked my phone about 12 times on the way (in the car). Later in the afternoon, I had to make a difficult phone call. I would have emailed, but I didn't have the person's email. I was hoping that it would just be a voicemail, but she answered. Completely disarmed, I just said what I had to say. Much harder than texting or emailing, but cleaner too. Immediate results.

I was basically without a phone for less than a week, but I noticed such a difference. At breakfast with Lucia, I wasn't constantly checking the time on my phone to make sure we were on track to get to school on time. I just trusted that five more painstaking minutes with the slowest eater in the world would be fine. When we were stuck in traffic on the way to Lucia's soccer game, I couldn't call to tell anyone that the goalie would be late. I couldn't look on my phone to see what all this bullshit traffic was about. I just sat there talking about how the bee in the bee movie Lucia had recently seen called his butt "his heaving buttocks." I was so much more present!

This has all been said. It's the talk of the era. Google glasses are next. We'll been seeing screens as we walk down the street. Or the automatic car that drives for us so we can do texting, emailing, Photoshop, marketing analysis.....Sherry Turkle, in her New York Times Article, says, "We think constant connection will make us feel less lonely. The opposite is true. If we are unable to be alone, we are far more likely to be lonely."

Ms.Turkle makes a great point. The phone and the constant connection it represents is a false connection. The real connection comes from talking to or being with another person. Or it comes from being connected to yourself by being alone with yourself and appreciating that. Not waiting for the next thing. Not being part-way in the current thing.
I love my new phone. It does amazing, cool, efficient things. It's going to be hard, but I'm going to find some phone-free spaces in my life. If I start to slip, I hope you'll remind me. Just send me a text.

A text would have been so much better!

I hate listening to voicemail. Blah blah blah blah. Just text me okay! God, that sounds so bratty. Anyway, last week I was running around all morning like a nutbag-- drop Lu at school, park, race to a meeting, race to another meeting, and TRY like hell to make the noon yoga class.

At 11:52am, I made it to the studio, scurried to grab my clothes to change. I still had to put my mat down and fill my water bottle. I checked my phone because I always do to make sure there's no message from Lucia's school (I know, neurotic) and saw there were two missed calls from a 949.286.3973. I don't know that area code at all, so I just ignored it because that's what I do. I ignore it.

I got my clothes on, my water bottle filled, my mat situated. Frani came in to the yoga room, turned on the lights and the heat and started Pranayama. At the exact moment that she told us to start inhaling, I had a thought that would plague me for the next fifteen minutes. 949.286.3973! That's my house alarm company. My alarm is going off and I'm either getting robbed or it is a false alarm and I'm going to owe ADT $150! How was I going to get out of the room to listen to my messages? Could I? Would it be awful? Would the other students just think I was doing some important owner-task that had to be done right in the middle of class? No way. I was stuck.

I was completely checked out through Pranayama. Between images of a masked villain rifling through my underwear and bras, I told myself to just breathe, let it go, and concentrate on my practice. And then, flash, an image of my beautiful newly-painted green front door smashed through with a hatchet would take me away again. Breathe, I told myself. I was still plotting how to get out of the room through Half-Moon and Awkard. I thought, maybe during party time I can make a break. But somehow, in Eagle, I must have switched over. I had let it go. When party time came, I didn't want to leave the room. I knew there was nothing I could do about my alarm or the $150 or all of my important worldly goods being gone.

And so it was. I practiced my practice. Maybe not my best ever. Definitely not my best. But I was able to let my obsessed brain release its obsession for almost 90 minutes. When I finished class, I didn't even remember to check my phone right away. It wasn't until after my shower that I remembered to listen to my voicemail. I was being offered a new credit card! All was well in the world. I'm so glad I practiced.

This is your brain on Yoga.....

Gretta, Lucia's piano teacher, is very kind, but she's also strict about her expectations. Last week she told Lucia that she absolutely has to sing the notes and sing the counts of the notes while she practices piano. Lucia has received this instruction multiple times from Gretta, always with the same result. Practicing the notes is fine. Lucia gets up every morning and (with some nudging) practices. When I tell her to start singing the note names or singing the ta-ta-tas to count the timing, she freaks out! I mean, WHOA, you'd think I handed the girl bagpipes and asked her to play a little jig.

The last time Gretta gave Lucia the singing instruction, I told her what happens. I said, in my most diplomatic voice because Lucia was standing beside me, "Singing while playing seems to be really frustrating for Lucia." I was hoping Gretta would say, "Okay, don't do that." But of course she didn't. She told us that it is very important, so important, because Lucia, in doing these two activities (playing and singing) simultaneously, is creating pathways in her brain.

The next day, I did some research and found this on the web,
"Bulk up your brain by performing two different sensory activities at the same time. For example, listen to music and smell flowers, listen to the rain and tap your finger, or watch clouds and play with modeling clay at the same time. Performing multiple sensory activities at the same time stimulates your brain to create new neuronal connections." *

Well, that can't be bad. New neuronal connections. I definitely want Lucia to have those. I want to have those. And, when I started exploring where I could get them, I didn't have to look far.....

Dr. Timothy McCall says this, "With advances in understanding and technology, scientists now talk about 'neuroplasticity.' The brain, they have realized, is plastic, meaning it is capable of change.... Two thousand years ago, Patanjali wrote in the Yoga Sutra—classical yoga’s foundational text—that the key to success in yoga was to practice regularly without interruption over a long period of time. This sounds like the perfect formula to create deep new behavioral grooves that take advantage of neuroplasticity: Regular repetition of a variety of yoga practices will increase the number of connections among neurons and may even cause new neurons to be recruited for the task."**

So there is hope for us, grownups like me who thought brain functioning would be mostly downhill from here. Remember how people used to tell us that we had limited brain cells, so we shouldn't sniff rubber cement or lick Sharpies? Remember that commercial, "this is your brain on drugs?" Now we know that we can make MORE brain cells, BETTER brain cells. We can make neuronal connections. Yoga is is the key to making this happen.

I think especially right now of all the folks on day 27 of this month's 30-Day challenge at The SweatBox. They have literally changed their brains. That's amazing. And such good news for all of us who practice yoga regularly-- practice Savasana and Tadasana and Trichonasana day in and day out. We are bulking up our brains, creating new pathways of our own. Two thousand years ago when Patanjali wrote the Yoga Sutra, the idea of changing brain chemistry through yoga was just a theory. But no longer! It's a brave new world-- neuronal connections, neuroplasticity, recruiting new neurons! The results are in--this is your brain on yoga.


*http://www.livestrong.com/article/216213-brain-plasticity-exercises/#ixzz1plQ7U4XC

** http://kripalu.org/article/179

Shhhhhhhh!

Fairly regularly, I have the disturbing notion that everything I am doing as a parent is completely wrong. Not a great feeling. My daughter, by most accounts, is a really delightful, well-adjusted seven-year-old, but still, I must be royally screwing her up right? Probably. But I still try to be a good parent despite the sad, likely inevitability that Lucia will resent me, dislike me, condemm me for some part of my parenting.

In my feeble attempt to prevent that sad, likely inevitability, I recently read a great parenting book-- Parent Effectiveness Training: The Proven Program for Raising Responsible Children by Thomas Gordon. One of my take-aways from this book is the idea of acceptance. As parents, one important aspect of raising our children is to promote a sense of acceptance for them. For me as a parent, this translates into sometimes stepping out of Lucia's way and letting her figure things out for herself. It means sending her the strong clear message that, even if it isn't that way I would do something (the puzzle, the spelling homework, the sewing project), her way is okay, and I accept it. This is hard. It involves being really quiet, and maybe even completely removing myself from an activity. Being an engaged parent, an active parent, might in some ways be taking away from Lucia's ability to find her own path, her own voice.

I've noticed, for example, if I stop directing Lucia so much in her piano practice, she tries new things, like playing two chords at once instead of sticking to her prescribed lesson plan. Or, if i take myself out of her football game with her friend Cece, she gets way more down and dirty (a good thing for my risk-averse, indoor kitty child). My job-- to watch, to notice, to appreciate that she is figuring out who she is without my voice. This does not mean that I don't discipline Lucia. It doesn't preclude me from engaging with her. Not at all. It just puts me in the added position of being an active listener to what she is saying, doing, experiencing.

In many ways when we practice yoga we are our own parents, our own teachers. We discipline, direct, often judge and criticize. In yoga, particularly Savasana, we have an opportunity to shift roles. Like sitting on the sidelines while Lucia plays football, we get to get out of our directing roles and just listen--to our bodies, our minds, our hearts. When you are doing Savasana, notice if your parental voice is there. Is your mother's voice telling you to stop fidgeting? In Tadasana, is your old coach's bark commanding you to stay focused? That discipline, that rigor in our practice is so important. We don't want to lose that. But over time, with regular practice, the discipline and rigor are there. Let the voices quiet down a little bit. Allow yourself to practice without the judgement, the criticism. You'll be surprised at what you might learn.