Placebo?

Last Sunday morning during a rainy morning jog in Seward Park, I listened to a podcast about the science of mindfulness with Ellen Langer.  At one point, Dr. Langer shared a quote (I can't remember from where) which was something like, "Placebo is a way of unlocking your brain's pharmacy." I had to stop running and jot it in my notes because it struck me so intensely.

For most of my life I have been "anti-medication." I once had a cough for six weeks straight and finally succumbed to the use of a steroid inhaler and Flonaze. Ultimately what cured me of that cough was acupuncture, further reinforcing my "anti" stance.

I believe that believing is powerful medicine. When Ellen Langer talked about the actual science of placebo, how using one's mind to alter one's body, I was hooked in, validated, inspired.

For years I've heard people suggest that Yoga is a placebo, that it really does nothing. Sure, many people who practice Yoga experience no real life change, physically, mentally, or emotionally, but I would contend that those of us who bring some intention, some belief into our practice, actually do experience life shifts on all levels.

It's subtle, the intention-bringing, and as much as I would love to hone this message down into three words, I cannot, because, above anything, I am truly a student of all of this, trying my best like everyone else.  What I do know is that becoming more mindful, more deliberate on our Yoga mats (and everywhere in our lives), comes from breaking down the moments into smaller moments that we can really digest and truly experience.

In Standing Head to Knee, as soon as you start to fold forward, are you already starting to think about kicking out? It's okay if you are, but try to slow down and just be bending. Experience that before you jump to the "one day moment" when your forehead will be on your knee. You will find your learning, both physically and mentally grows exponentially.

It's hard work. I am a colossal failure at being a mindful parent, for example. This morning, as I packed a lunch box and heated up a baguette for the family breakfast, I had a video from the Mindfulness Summit playing in the background. No small moments or digestible pieces in that picture. For me, my Yoga mat is my one true place. I am grateful for this space to live my life little by little, step by step. For me it's harder in other areas to bring this intentionality. For you, it might be your Yoga mat where you struggle. No matter where you are, what you're doing, just keep trying, baby step by baby step.

Fifth Grade Camp

Today Lucia went to Fifth Grade Camp with her school. It's two nights of 120 fifth graders staying in cabins on an island doing fifth grade stuff. Quite honestly, it might be a bigger deal for me than it is for her. Last night I wrote Lucia a letter with an emergency sesame snack and ear plugs.

I'm a sentimental mom. I always write Lucia notes when she goes on trips without me or when she goes to camp; I even write Lucia a little note everyday in her lunch box. I'm not sure if she even reads them, but I love to write them.

In her Fifth Grade Camp letter, I wished Lucia lots of adventures during her two days away. While writing, I thought about what is was like to be eleven. So much is new, exciting, a little bit scary. Last night Lucia was convinced that her suitcase was going to be the biggest one, that no one else would pack their sleeping bag and pillow in a Hefty trash bag, that bringing rain boots was silly.

In Lucia's Fifth Grade Camp letter, I talked about how ready she was for this new experience, how fun it would be to do all the amazing things only a critical mass of 10 and 11 year olds can do. As I wrote, I imagined all the new things the kids would have to negotiate without their parents-- who sleeps on the top bunk; where to stash dirty laundry; how to find the toilet in the middle of the night. And all of the amazing activities they'll do that will bond them during this tender prepubescent time-- campfire songs, Capture the Flag, ropes courses, baby crushes.

Almost all of the activities at Fifth Grade Camp-- the scary and the amazing-- will put Lucia and her peers outside of their comfort zone.  I worry that my kid will be the one who gets desperately homesick or the poor thing who breaks her wrist on the balance beam challenge course.  But if she does, it's still okay. She'll be doing something new, working shit out with her friends, learning to take steps into more independence.

Yoga takes me to this place sometimes. Hard to balance postures, teachers who hold me in one place until I feel as though I might die, resistance to practicing at all some days-- all of these experiences put me in a place that feels awkward, uncomfortable, sometimes downright bad. But when I've finished practice and roll up my mat, I feel good. I got through it. I did it.

I'll pick Lucia up from the Fifth Grade Camp bus on Friday afternoon. I can so clearly imagine it. Her hair will be greasy. Her jeans will be filthy.  She will be ready to get home and back to her comfy bed, her stack of books. But in my image of picking her up, I also envision Lucia's exhausted face radiating the glow of strength, courage, and pride because it was a little hard, a little intense, but in the end, she did it.

What's in a number?

We've just started offering 60 minute classes at The SweatBox. As you might expect, they are faster moving, with fewer breaks and more flow. They are fast and fun and different.

Why take a 60-minute class when you could take a 90 minute class? Why take a 90-minute class when you could take a 60-minute class? Here's my explanation, and like all of my blog posts, it's personal, but I am posting it because I think it might help you understand how to get the most out of your Yoga practice, regardless of how many minutes it is!

When you take a 90-minute class at The SweatBox, we give you lots of rests, fairly long stints in Savasana where you have to work at keeping your mind calm. It's a big part of the practice. In addition to the incredible physical challenges that come your way during the 90-minute class, you are asked to find mental stillness. The quiet between the postures challenges you to override your pounding heart beat and mental madness.

In a 60-minute class, you are working consistently hard with minimal breaks. You have much less time to be physically still. This kind of pacing offers a different kind of mental "wind down." You're really moving the whole time and those quiet moments in Savasana where distracting thoughts or temptations to fidget with clothes, hair, water, just aren't there. All of your energy is going to the physical practice so your chattering mind is at rest.

Each experience requires a different kind of discipline. There is no better, no worse. You might prefer one practice one day, another a different day. Or maybe one just fits into your schedule better one day. There is value in both practices, and we can deepen our Yoga practice by opening ourselves up to the differences, noticing what skills and strengths we bring to each practice, how we feel during and after each practice.

Beep Test

Yesterday Lucia said she wanted to go running. She and I go running a few times a month, usually when she instigates it. It was a leisurely Sunday and we ran down to Seward Park, her young, lithe, little body next to my older, clunkier one.

As we ran, we chatted. It was nice. There's something about talking while running that feels easier, freer. "Mom," Lucia said, "I want to run more regularly so I can be the top scorer on the Beep test at school." The Beep test is a test in gym that measures stamina and speed. "I'm already one of the top scorers for girls, but I want to beat the boys," Lucia chattered on as she galloped along next to me.

Had we not been running, I might have taken this opportunity to make some kind of a lesson out of this statement. You don't need to compete. You're perfect just the way you are. It's not about winning. But I didn't. I thought to myself, "Why not?" Why not try to beat the boys? If this ten-year-old child wants to train her body to run faster and longer, who am I to tame that dream?

Later on the way to meet some friends at a pumpkin patch, I asked Lucia what she thought she'd do when she grew up. As usual, her immediate reply was, "I don't know." I pushed a little bit, "If you had to say one thing, right now, no choice, what would it be? No right, no wrong...." She thought and thought and thought. "A soccer player," she said.

Carl Jung said, “Nothing has a stronger influence psychologically on their environment and especially on their children than the unlived life of the parent.” I think about how often I want to jump into Lucia's brain and direct her, to steer her in a direction I wish I had been steered in my own childhood. 

When Lucia said she wanted to be a soccer player, I had to glue my tongue to the roof of my mouth to hold in the words in my brain "I thought you wanted to be a surgeon?!" Being a parent is a constant exercise in letting go of expectations and making room for surprises. Last month Lucia did want to be a surgeon, and this month, right now, in this moment in time, she wants to be a soccer player. And she wants to kick ass on the Beep Test.

We do it with our children and we do it with ourselves- impose limits, expectations, think in terms of decades instead of days or hours. I am grateful for the little jog on the lake with Lucia, a moment in time that reminds me to appreciate the moments and live in the present.

Notice the moon.

What might happen?
If the shelving for the new bathrooms isn't built on time?

If the art isn't all hung?
If there is not enough cheese at the party?
If I don't have time to make the brownies?
If the ballet bar doesn't get rehung?
If I don't have time to set up the desk?
If my cold gets worse and worse and worse and I lose my voice and I can't teach on our first day open?

These are all thoughts that interrupted me as I mediated this morning at 5:00am. I can't sleep. I can't fall asleep and I can't stay asleep. At times like this I remind myself to be grateful for those nights where I can go into that deep warm tunnel of slumber. I'll get back there soon I hope, but right now that place is very, very elusive.

My thoughts, the plague of perfection, are the reason Yoga is so important to me. For me, Yoga is like a squeegee that wipes away all of the writing on a wipe board at the end (or the beginning) of the day. Mental floss, many people call it.

What I miss when my brain, my life, become so encumbered with these thoughts, is the wholeness of life. Like yesterday morning when I was hanging the mirrors at the studio and my friend Kate called to ask if I thought a Halloween game of Capture the Flag in a cemetery was weird. I was too crazed to answer the call, but when I listened to her message later, I thought how fun it would have been to talk about that idea with her.

Or last night at 7:00pm when I was scrubbing the men's dressing room floors and Nancy called to remind me to look at the blood moon. I raced through my cleaning to go outside. I drove like a maniac home to get to a place where I could see it. By the time I finally got to enjoy the majesty of the moon we only see once every 18 years, I was agitated and exhausted. Seeing the moon was like one more thing to check off my list.

So what would happen if I didn't get any of that stuff done? I would disappoint people. I would disappoint myself. I would feel angry at the contractor who I adore for failing me. I would fear the anger from my students for not having my shit together. But the world would go on. No one would miss the brownies or the cheese.

It goes back to the lesson I try to teach daily in Yoga. "Do your best." If I shake things up and talk to myself like I would talk to my 10-year old daughter, I would be so much more compassionate, loving, forgiving.  "Lucia," I would say, "did you try your best?" I would reach out my arms and pull her towards me and sit her long legs sideways across mine and let her put her head on my shoulder. "Yes," she'd say. And we'd sit like that for a while, letting that idea sink in.

Yom Kippur

Today is Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. I am what you might call Jewish-ish. My mother is not Jewish so that makes me unofficial to lots of folks. But my dad was Jewish and my stepmother and stepfather are both Jewish. I've related culturally to Judaism for the bulk of my life. I celebrate sporadically most holidays, except for Yom Kippur.

I always fast on this day, no matter what else going on. My partner Nancy jokingly says I fast because I have remnants of an adolescent eating disorder. But it's not that. It's so much more. In my life challenge to get conscious, to be present, to live in the moment, there is a great tangibility to those struggles when I fast.

If I were a truly observant Jew, I would not be working today. I would not be writing or going to Yoga in an hour. The one thing I do is fast. During many many moments of the day, I feel myself hungry and then I am reminded that today I will not eat until sundown. This prompts me to think about what I have done in the year behind me that I wish I had done differently or better. Ways I could have acted kinder or more generously. Times when I could have listened more whole-heartedly to my partner or my child or my friends or my employees.

I do not self- flagellate on this day. I reflect. I notice those hungry moments and take in the thoughts that accompany them.  I make commitments for the future. I will not respond to texts during dinner. I will wait a few more minutes before answering that heated email. I will always say "I love you" when I can.

Tonight we will have a Break Fast, when we celebrate at sundown by eating together. This is another beautiful moment for me on this day. Most days I eat on the run or sporadically, unconsciously. Yesterday, after 8 hours of work, before another 3, I grabbed a bar from my glove box and plowed on. Tonight when I eat, it will be different. The anticipation of the first bite, the sensation of swallowing, the joy in eating together with people I love, are all moments that I often miss, being present, conscious, awake.

Life will continue on as normal tomorrow, hopefully with some residual memory of where I am today. These hours of fasting will change me a little bit. I will be in the world a little more alert, engaged.

We're Molting

I've been regularly posting photos of The SweatBox remodel on Facebook to keep people in the know about where we are in the process. Today one of our regular students Carlo commented on a photo I posted with "You're molting." 

This process of recreating one of the most important spaces in my world has been fun, creative, and exciting. It's also been GRUELING. I feel like there's a pinball machine living in my head and there is unlimited play. I find closure on one idea (floor color will be Merlot), another one comes, bounces around for a while, and is then replaced and replaced and replaced. It shouldn't surprise me. I've done more remodels that most normal people-- big ones, small ones, business ones, home ones. They're all taxing, but in the end, incredibly rewarding.
The comment Carlo made, "You're molting" gave me a new lens in which to see this renovation process. To "MOLT", according to Wikipedia:

"In biology, molting , also known as sloughing, shedding, or in many invertebrates, ecdysis, is the manner in which an animal routinely casts off a part of its body (often, but not always, an outer layer or covering), either at specific times of the year, or at specific points in its life cycle.



Yes! We are shedding our old skin, even different body parts and making room for the new-- new energy, new floors, new paint. But what also speaks to me in this Wikipedia definition is the idea of a life cycle. The SweatBox is 14 years old. Full on puberty. This makes sense. We're finding our voice, forging our path, creating our independence. 

As we do when we move from middle school to high school, we are casting off the stagnancy of our awkward junior high years and deciding who we want to be now.  I remember the time in my own life. No more quilted Japanese jackets courtesy of my grandfather's travels to Asia. No more Danish sweaters (from my mom's childhood trunk). I would choose my own 1980s style- berets and double belts, lots of ear piercings. Thank God I've moved on from that style!

It's exciting, this molting. I imagine how much energy goes into a Hermit crab sloughing it's shell and then having to rebuild a new exoskeleton. That's what's happening now at The SweatBox. We've molted- shed the old, and are steadily creating our new home.