I exercise. I try to devote time each week to the Trinity: strength, cardio, stretching. Each part of this threesome satisfies me. I love them all. I give and they give back to me, like my children, each in a unique way.
My French man and I leave the house, clandestine, once a week for our personal R & R. We call it yoga. We don't do high-brow yoga, hot yoga, or even cult yoga. Just a little together time where we don't talk, but there we are, side by side.
I love this hour-long warm-up. I stretch and my body sighs. I look longingly at my toes and find that within fifteen minutes, I can tickle them with my fingers. My back elongates and my shoulders drop. Ahhhhh.... Our instructor speaks softly, filling our quiet time with simple instructions and little philosophical something-somethings to direct our bodies, our minds, our hearts--tiny suggestions that follow us out of the room and throughout the week.
This week, she crouched and subtlely suggested: "Flexibility requires a strong base."Flexibility integrates range of motion with balance at its core. (Falling off your mat, you know, is never the goal...) So I listened, because, even at 44, I can't help but be studious, and spent the next hour--the next week-- contemplating the idea of flexibility: Downward-facing dog. Camel. Dolphin. Warrior! I cemented my base. I flexed and stretched. Flexibility: the extent to which a person can cope with changes. I performed and practiced mental yoga simultaneously: what is Psychological Flexibility, and do I own it?
I carry my screeching four-year-old across the parking lot and find a lesson in patience. I let that car swerve in front of me and keep belting out Neil Diamond. I see risk and potential catastrophe careening toward my family, my loves, and I cradle them with dancing, kisses and soft voices.
This flexibility can only happen if, according to Maslow, I have safely climbed that mountain of needs. This is my most important job--a consistent reach for the summit of Me. This, according to so many philosophies and religions, is Everyone's Work. Buddha did it. Gandhi sure tried. We are all on this journey, and the most beautiful aspect of this reach for our personal summit is that we are travelling together!
I may be on my slow way to enlightenmnent, trudging along, but it's not a race. It's a group effort. These people surrounding me, day after day, form my base. My relationships must be strong, supportive, constant. Otherwise, I may stumble off my mat. These people help me deal. No matter what. My base gives me the courage and confidence to smile at adversity, shrug off that black cloud, ignore the cold pricklies, walk with confidence into any room, even a mental one.
And vice-versa. This makes me responsible not only for my children and the beginning of their trek but my husband's as well. And my friends'. And people that cross my path. How I respond, my perceptions of people, of the world, begins and finally ends with Us.
My yoga instructor reminds us that our hour of stretching is considered preparation for the final pose: corpse pose. I lie on my mat in a darkened room and relax only because I've spent the last 55 minutes getting my body to this place. It is, in Yoga World, the journey that matters as much as the destination. It is our curiosity, our strength of character, our optimism that allows us to stretch backward and reach, find, grasp that which we deem--not impossible! We are doing it!--but miraculous.
I pondered this: Am I a reed in the wind? Do I bend and stretch, following the flow of my life, even whistling during life's most trying moments? Or do I break? Do I respect and admire each aspect of life as an opportunity? Or do I label them according to the damage I foresee? Do I scream with delight during this metaphysical roller coaster ride, or hurl and cry?
I've got an army of positive on my side. Family. Friends. An ardent outlook to give any enemy pause. The optimism and good nature necessary to pass that obstacle and keep looking up. Namaste!
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