Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.
For the winter and spring months, especially while my regular balance training was somewhat inhibited by the weather, I tried a new cross-training sport: yoga, a discipline centered around awareness and balance—perfect. After four months, I’m still easing into it, learning terms and poses, and becoming comfortable with the mentality, but it’s been good for me. I’m sad that the last practice was this week, but hopefully Hulu’s multiple free yoga channels will get me through the summer.
Something my instructor Emily focuses on that resonated with me is balancing the opposites of strength and softness, ease and intensity. My body is incredibly reluctant to go into some of the more challenging poses…and some days “challenging” means just about anything besides mountain pose (standing upright on two feet) or corpse pose (lying flat on my back). I started out with the assumption that advanced yogis just slid into the poses easily and when I couldn’t, I just needed to keep pushing myself down into the pose until it became easy and elastic.
At first when my instructor told us to find areas to relax in the midst of the poses, I was incredulous. Nevertheless I followed directions, and was surprised how, even with my body twisted into somewhat uncomfortable pretzel shapes, I could still carve out spaces for ease: a softening behind my heart, around my eyes, or along my throat.
I was also amazed how often Emily instructed us to engage muscles—and the exact opposite of the muscles I was using to force myself into the shape of the pose. I learned that this engagement of opposing muscles creates a sense of support so the body won’t fight the pose. Strength is actually a key component in softening.
When it comes to my personal preferences for ease versus intensity and strength versus softness, I learned within my first hour of yoga that I am far more comfortable with strength and intensity than with ease. That first day of class I honestly felt somewhat cheated when I realized that for the last 5 or more minutes of class we were going to lay down on our mats and close our eyes (like it was pre-school nap time!). I’d dedicated 40% of my sacred hour-long lunch breaks to a fitness class: nap time is not a workout. Worse than that, lying there trying to relax and quiet my thoughts left me not just restless but unsettled.
Since I was certain that the relaxation of shavasana meditation shouldn’t be emotionally threatening, I tried to figure out what was going on. As best as I can articulate it, the meditation brought to the surface a nagging fear that allowing myself to unwind would devolve into an emotional unraveling. I’ve been holding on to stress believing that holding everything in is holding me together. In much the same way I initially tried to force myself into the poses, I was attempting to force myself into relaxation—while holding onto tension in ways that prevented me from achieving anything more than a superficial relaxation.
Even after four months of yoga, I’ll admit I haven’t yet learned to relax enough to risk that unraveling, but I recognize my resistance to it. In class Emily often instructed us, when we felt physical discomfort or resistance, to “honor that resistance” or to “sit with it” for a few moments before moving more deeply into a pose. I’ve had to do that with my resistance to relaxation. I notice it and acknowledge that there must be reasons for it I don’t really understand, but I can let it be—and simply accepting where I’m at in my life. Aknowledging the resistance seems to loosen its hold on me.
Shavasana is now a welcomed end to a yoga practice. I’ve learned to appreciate the rewards of quieting the incessant internal dialogue that dominates my mental processes and the simple restful quiet of corpse pose—and I’ve only fallen asleep once so far. I’m also learning to use my strength to create a sense of stability as I patiently work with my body rather than forcing it.
These yoga lessons have already translated into improved balance training. Even though my thoughts are quietest on a rope, even there my internal dialogues still intrude. I’m more aware of the chatter now and then refocus on the purity and simplicity of me and my rope. And even in the midst of the strict and controlled posture of rope balancing, I have also found spaces for relaxation—my eyes, my throat, and especially my shoulders and upper arms so they flow through the constant counterbalancing.
The incredible thing about balance is that it can take two things that should clash—after all the root of "opposite" is the verb “to oppose” which means “to compete”—and lets them work together. Strength and softness, ease and intensity. Allowing opposites to work together in our lives is transformative, creating peace where there was contention. And so ending with “namaste” seems incredibly appropriate.
Namaste.
Something my instructor Emily focuses on that resonated with me is balancing the opposites of strength and softness, ease and intensity. My body is incredibly reluctant to go into some of the more challenging poses…and some days “challenging” means just about anything besides mountain pose (standing upright on two feet) or corpse pose (lying flat on my back). I started out with the assumption that advanced yogis just slid into the poses easily and when I couldn’t, I just needed to keep pushing myself down into the pose until it became easy and elastic.
At first when my instructor told us to find areas to relax in the midst of the poses, I was incredulous. Nevertheless I followed directions, and was surprised how, even with my body twisted into somewhat uncomfortable pretzel shapes, I could still carve out spaces for ease: a softening behind my heart, around my eyes, or along my throat.
I was also amazed how often Emily instructed us to engage muscles—and the exact opposite of the muscles I was using to force myself into the shape of the pose. I learned that this engagement of opposing muscles creates a sense of support so the body won’t fight the pose. Strength is actually a key component in softening.
When it comes to my personal preferences for ease versus intensity and strength versus softness, I learned within my first hour of yoga that I am far more comfortable with strength and intensity than with ease. That first day of class I honestly felt somewhat cheated when I realized that for the last 5 or more minutes of class we were going to lay down on our mats and close our eyes (like it was pre-school nap time!). I’d dedicated 40% of my sacred hour-long lunch breaks to a fitness class: nap time is not a workout. Worse than that, lying there trying to relax and quiet my thoughts left me not just restless but unsettled.
Since I was certain that the relaxation of shavasana meditation shouldn’t be emotionally threatening, I tried to figure out what was going on. As best as I can articulate it, the meditation brought to the surface a nagging fear that allowing myself to unwind would devolve into an emotional unraveling. I’ve been holding on to stress believing that holding everything in is holding me together. In much the same way I initially tried to force myself into the poses, I was attempting to force myself into relaxation—while holding onto tension in ways that prevented me from achieving anything more than a superficial relaxation.
Even after four months of yoga, I’ll admit I haven’t yet learned to relax enough to risk that unraveling, but I recognize my resistance to it. In class Emily often instructed us, when we felt physical discomfort or resistance, to “honor that resistance” or to “sit with it” for a few moments before moving more deeply into a pose. I’ve had to do that with my resistance to relaxation. I notice it and acknowledge that there must be reasons for it I don’t really understand, but I can let it be—and simply accepting where I’m at in my life. Aknowledging the resistance seems to loosen its hold on me.
Shavasana is now a welcomed end to a yoga practice. I’ve learned to appreciate the rewards of quieting the incessant internal dialogue that dominates my mental processes and the simple restful quiet of corpse pose—and I’ve only fallen asleep once so far. I’m also learning to use my strength to create a sense of stability as I patiently work with my body rather than forcing it.
These yoga lessons have already translated into improved balance training. Even though my thoughts are quietest on a rope, even there my internal dialogues still intrude. I’m more aware of the chatter now and then refocus on the purity and simplicity of me and my rope. And even in the midst of the strict and controlled posture of rope balancing, I have also found spaces for relaxation—my eyes, my throat, and especially my shoulders and upper arms so they flow through the constant counterbalancing.
The incredible thing about balance is that it can take two things that should clash—after all the root of "opposite" is the verb “to oppose” which means “to compete”—and lets them work together. Strength and softness, ease and intensity. Allowing opposites to work together in our lives is transformative, creating peace where there was contention. And so ending with “namaste” seems incredibly appropriate.
Namaste.
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