Yoga: Balancing Strength and Softness

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Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.

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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.

Precious Moments, People Moments: Mamo

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Many of the brightest threads in my tapestry of memories are woven from the slender strands of human connection—simple yet precious moments of shared humanity: the sympathetic simplicity of a direct gaze and seeing my heart reflected in someone else's eyes, the friendliness of a genuine smile that reaches across to tug my lip into smiling in return, the synergy of an inside joke that becomes increasingly hilarious just because we're both laughing, the reassuring joy of recognizing in a stranger a kindred spirit.
~Me

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On or near my line or rope is where I do my best people-watching: I stand with confidence where I’m balancing, which leaves me free to appreciate the people who join me, if only for a while. These often become treasured “human” experiences, fleeting yet precious feelings of connectedness that are the bright spots in my memories. I’ll be sharing more of these favorite memories through the next few months under the title “Precious moments, people moments.”

For today I’d like to share one of the most recent experiences:

On an unseasonably warm spring weekend afternoon a few weeks ago, at a family picnic in a local park, I set up my slackline for my young cousins. As I helped one of my cousins across the line, a large van pulled into the parking lot near us. An impressive number of people piled out of the vehicle, followed by vast amounts of picnic equipment.  The youngest in the group broke away—making a beeline for the slackline just a few feet from where they had parked.

The slender Asian boy, about 4 or 5 years old, wearing sandals, shorts and a t-shirt, watched me help my cousin—a girl about his own age—across the line I’d set up about waist high. His eyes were shining as he gazed intently and silently. I asked if he wanted to try. Two quick nods were the answer.

When my cousin made it to the anchor tree and slapped her hand to bark, victoriously indicating a completed lap, I boosted her down and approached the boy.

“What’s your name?”

“Mamo,” was the reply. He might be a quiet little boy, but he wasn’t shy—he had the subtlest of smiles lurking in his dark brown eyes and around his mouth as he looked straight back at me.

I helped him up onto the slackline and then got a firm grip on his arms. As he walked, the line shook (like it does for all beginners). That shaking can be unnerving—but with kids it’s easy to fix that: “Isn’t it funny how it shakes and wobbles like that? It’s really shaky, huh?” A giggle rewarded my efforts.

“Shaky. It’s sh-sh-shaky. Shaky-shaky, shaky-shaky.” He continued his giggling chant, “shaky-shaky,” in time with the convulsions of his feet as he progressed down the line.

Unexpectedly, his feet slipped off with a twang, and I lunged to get a better grip on him and hoist him back up. When his feet slipped off again, I glanced down and realized that his little boy sandals were strapped on the wrong feet. The curves of the shoes were pointing precariously outward—making it difficult for him to keep the line under his feet.

It was utterly adorable: his grubby little toes curling over the ends of his sandals trying to keep the soles under his feet as he walked undaunted and pigeon-toed down the line, giggling softly and chanting, “shaky-shaky, shaky-shaky.”

His family retrieved him a bit apologetically once they’d unloaded the van. I handed him over to his sister to be boosted down, and he scampered happily away.

I only knew Mamo for a minute or two, but he touched my heart as so many strangers do.

Lent for a Sugar Addict

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Lent - A word which means springtime, a time of new growth, a time for getting in shape spiritually.
~ http://www.catholicbible101.com/lentenfasting.htm

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Over the last few days, I’ve been reflecting on my experiences during Lent. This year, as part of my efforts to have a healthier and more balanced diet, I decided that during Lent I would work on consuming less sugar. Taming my overactive sweet-tooth and tendency to stress eat, and in the process dropping a few pounds of my winter insulation, seemed like a positive way to appreciate the approaching Easter season and also to facilitate more rigorous training now that the weather is nice.

The specifics of my Lenten goal were, I’ll admit, a bit convoluted: I committed to giving up buying sweets for myself in bulk, except for something for Sundays. That meant that treats provided at work for holidays or birthdays were fine, and if I purchased a small treat mid-week it wouldn’t be the end of the world, though I tried pretty hard not to do that as well.

I chose those specific, if complex, parameters with good reason: Quitting sweets completely has been unsuccessful in the past. The all or nothing thinking somehow turns one slip up into a downhill slide. The most serious excesses in my sugar consumption don’t come from parties and social events or some chocolate here and there, but buying junk for myself…in large quantities. My inner cheapskate wants value for my money, and so I’m actually more likely to buy a bag of mini candy bars than a single candy bar. I tell myself that just one or two minis is better than a full size, and that the package should last weeks or more.  Instead it’s usually consumed more than one or two at a time and in far less time than is healthy.

A part of me still wonders if I should have made my goal more ambitious and absolute.  On the other hand, I committed to a goal that was quite a big step in the right direction but was manageable enough that I stuck with it. And I did stick with it—and that is something to be proud of.

I experienced real and tangible progress and benefits. There were days that were hard and a few times I went beyond just bending the admittedly already incredible flexible rules of my goal.  When that happened I managed to be positive and forgiving, recommit and refocus on my goal. Because I was consuming less sugar, I was more sensitive to it—which meant that I didn’t feel good when I overindulged, and that right there is worth it's weight in gold.

Some other things that I did in pursuit of a more balanced diet were (1) meeting with a nutrition consultant—an awesome free perk provided by my employer, (2) starting work with a personal trainer. Focusing on eating more produce and lean protein plus adding more aerobic exercise to my lifestyle definitely helped—in shedding a little weight and also curbing cravings to make my Lent goal more manageable.

The moment when I felt like my goal had been incredibly successful was this Friday, the day after Lent had ended: I didn’t feel the need to rush out and enjoy a large sugary indulgence, instead I decided to keep going another day. That was a very Good Friday.  Mostly, it was very good for my psyche to commit to a challenge and follow through. Feeling healthier, more alert, and less sugared helped me appreciate Easter today. I’m also feeling very excited for the balance fun I’ll be having this spring and summer, especially as I continue to pursue a more balanced diet and exercise regime.

Happy Easter everyone!

Swinging to a stop

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Getting stopped is harder than getting started.

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Apparently what applies to bad habits applies to swinging on a slackrope: stopping is more difficult than starting. Coming to a controlled stop requires far more skill, discipline and diligence than swinging till I swing right off.

Because of the unusually warm and dry winter we're having here out in the western United States, I've been able to practice on my slackrope outside off and on through the winter.    Standing lateral swing has been a focus of my training for nearly six or seven months now. The fact that I'm just barely learning how to come back to rest is indicative of how difficult this particular skill is for me. In the last week I had a major minor breakthrough--I actually managed to stop swinging after I'd gotten going.

I can't do it consistently yet; far too often I fall off far too quickly to even contemplate stopping, but a handful of times I've shakily managed to bring the rope back nearly to resting, and twice I've managed to get it completely still, then set it swinging again. I still have plenty of practice ahead of me to be able to start, increase, maintain, and wind down a swing consistently, but I'm taking a minute to savor this mini-momentous first.

When Faith is on the Line

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God’s grace is the balancing pole that keeps me from falling into self-obsession and self-deception. Whatever I have achieved—and will ever achieve—is the result of my relationship with Him.
~Nik Wallenda

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The famous wirewalker Blondin once offered to carry (or wheel in a wheelbarrow) a spectator across the Niagara gorge on his high wire. Though the crowd may have cheered the initial suggestion, when it came time to volunteer there were no takers.¹ To believe he was amazing enough to not get himself killed was one thing, to believe he could carry an untrained spectator yet another, but to personally commit one’s life into his hands would require a far deeper degree of faith in his abilities.²

Real and complete faith is a powerful thing. Faith is having total trust and confidence;³ in religion it is a strong belief in the doctrines even when they cannot be seen or proven.⁴   Faith goes beyond intellectual acknowledgments and passive belief; faith has at its root the same Latin word as “fidelity.”⁵ And so faith—complete confidence in the object of that faith—also leads to “loyalty” and “allegiance.”³

As a Christian, my faith is centered in Jesus Christ as the Son of God, the Messiah, and my personal Savior. It is based in believing that grace comes though his great and eternal sacrifice, transforms my life, wipes away my sins, and opens the gates of heaven. True commitment to Christ demands of us “repentance, obedience, and dedicated service."⁶   The wonderful thing though about allegiance with Christ is that He shares the burden;⁷  He is willing to walk beside and even in front of us leading the way.

As a Christian I aspire and strive to have my faith in God and Christ be the foundational aspect of my life, and to permeate every aspect of my life—even wire walking. Not surprisingly, I find inspiration for my faith as a Christian in my hobby, especially on the topic of faith.

The Wallendas are heroes of mine. The family members, besides being notable as one of the more famous and skilled high wire families around, are also distinguished by how they put their faith central in their professional as well as their personal lives. They seem to live, breathe, and even walk by faith. That commitment to and openness about their beliefs is a major reason I admire them so much.

Like Blondin, both Nik and Tino Wallenda have given their audiences opportunities to test their faith, and also learn faith—albeit in less extreme circumstances.

Tino Wallenda, as part of a prison ministry, would let the prisoners try balancing on a low mounted pipe. They inevitably fell off fairly quickly. Then Tino stood in front of them and let them hold on to him and, together, they were able to cross the full length.

Tino then turned this simple activity into a powerful object lesson: “What made the difference? Walking with a master—someone who knows how and is willing to use himself to stabilize you and keep you safe. The point is that it’s difficult to walk alone. However, when we trust in the Master of life to guide our steps, He keeps us safe and balanced. He makes it possible to reach the other side—heaven.”⁸

Trusting the master is easier when the line to cross is only two feet up. Just ask reporter Kate Bolduan from CNN, who, after trying out a low practice wire, actually had the experience of standing on a 30 foot high wire without a net or safety harness while holding on to Nik Wallenda.

The lift pulled back a few feet, and the pair—master wirewalker and novice reporter—took one step together. Bolduan was glad to go only that one step; she said she was grateful enough to kiss the ground when she was returned to terra firma.⁹  


Source: CNN.com: "Hire-wire Walker Preps for Grand Canyon"

If Nik Wallenda offered to take me up and walk me across a high wire, I think I would jump at the chance. Admittedly I would still probably be terrified, but I have incredible faith in his abilities. What though of my willingness to respond to the call of the Master of All, walk in His footsteps, and rely on Him?

As I wrote this post I contemplated that question, contemplated if I have the same level of unwavering confidence in my Savior. When He asks me to actively exercise my faith, when demonstrating allegiance is required, am I willing to follow where He leads? When my faith is put on the line—when obedience to a teaching I don’t fully understand is needed, or service to a person I haven’t fully learned to love, or time is requested when life seems too busy, or when I struggle to truly forgive myself for failings even though He has already paid the price—how do I respond?

This self-assessment revealed to me that my faith is not all I would like it to be. Spiritual experiences over the years have shown me how walking with the Master steadies my steps and enables me to achieve what seemed impossible. But even though Christ has demonstrated his faithfulness innumerable times, there are still some lines I hope He does not ask me to cross, some tests of faith I feel inadequate to face.

The good news is that "God is faithful"¹⁰—He has full faith in us. He created us, He is completely confident in what we are capable of, in what we can become—if we let Him lead the way. Surely then with the love, grace, mercy, and faithfulness of the Master of All to support me, I can learn, in time, to more fully trust Him and His Son, to walk the line of faith.

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¹ “Blondin - Witness Accounts.” Blondin Memorial Trust. http://www.blondinmemorialtrust.com/witness.html
² Inspire21. "A lesson in faith - the Charles Blondin story." http://www.inspire21.com/stories/faithstories/CharlesBlondin.
   Faith Baptist Church. "Weekly Devotional: What Does It Mean To Have Faith?" http://www.fbcchurch.org/DevotionalDetails.aspx?id=42
³ “faith.” Merriam-Webster.com. http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/faith
⁴ Hebrews 11:1
⁵ "fidelity." Merriam-Webster.com. http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/fidelity
⁶ Preach My Gospel. Chapter 6: How Do I Develop Christlike Attributes?
⁷ Matthew 11:30
⁸ Tino Wallenda. 2005.  Walking the Straight And Narrow: Lessons in Faith from the High Wire.. pg
⁹ CNN. 2013. Kate Learns to Walk on the High Wire. http://newday.blogs.cnn.com/2013/06/21/kate-learns-to-walk-on-high-wire/
¹⁰ 1 Cor 1:9; 10:13

Unexpected Spillovers

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Every girl aught to walk a tightrope. It is a fine, healthy exercise. It develops a rare set of muscles and self-confidence and teaches one how to walk properly on the street.
~Bird Millman

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While I haven’t actually seen a noticeable improvement in my skill for walking properly on streets specifically (sorry Bird Millman), my balance training has had many other positive effects. Not too surprisingly, I can balance on one foot while I tie my other shoe better than I could before. Other effects have been…unexpected, seemingly random, and even humorously odd. Since I thoroughly appreciate these less obvious benefits I’ve kept a running list for my own amusement. Today I’d like to share some notable items—the unexpected “spillovers”—that have made the list:

1. Bird Milliman, who I quoted above, was right: it really does develop a good set of muscles. For me all the swaying (and flailing) from side to side improved my waistline, and I had no idea how ripped my lower back muscles could be until I started rope walking. I got a few odd looks when I (proudly) invited friends—but only close friends and family members—to poke those rock solid low back muscles.
    
2. My skills as a photographer have improved—from my understanding of negative space, to skillful use of the time-delay features when no photographer is available.
    
3. I’ve learned to breathe. I know I don’t breathe well when I’m stressed. Rubbing shoulders with highliners, my brain finally embraced deep breathing. I could hear the rhythmic huffing of highliners from yards away. Now I catch myself doing a quiet version of that breathing when I have something stressful to do, even when it’s only mental work.
    
4. I’ve made quite a few friends. For a formerly shy and still relatively introverted person, one who generally trains solo no less, that came as a pleasant surprise. Some friends I connect with because they are fellow enthusiasts, with others…well, perhaps the joy and fulfillment I find in balancing helps me connect. I also have a catchy, unique conversation starter.
    

5. All that foot flexing, balancing, and landing has toned up my toes, strengthened my arches, and padded my soles. Standing or walking barefoot is more comfortable now. …and I have a confession: I actually think my feet are more attractive. Weird, but true.
    
6. I became a blogger. That certainly wasn’t something I expected to do when I took up slacklining to help preserve my sanity during graduate school still dreaming of being published in an academic journal. I’m still writing.
    
7. As a fairly awkward teen who dreaded PE, I never would have considered myself athletic. Fast forward to the present and I am chomping at the bit to launch myself into additional circus disciplines and cross-training sports: cyr wheel, walking globe, aerial silks, yoga, ballet, etc.
    
8. I’m a better driver. Balancing has taught me to recognize tension and loss of focus and to tap into a feeling of relaxed, concentrated control. When confronted with serious freeway traffic, I recognize when I’m tensing up, I lean back in my seat, relax my grip on the wheel and keep my eyes alert.
    
9. My protractor resurfaced from the far back of my desk for the first time since high school geometry so I could draw some basic physics diagrams as part of my personal research into the physics and biomechanics of tightwire balancing.
    

10. I’ve so warped the minds of my friends by my constant babbling about balance stuff that they recognize the names of famous tightrope walkers, know and explain the difference between slacklines and tightropes, and hardly blink when I use the words funambulist and equilibrist in casual conversation. I’m very proud of my influence. The unexpected bonus is that those friends assist my research now, for instance by passing on quotes and facts from places I wouldn’t have even known to look and forwarding videos. I think I will call them my research minions. 

There are a dozen more I could mention, but that is a decent sample. While this list is an eclectic and quirky collection, I am genuinely grateful for how rope walking has spilled over into other areas of my life.

As always there is more beyond the humorous to be learned from my list. Our passions can have an incredible impact in our lives in both expected and unexpected ways, permeating and enriching them on so many levels. That is certainly true for me with balancing.

Posture and Passions

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On the wire, the best walkers have an invisible line that extends the spine up into the sky and down into the earth. Their posture is beyond straight, almost a miracle.” ~Gwenda Bond, from Girl on a Wire 

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Writing about a favorite storybook two months ago brought my inner bibliophile—or perhaps more accurately inner bibliovore—to the surface in full strength, and I found myself checking the offerings on Amazon. Not too long ago, in my post A Hobby Hijacked, I griped about how most books with tightwire or highwire in the title aren’t about funambulism at all. Perhaps the little elves running the Amazon search machine read my blog and thoughtfully refined the search results—because much to my surprise and delight, I hit upon not one but four books I had never seen before. Then as another bonus, Amazon emailed me when a newly released novel—Girl on a Wire—was free for a limited time on Kindle. Good job, little elves.

I’m still working my way slowly through the non-fiction acquisitions. The novel though I devoured in two days—I absolutely loved Girl on a Wire. How could I not when the main character’s hero is Bird Millman? I loved the book, but since I posted so recently about a book and I don’t want to get in too deep of a literary rut, I’ll compromise: I highly recommend the Girl on a Wire, it’s worth purchasing or borrowing in my opinion. For this post however I’ll focus on the quote and concept from the book I began this post with:

“On the wire, the best walkers have an invisible line that extends the spine up into the sky and down into the earth. Their posture is beyond straight, almost a miracle.” 

I began discovering that line myself when I first started slacklining. My local climbing gym had a slackline off in one corner, and I kept going back to it even though I wasn’t very good—at all. One of my very first “aha” moments came when I started envisioning my weight pressing straight down into the soles of my feet and onto the line. I was still atrocious, but for nanoseconds at least I could feel my body balancing instead of flailing.

It wasn’t until quite a bit later, when I stumbled across the Tight Wire and Slack Rope Training Manual produced by the European Federation of Professional Circus Schools, that I learned the appropriate straight back posture. There I was taught to tighten my core and reduce the curve of my lower back. I learned to match my posture to the line of my weigh that I had imagined earlier.

Source: Mackay Entertainment:
January Performer Spotlight - Jade Kindar Martin - Sky Walker

Duncan Wall, in his book An Ordinary Acrobat, (though technically describing handstand position specifically) describes the carefully straight posture of an acrobat and the reason for it:

“It looks like a tower of muscles, or as another instructor of mine said, ‘a human bar.’… By bolting your body over a single point, you eliminate all the ‘searching’ for balance, all the tips and sways.”

Finding and maintaining that bar in myself is a large part of my focus in training. In workouts I focus on strengthening my core in every direction. In balancing I try to use my arms and my legs rather than breaking form by bending and twisting at the waist. I actually felt pleased rather than dismayed when a chiropractor told me that my back was a little too straight.

For all my training and awareness of the importance of posture, that straight line I envisioned didn’t extend a millimeter beyond myself. It started at the tip of my head and ended where my feet pressed into the line. Perhaps it sounds silly, but there was something marvelously, mind-blowingly enlightening reading Girl on Wire and projecting that line far beyond my own physical limits.

With the magnificent image provided in the book, I began thinking about the reasons behind an acrobat’s posture. When I find that straight line posture, that pillar of strength, gravity’s relentless tug only pulls me securely into the safety of my narrow wire. Security and stability come from aligning myself with the unseen force of earth’s gravity.

It’s a strong force, that thread of gravity that reaches up from the core of the earth to grasp and pull us down. Maybe you wish you could fly away, break the chain. That is understandable, but there is security in being rooted, and it provides a foundation that enables greater things. We climb mountains by planting each foot firmly onto the earth; men cross chasms by harnessing gravity to keep them firmly on their slender strands of wire.

When I thought about that invisible line and what it represents for me in my life, what came to mind was a scene from the movie Rise of the Guardians where North talks to Jack about finding his “center.” For North it was wonder, for Jack it was fun. What things seemed to be at the core of who you are? What tugs at your heart? For me, as you all know, it’s balance. Remember, the highwire artist’s straight posture—that precise and almost miraculous alignment—keeps his center (of gravity) steady so that gravity pulls him securely down onto the wire allowing him to progress along his precarious and exacting path. When we align our lives with our centers, our passions, the forces of life will pull us to security and even enable us to reach our goals rather than toppling us over.

What we can create with our lives aligned with our our centers—the truest passions of our hearts—extends beyond our physical limitations. The lines of our lives point up into the vastness of amazing possibilities.