I love Manhattan.  It’s a fact of my life.  When it came time to leave the city (I got pregnant with our first child and it became cost & life-prohibitive), we looked in the Hudson River Valley first because I was so reluctant to give up my New York address.  It turned out that a New York address only made sense to me inside the boundaries of the Hudson & East Rivers.  So, south we went toward Philadelphia (home of my birth suburb).

Nearly 17 years of living in a city so vibrant with arts and culture, culinary excellence and human diversity, my resident bubble was big and all-encompassing; but it was still a bubble.  I was of the mind and heart that if it had roots in NYC, it was in the vicinity of being the best.  I’m still inclined toward that position, but now the bubble, with its pin-sized holes has deflated, opening up to include worlds I never before would have imagined or embraced.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever completely give up the inner dialogue that compares goods and services outside the City with those contained within, but the voice has gotten much softer.  My world—while chaotic with a family of five, a growing business and life’s general logistics—has slowed down enough for me to truly appreciate the greatness that exists in other places (and by other places I mean the suburbs and not more exotic locations like those that are found on other continents).

I asked myself, while feeling this piece, if what was actually happening was that I was lowering my standards to acclimate to life outside the City.  This thought makes me laugh; what a New York thought.  The answer is, No.

There are really great chefs & restaurants, yoga teachers & studios, creative minds, hair dressers, farmers’ markets, schools, shoe stores, entertainment and anything else that might nourish the body and soul; they’re just not necessarily within blocks of each other or walking distance from home.

If greatness and authenticity were limited to location then the best Italian food could only be gotten in Italy; Yoga, in its purest form, could only be practiced in India, and the only chance we’d have as outsiders to enjoy these flavors and practices would be to be born into them.

So, I guess the next question is, what is authentic?  Is my devotional practice of Yoga any less authentic because I was not raised in the tradition?  I honor this practice and have no dreams of reinventing (or patenting;-) it.  I am, however, bound to my knowledge by my teachers, the books I read by teachers closer to the source, and my heart.  This practice can be extremely personal, yet it is of the world.

I find myself drawn to a wide variety of teachers, some obvious and others most unlikely, each one offering something of his or herself that contributes to the ongoing evolution of my authentic self.  I keep my eyes open to the world of possibility which includes inviting lessons and experiences by the guru in the turban, as well as, the well-dressed suit, five year old preschooler or checkout person at the grocery store.

I don’t have to wear a tie-dye or be from San Francisco to touch the essence of the Dead Head inside; nor do I have to speak in dulcet tones in order to lull people into my yogic world.  I don’t have to live in NYC to touch the human experience deeply (or know good Chinese food from bad); nor do I need to discount the City for its abundant gifts.  I just have to show up.

Sometimes I feel like I have dual citizenship with New York City and the rest of the country.  What used to be limiting is now liberating!  I am awake to my life and love how it feels, looks and tastes whether I’m in New York, Philly, an unnamed suburb or traveling to global destinations.

That said, there is still no bagel in the world as good as an H & H!  (They are NYC-based, but will deliver! 😉  www.hhbagels.com

It doesn’t happen immediately.  The pain does not reveal its gifts in the moment it consumes the body, prevents simple tasks and distracts the mind from its priorities.  The gift is wrapped tightly in a process of discovery.

It starts with denial and the pushing through of daily chores, popping the occasional Ibuprofen and believing the pain a temporary and annoying obstacle.  A few days later, prescriptions of rest come flying from loved ones concerned about the escalation of the pain.  And it does escalate.

Frustration follows rest as the lists get longer, the laundry piles up and the forward bends that used to come so readily all but shatter in the shadow of memory.

If you’re lucky enough for the pain to continue without lessening, sooner or later, acceptance settles in.  Acceptance does not mean giving in, rather it is the experience of letting go the expectation that the pain will disappear in a neatly tied-up time frame.  It also can inspire a mission.

I am on a mission.  And I am not my pain.

When I received this particular gift, I had several weeks left of my 200 hour yoga teacher training.  The worst part was that I wasn’t able to swim the in the deep end with the others in my class.  I was forced to wade by the steps, modify everything and slow down.  I guess that part was the ribbon I had to unravel to get to the goodies.

The herniated disc (which may or may not be the source of the pain*) and constant sciatic sensations force me to surround myself with props: blankets and bolsters and blocks, oh my!

Viewing my practice through a fresh lens inside a body requiring a new map to navigate it, began to reveal the subtleties of pain’s gift.  Where I had been convinced that I had tamed the ego beast, I now discovered that it had the ability to seep through the cracks of my yoga identity.  I know now, where there is pain, there is no room for ego.

My pre-pain self that could touch the center of the earth in a standing forward bend, now smiles as my flat back folds its few inches, barely increasing the angle of my rooted Tadasana.  I still long for the feeling of the deeper fold, but I am here now and am endeavoring to find the nourishing feeling of this new place.

Like the child who receives the toy she’s been begging for, and when she gets it, plays with it for a day or two and conveniently forgets all about it, I don’t want to stop appreciating these many gifts.  My fear is that the pain is continuing to keep these lessons learned and not forgotten.

Empathy is a big part of what is contained in this gift; it also informs a major part of my mission and that is to share these nuggets with others who have yet to unwrap their pain.  It will be part of my daily practice to meditate on these revelations so that I’m not destined to keep receiving this sacred gift.

As I write this, my left foot is falling asleep from the pinch in my nerve and the pin point of pain in my sacroiliac (SI) joint keeps me alert to the present moment.  Still, I look forward to taking the classes led by my peers from the training and deepening my practice and understanding of pain’s gift.

But where do I throw the wrapping paper?

* Recommended reading for anyone suffering from neck, shoulder or back pain:  “Healing Back Pain ~ The Mind Body Connection” by John Sarno, MD

I love a good story!  I see “Once Upon a Time” everywhere and love to watch plots, fictional and real life, unfold like a lotus flower.  Like a good story, asana practice has a beginning, middle and end with every unrolling of the mat, from the first OM to the last.

Mythology (specifically Arthur Lore) was a passion of mine for many years.  I couldn’t get enough of the tales of King Arthur and the many characters whose stories arose from this myth.  My yoga path criss-crossed this other love of mine for a while, but each seemed distinctly separate from the other.  I had no idea that one day I would revisit the mythological realm on the yoga mat.

During my teacher training at the Prancing Peacock, I  delved, not only into the prescribed syllabus, but into the literature of the practice; this included a wonderful book called, Myths of the Asanas:  The Stories at the Heart of the Yoga Tradition by, Alanna Kaivalya & Arjuna van der Kooij.  It was from this book that I was able to put a context to some of the stories and origins of the Asanas.

In honor of the Prancing Peacock, I offer this morsel of my inspiration:

Of Yogis, Gods, Sages, Animals & Earth were these asanas born; their stories give us the forms and we infuse them with breath and life.

Like the constellations in the sky, we often need to employ our imagination to make the connections between what we see and what we’re told is there; the same can be said of the names and shapes of the poses we play with on the mat.  The difference here is that every time we practice, we discover something new.  Practicing while guided by the mythological tales from which the asanas were born, shifts the practice from a simple meditation in motion to a timeless meditation in motion nourished by potent images and emotions.

Here’s an Amuse-Bouche (one bite appetizer) to whet your mythological palate:

Mayurasana:  Peacock Pose

Kartikeya is the six-headed son of the Pleiades (six heavenly sisters), originally born as six individual identical sons of the six sisters.  Parvati (Shiva’s consort), under whose wing & heart the boys were reared, squeezed them with her goddess-like strength and equal force of love, forging them into one powerful being.

Only a few months old, Kartikeya was already a formidable warrior.  His choice for transportation was the Peacock (also known as a fierce fighter).  The peacock, in contrast to its beauty and majesty, was able to kill and eat Cobras and transform the deadly venom into something of grace.

It was upon this glorious creature that Kartikeya led an army of gods and demigods into a conflict that was to restore their rightful place in the heavens.  The good of the gods prevailed in no small part due to the fearless and loyal peacock.

Yogic mythology honors the peacock, its sattvic nature & symbolic ferocity, fearlessness & loyalty.  Krishna even wears a peacock feather in his  hair.

Mayurasana, over time, aids in our digestion just as the peacock was able to digest the cobra’s poisonous venom.  Humans digest any number of toxic entities (in our food, air, water, thoughts, words, actions, etc.) that can be transformed into something of beauty.

This is an oversimplification of the myth, but touches on its essential quality and message.  The book merely touches the surface of the potential for discovery we have on the mat; it provides a delightfully fresh lens through which to view and experience asana practice.

Once upon a time…

The End.

For those who practice yoga solely for its physical benefits, I applaud you for finding your way to the mat.  It will certainly open your body to its possibilities and gradually extend the boundaries of your physical limitations.  Perhaps curiosity will one day move you deeper into the mystery, wisdom & gift that is yoga.  Or not.

Yoga is so much bigger and more inclusive than simply strengthening the core, increasing shoulder range of motion or allowing more flexibility in a back bend or forward fold.  The Strength, Range of Motion & Flexibility stretch far beyond the body to effect change in the world off the mat.  Practicing the poses not only prepares the body to open up and cope with the changes it inevitably undergoes, but helps grow the mind and spirit to follow suit.  So, when life presents a challenge, we are in shape to handle it.

There are some universal truths that bind us together, East & West, North & South, Religious & Secular (and any other seemingly dualistic pairing you can imagine); that is, the Human Condition.  In addition to the joy, celebration and abundance that is life, there is suffering, pain and loss.  While the experience in our emotional bodies may put celebration and suffering on opposite sides, this practice is a reminder that they are not separate.  We can approach a tight situation with same openness and suppleness that we greet the easier times.

Yoga & meditation are boot camp for living.

The key is practice.  So, when I’m whining about my sciatic pain that has me frustrated and hurting, I have a moment when gratitude squeezes through the walls my habits have built over the years.  A deep fresh breath brings me back and makes me smile.  I’m still hurting, but now I have a growing arsenal of tools I can use to minimize the times when perspective fails me.  And trust me, it does.

Like soldiers who do push-ups, obstacle courses and drills to make their physical bodies prime for unexpected dangers, yoga warriors sit with stillness and mindfulness, stretching their bodies, hearts and minds to make them prime for life’s unexpected challenges.  Both are oversimplifications of the process and the point, but each has a hint of its own truth.

There is a trap to these truths, however, and that is the expectation they create.  The extreme truth is enlightenment and most of us will barely touch the perimeter of the light it casts.  We may seek and practice and focus our intentions and along the way we will judge unnecessarily, complain, gossip, hurt and be hurt.  It is in that moment when we discover our digression that clarity pokes through and reminds us to wake up.

The truth lives in those living moments and not always in the telling of these ideals.

Instead of being disappointed in our teacher, friend or self for being human and perhaps falling off the path, be grateful for the wakeful moments and work toward having more of them than the others.

I write these words as part of the process and not an indication of having arrived anywhere.

I meet and honor you where you are and hope you will do the same for me.

There are some moments that wake you up to the shifting boundaries of a life that has become comfortable and often predictable. These moments seem to accelerate and arrive more frequently with small children.  

Watching three year olds play soccer, tumble on gymnastics mats, “ha-ya!” in karate class or dance around at the Kids’ Music Round is pure joy. They run, roll, chop and dance with utter abandon, without any notice of skill levels, points or end goal; it’s all about the mini moments that make up the journey. It is an existential party, watching as each moment bursts with meaning.

And then they turn six. Things begin to change. The soccer coach is more eager for the goal. Cartwheel form becomes more important. The “ha-yas!” require precision with movement. Music Round is now for the babies and practicing an instrument becomes a chore.

Even watching these activities has an added amount of stress. The stress for me is the struggle between encouraging my kids to keep the joy safe and abundant while nudging them to strive to achieve their best (whatever that may be). I want to be on the sidelines cheering them on without them feeling attached to any end result. I want them to know both the elation of a win and the quiet humble moment of a loss.

Last night I found myself at my five year old’s karate class, near tears of love, watching as she was finding her voice, overcoming fear and charging toward an unknown goal. Some of these kids have been in this class for much longer than she and their skill levels show it. From the sidelines, one can easily spot the kids who are growing up in a competitive atmosphere. Their faces show seriousness and focus, almost gloating smiles when they excel and crestfallen eyes when someone edges them out.

I feel sadness for a childhood that may have missed something of a total joy absent of the need to do better than everyone else. The other side is that these kids will likely be very “successful” in the things they pursue. I wonder, though, if the satisfaction of successful fruition of a goal is synonymous with happiness.

Part of my job as a parent, I believe, is to give my kids the tools to cultivate happiness in their lives whatever else may be going on. Of course I want them to experience the full range of emotions and experiences that are out there, but their foundations should be formed by and layered with happiness.

Like sports, music and any other activity in which we choose to participate, cultivating a positive world requires practice. Not to be misunderstood, cultivating a happy life in no way precludes the need to recognize, cope with and embrace the human condition. This world is filled with sadness and struggles and we should never be complicit in denying this fact.

Yoga is the way I choose to balance these seemingly opposing forces. Unlike the endorphin rush that used to chase me off the elliptical machine at the gym once upon a time and would dissipate into whatever my next activity was, Yoga lingers.

The benefits of pure cardiovascular activities are abundant, for sure, and may even include a meditative aspect for some. Its focus, though, is the body and in many sporting activities, competition is key. This fosters a unique energy that serves a purpose and that is to achieve something; win the game, lose the weight, do better than the other team, be better than you were yesterday. No pain no gain.

Yoga also has a goal and that is to move into a place of greater flexibility and strength, not only in one’s body but in one’s mind, heart and life. The unique energy this fosters is one of opening; open your heart, open the mind, open the body, open to each moment.  No pain no pain (or if there is pain, meet it where it is and recognize what it is there to inform).

Yoga distinguishes itself in the realm of Western style exercise as an Eastern practice which reveals a bigger picture of health and wellness, where the breath rather than competition is the key.

Therein lies the challenge I face with my children. I want them to be their best and work hard to continue growing and becoming whatever that standard of “best” is for them without harming their spirits. Similarly, I wish to keep delving deeper into my mat, challenging my body and mind to discover their limitations while joyfully dancing to that edge.

My wish for my children is that joy and competition join forces rather than vie for dominance.

Dear Yoga,

I love you!

I love the anticipation I feel as I roll out my mat and the quiet stillness of those first moments, eyes closed, as I move into the devotional, vibrational practice.  Om, Shanti!

I love that the more I come to my mat, the deeper I delve while moving forward toward a fuzzy destination.  The space from where I am to where I’m going stretches farther and wider with each new opening, eliminating the stress of arriving anywhere as I’m always somewhere in the middle of the journey.

I love the landmarks along the yoga path:  Asana, Meditation, Kirtan, Ayurveda, Chakras, Mudras, Nadis, Anatomy, Mythology, Philosophy, History and 8 beautiful limbs to explore.  This short list (that has so much crossover) is more than one lifetime’s worth of study.  Each of these subjects touches on a primal, basic, essential quality, which adds to the overwhelming feeling of love.

I love the people who embrace the spirit of this practice and who create a compassionate caring community.

I love snuggling up to my edge and finding that line of demarcation shifting every day.

I love facing a challenge cushioned by this practice.

I love witnessing the changes in myself, my family and friends and the world around me as a result of this practice on and off the mat.

I love the spirited conversations inspired by the unseen forces working behind the scenes.

I love the eternal messages of conscious living, heart opening, ahimsa (doing no harm), and Love with a capital “L.”

I love the feeling!

I appreciate you and want to share you with the world!

The light in me bows deeply to the light in you.

Namaste.

Love always…

It seems like every time I turn on the television, there’s another commercial exploiting the expansive nature of yoga.  I remember commenting on this a couple of years ago, that there seemed to be a disproportionate number of ads featuring yoga in some fashion.

In my quest to assemble a sample of these commercials, I ran across a humorous yoga blog called, YogaDork, that once had the same idea and listed many funny ones.  Click on YogaDork and check out their archives for more samples, as well as the general yoga funny there. (That’s my Yoga Blog Commercial for YogaDork ;-))

But for now, here’s an example of the Commercialization of Yoga:   Click the links and enjoy!

Apple Ads Series

Desktop Yoga Spoof Mac vs. PC

Yoga Yellow Pages Ad

Cottonelle Roll Poll Throwdown

Cottonelle Roll Over/Under PT.2

Nestle Yogurt Yogi (There are, I believe, four total Nestle Yogurt Yogi commercials.)

Yogi Baby

There are numerous others out there, but seven seemed a digestible number of commercials to air at one time. If you pay attention, you will discover that Yoga has infiltrated the Western sensibility down to its marketing departments and beyond.

While it’s fun to make light of the proliferation of the practice in this manner, it is more important to walk softly onto our mats and honor the practice with both seriousness and humor.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Namaste!

Since my days in grade school, I’ve gravitated toward the eclectic.  My friends have  always been a sample from various groups and cliques that in their purity would never appeal to me; it’s about what gems of beauty and truth emerge from individuals, parts of the whole.  “The whole” has value all its own, but I often find myself roaming around inside “the whole” searching for myself.  My reflection is often best found in smaller concentric & intersecting circles rather than the all-encompassing circumference.

I went to NYU for drama where the Stella Adler & Lee Strasberg Studios* followed a very specific structure for the craft; and then there was the Circle in the Square Studio* which drew from various traditions for a more malleable form.  Guess where I was placed.

As I began the journey toward my professional bliss, I tapped everything from cashiering, coat-checking, waitressing, demonstrating cookware, hawking products and film/video production to temping in industries ranging from media/broadcasting, market research, the music business, book publishing, pharmaceuticals and a variety of other forgettable positions.  (Resume on file;-)  And then there were the entrepreneurial years.  It was an enlightening ride for sure.

My yoga yellow brick road has been present for the last 12 years of this trip; like the diversity of my choices, the path has been alternately dominant and dormant at different times.  Since my children have reached a quasi independent point, I’ve eagerly plopped myself smack dab in the middle of the path, found my groove and am ambling right along, with consistency, loving every step.

I was talking with a fellow yogini (and good friend) about yoga, the different styles and the wide range of thoughts on the subject.  What sparked the idea for writing this post is that she mentioned a school of thought she’d recently heard that one should stick to one style of yoga.  What?  This was not her philosophy, just something that had come up in one of her conversations.  I found my left eyebrow rise (as it often does when I’m perplexed or surprised).  To me, it was like saying, pick one book to read or go to the buffet but you can only choose one item to fill your plate.

There’s certainly nothing wrong with finding a style you love (after dating the various styles for a while, of course;-) and sticking with it.  I actually find it admirable if someone is so charged by something that she chooses to devote her time, energy and heart to discovering, deepening or even mastering the practice.  I guess what pushed my buttons was the idea that this was what was deemed appropriate, or even necessary, for every practitioner on the yoga path.  Perhaps I misunderstood.  I don’t know.

What I do know is that I am turned on by all there is to learn on this path.  In fact, every time I’m exposed to a new facet, tradition or style, my heart opens to the truth of all there is to learn.  Truth be told, it can be a bit overwhelming but it also reminds me where I am on the path and keeps me humble and grateful.

The teacher training program at the Prancing Peacock, beyond its magical qualities, has opened doors and revealed doors yet to be opened.  The style practiced and taught there is Vinyasa Flow and flow it does.  Flow is the operative word of the experience, allowing for the myriad flavors offered at this buffet.

Punctuating my more vigorous practice with a Yin Yoga or Restorative class helps balance my energy; breathing breath of fire in a Kundalini class (something I hope to do soon and have tasted in small doses within other classes) will add to my complicated and eager palate; focusing on alignment in an Iyengar or Anusara class redirects my mind and breath; I’m not yet moved to the hot and humid Bikram practice, but expect to find myself walking through that door one day.  And I get to come home to an ever-changing, yet familiar Vinyasa Flow.  Life is full and good.

In my life off the mat, with small children and the challenge of creating a life from this vantage point, I am extremely grateful for this particular quality of honoring the eclectic with eagerness and curiosity.  Getting stuck in one clique or idea of what this life should look like would be very limiting, not to mention suffocating.  I appreciate the more single-minded focused individuals who master their practices (whatever they may be) and hope to cultivate that quality within my often scattered world.

The lesson for me is to fill my plate but not to the point of unbalance.  If morsels are falling off as I walk back to my table, there’s too much for that trip.  As the Native Americans live by not taking more than they need, so it is also true at life’s buffet.  The good news is that when your plate is clean, you can always go back for more!

Bon Appetite!

*(Note:  It is my understanding that neither the Strasberg Studio nor Circle in the Square are current studios at NYU’s undergraduate drama program.)

I got off the train feeling like I’d arrived home, but with no place to dump my bags.

It was one of those beautiful sunny days that slid deliberately but unassuming between two days of saturating rain.  I took full advantage of the sunshine and walked from Penn Station down to the Chelsea Market (15th Street & 9th Avenue) with the accelerated pace of a former New Yorker and the ease of a current Suburban dweller.

I walked into Friedman’s Lunch where I flew into the arms of my dear friend Shauna James Ahern (a/k/a The Gluten-Free Girl) & met her husband, Dan, and daughter, Lucy, for the first time.  Shauna & Dan were in town, from Vashon Island (near Seattle), touring with their new book, Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef and catching up with old friends.  Another cherished friend, Megan, joined us with her younger son, creating a magical moment in time.  Great friends, good food and lots of stories.

Shauna & Dan were off to do a radio show to talk about their book and Megan had to catch a train; so we all headed out into the familiar City that had been the backdrop of our lives for the years we all lived there.  The moments quickly morphed into one that found me walking aimlessly, yet with purpose, up and down the streets that guided me with a purely physical memory.

It all felt so natural, normal and strangely surreal to be back in the flow of this vibrant urban energy.  It didn’t even matter that I ended up nursing a Chai Latte at Starbucks (of all places),  reading, “Drums of Autumn.” I felt totally swept up into the wild current that, in part, defines NYC.

I watched people walk with haste, expressionless, while cars, bikes, sirens and general mayhem kept pace in the background of their personal stories.  (I remembered feeling once that riding in a NYC Taxi was like playing a live video game.)  It was thrilling to be an active bystander, to witness the prana all around while feeling it surge through me at the same time.

While I felt the familiarity of home, it was rarely like that for me while I lived there.  Wrapped up in my daily agendas of work, appointments, social gatherings, cultural experiences and just plain life maintenance, I wasn’t often alone with my thoughts enough to allow them to marinate in the pure energy of just BEING in this city.  I feel blessed to feel both like a resident and a visitor; able to shelve the negative aspects of the hustle and bustle and truly absorb the myriad gifts and blessings of Being.

I have always been reassured by the sense of intimate anonymity this city provides.  Hidden in plain site, I have the permission all at once to bounce, rock, sing, skip or laugh out loud for no apparent reason.  I find a great sense of peace and joy that the intimacy of a large city provides (but not to the exclusion of wide open spaces and selected times of solitude).

From Starbucks, I made my way to my friend Stacey’s new yoga studio, Yogamaya, where upon entering, I felt I had passed through a gateway to another land.  Hand carved wooden screens from India, wide open spaces, skylights and a flow designed for happiness and ease, I couldn’t help but smile.  The fact that I was going to be taking Stacey’s class was making my NYC day extra special.  We’ve been friends for  nearly 25 years and while yoga came into both of our lives after several years, it was like everything else in our friendship, like it had always been there.

I have to say that she is an AMAZING teacher!  She brings levity to a practice she takes very seriously, takes you on a spiritual journey while mindfully, and with wisdom, refines and helps to articulate the physical poses.  All of this contributes to a beautiful free-fall of opening up and deepening one’s own practice.  I know that her verbal cues and sometimes subtle adjustments allowed me to see paths for growth that had beforehand been out of view.  Thank you Stacey!

Where could I go from there that could possibly make the day any sweeter?  The answer was an evening of belly-aching laughter and great food with a friend who has been more like my brother for more than half of my life.  Coming full circle from where I was to where I am and back again, I saw the world from a fresh perspective.  The unspoken truths of our youth inspired a range of emotion from often just a subtle shift in our eyes.  Laughter replaced the details of our conversations without any need for explanation.  This is living simply, fully and with total ease.

This post is seeming more like a journal entry, noting personal events as they unfolded; I guess it is.  The universal part of this story is multi-fold.  There is the idea that taking time away from the daily routine can be like a tonic for the soul; there is nothing like laughter and good friends as a reminder of what’s important; what we learn on the mat about fearlessness, coping and navigating life’s twists & turns can be translated anywhere, anytime; sometimes our physical memory can be so potent that it will guide us to our next destination; good friends do not require more than just being together; having no plan can reveal a bigger plan…that a sunny day sandwiched in between two rainy ones can create a perfect moment in time.

Now open your eyes and take a breath.  Know that the magic created by this journey of moments can be revisited whenever you like.  Just unroll your mat, put your hands at heart center and take yourself there.

Last night, at a back to school night, I saw a good friend reach into her bag a pull out a small container of pacifier wipes; I was intrigued. Along with the usual purse items of wallet and keys, her Mary Poppins bag contained a bag of lollipops, more snacks, drinks, diapers, wipes, tissues, a notebook, pen and a depth containing additional unseen tricks of the trade.

I, on the other hand, in my seven plus years of being a mom of three, regularly forget essential items such as diapers and wipes as well as the luxury bits of snacks, drinks and what my friend Fran calls a “busy box,” filled with assorted toys & activities to occupy growing minds.  (Note: Others might think what I consider luxury to be essential, therein lies another hint to my behavior.)  In any event, I never have been, nor do I expect to become one who is always prepared.  I say, always, because there are those times when clarity covers me like a blanket and I deliberately, with extra mindfulness, load a small cooler with enough drinks & snacks to cover additional children and a full “busy box” to distract the little ones at restaurants, and perhaps even a wad of tissues makes the cut for the occasional running or bloody nose.  As satisfying as those times are, they are rare.

The moment I watched my friend dig effortlessly in her bag for the pacifier wipes lasted long enough for me to travel back in time.  I realized, in that brief moment, that the person I am today is a reflection of the person I’ve been until now.  When I first lived in NYC almost 25 years ago, I was in college studying theatre.  On studio days when classes were held in Midtown, we were often away from home all day.  My friends would carry everything they would possibly need for their day in over-packed back packs, duffle bags, or urban-style mail bags.  I, on the other hand, did not care to be that bogged down (nor was I able to anticipate what my needs might be throughout the day); I often left in the morning with only the essentials, usually what was required for class that day and enough coin to buy lunch and drinks.

I lived most of my nearly 17 years in the city that way.  When it came time to consider the realities of raising a family, the city no longer seemed a reasonable option.  Forget the cost (which was a big factor), the lugging of all the extras involved in kids’ needs without benefit of a car was just too much to bear.  Even simple trips to the park, grocery store or restaurants seemed ladened and heavy.  I have many friends who have elegantly made that transition and who wouldn’t have it any other way.

I think Yoga appeals to me, in part, because all I need to bring to the experience is my mat and myself.  Extras like a towel, water and other props are often provided or otherwise available; when they’re not, I learn to adapt and go deeper into the experience without them.  My mat is many things: safe haven, magic carpet, foundation, wings, cushion, home.  The practice animates the mat and infuses me with a sense of limitless possibility.  Like Popeye, I rejoice in the fact that, “I am what I am,” whenever and wherever I may be.  The mat is a potent reminder.

So, instead of feeling like I’m lacking something by not trying to fit my round self into a square hole, I know that all I need to do is show up and bring myself, fully.  Where someone else brings snacks, I may bring levity; one brings extra wipes, I bring extra hugs.  What I bring to any experience may be different from what my more “prepared” friends may bring, but when we all share our gifts, we all benefit.  What I like to take with me most of the time is the ability to be surprised, in myself and others.

Namaste.