Last Friday evening I lost my sh*t (on my other half).
Ok, so it wasn’t that bad. But to make matters worse, it happened in front of a new babysitter — someone who takes yoga classes with me — on the night the other half and I were finally celebrating our anniversary.
At least she didn’t go and write a blog about it.
Well, then, allow me to do the job for her! And while I’m at it, how ’bout I just out myself now as having innumerable instances of losing my sh*t — and all since embarking on this yoga journey in earnest ten years ago in Bikram class (that’s not even including the profane rants and driving manifestos I compose in my head while driving, for fun). Call it the New York in me, the expressive Italian, or the stubborn assholian, but I got a talent for breaking my happy hippy dippy selfie-parade/always-on-my-bike-in-the-sun-yoga character — particularly if I’m tired, hungry, coming off a long solo stint with a punchy child, cleaning up dog poop for the third morning in a row, dealing with a miscarriage or other bad news, simply feeling rejected, reeling from multiple stings by a yellow jacket and — did I mention sleep deprivation already?
Wait– I’m on third series, shouldn’t I be a freakin’ butterfly unicorn rainbow kitten by now? Shouldn’t my halo blow all the evil out of me and the entire world like the biggest, baddest and sweetest care bear stare? I mean really, once your leg is spending all that time behind your head, you better have those yamas and niyamas down and up around you like a force field, you better have that ugly contained and it better smell like sugar and spice and everything nice.
I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden.
I don’t care what Sanskrit word du jour you have tattooed on your fill-in-the-blank but demanding dalai lama-like status from yourself at all moments is– come to think of it, that’s a worthy goal, and now I want to try it– but man, prepare to fail your yoga ass off. Prepare to struggle. Then again, maybe it’s just me: what else do I do with these eight limbs but struggle, as much as I do with the postures?
Perhaps I’ve got it all wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time. I struggle with those yamas and niyamas because I question everything. But my regular practice has taught me at least this…to see that everything evolves from a pattern and when what appears is something I don’t like, be it a tweak in my back or a negative flow in my behavior or relationships I sit there in the muck and think: how did I get myself here? How do I change the direction so I don’t end up here again? Something about the physical practice I do for sometimes close to two hours in the morning begs me to examine the rest of the day how each and every thing I do has an effect. Something about these little missteps I make, my moments of losing sh*t, call me back to work and review, and resolve to change. It’s daunting.
“Buddhists talk about actions conditioning other actions, and my non-action conditioned a determination to do better.” ~Sylvia Boorstein, “It’s Easier Than You Think: The Buddhist Way To Happiness“
I’m still working on it. Yes, here I stand, or falter, as I put my leg behind my head for the umpteenth time in this “advanced” series now, but I remain vulnerable to losing my sh*t here and there and goddamn it, I have yet to morph into a rainbow unicorn either.
I’m afraid of a “beyond asana” yoga police- I suppose because I’m so flawed. Is that what kindness is– holding our yogi selves to a puritanical level of unrealistic perfection and singling out those who falter for castigation, oh we sad, pathetically damned creatures (I mean don’t we know this is an eight limbed path?) I love and I struggle — am I alone? Will I get better? Will my dwi pada ever look like Richard Freeman’s and will I ever behave as ethereally as he does? (Certainly I’ve a hard time imagining Richard Freeman losing his sh*t in a Starbucks. Actually, I have a hard time imagining Richard in a Starbucks, period). If this practice has taught me anything, it is the value of practice; it is that with practice I can change things in the direction I want them to go. Heaven help me if along my way I falter, only to be met with a scarlet letter “F” for failure on this yogic path — and left at that, with nothing more than that.
Look, I judge too. I have been there: seeing someone I view in high regard act in a way that gives me pause, or just being out in public and seeing someone act unpretty and man watch the judgments roll. I have also been on the other side, and I have been on both– misstepping and judging myself for my own missteps. I hope I can do better. I hope we all can do better. I hope I get better at not losing my sh*t and I hope the next time I do lose my sh*t someone gives me a smile and a hug, offers to buy me a cup of coffee and ask what is really going on, or lightens me with a bit of humor. I know I’ll be berating myself more than anyone else could anyway.
Maybe the best way to encourage kindness is to be the first person to offer it.
Maybe I should practice that.
[Note to my husband: had you made fun of me in that moment and said, “damn we need to get you a drink” things might have turned for the better more quickly. Note to self: You need an afternoon snack.]