Heart Full

I had my “Dress Rehearsal” class this past Tuesday. I reserved the smaller studio at New York Yoga, which we’re allowed to do for free during teacher training. At this point, I’m more comfortable in this studio than the larger. I’ve spent just about every weekend in it since January 5th, and I’m already feeling some separation anxiety just thinking about having to “give it up” after the program. I guess, I feel it’s special because it’s where I exercised my commitment, my second discovery of yoga, and on March 25th where I first shared it with my most important friend and family.

I had spent the night before re-reading my notes, assembling my play list, going through all of the sequences in my head, and on the cleared area of our living room floor. The whole time, wondering why I was so nervous, or worried that I wouldn’t get the class “right”. They wouldn’t know anyways. But I would know, and I worried that if i didn’t get it exactly right, i could very well ruin their experience of yoga FOREVER. Josh would see that despite my time and effort in it, I actually sucked eggs as a teacher, and my aunt who had previously practiced Koundalini a more Bhakti (devotional) variation of yoga, would realize that my version was inadequate. And yet, my desire to share yoga with friends and family, them specifically is what propelled me to sign up for the teacher training program. I recalled seeing my aunt strapped in her back brace, because she suffered severe back pain, the all too familiar kind generated after hours of hunching over the computer. And even if she happily explained that the brace was OK, and it helped her, I always felt a mild sense of panic when she wore it. Then there was Josh, dear sweet Josh with his concave stance, no matter how many “micro-adjustments” I made, he never stood straight and after awhile, it occurred to me that he might not know how. I thought that if I could make yoga accessible to both of them then maybe my aunt wouldn’t have to wear the brace, and Josh could learn how to be confident in his posture and stand straighter. So by the time March 25th rolled around, I had built up this mountain of expectation for myself, to the point that if I failed to “fix” them, then it was tantamount to the complete failure of my entire yogic career.

They arrived early, and excited to take my class. My aunt ooohed and ahhed at general yoga paraphernalia in the boutique. Josh was sitting on the bench outside of the small studio, reading a book (of course), and smiled that smile, that makes everything bright. I fumbled around with my set up, inwardly wishing I had just SOME of Alex’s (a co-teacher trainee) preparation skills. Through the rattling noise of stress in my head, I heard their cheerful chatter in the background, and it gave me the reassurance I needed to temper my anxiety. In the half minute I used to gather my thoughts, props, and playlist, I realized that they came all this way not for yoga, but for me, so to them this was already enough. And as I took my first authentically comfortable seat that week, and breathed, I knew that at least for tonight the healing power wasn’t coming from yoga, but a far more potent mixture of friends and family.

Hot Yoga, I believe originated from California, because only they would consider heating a room to 105 degrees a good thing. And somehow beyond all believability it is. Yet, developing a regular hot yoga practice has been a challenge for me. Maybe because my first class, I thought I’d faint, maybe because I continue to feel that way, the sweat, the crushing blow to my ego when I can’t do half the poses, or the defeat of having lost my grace in class. I console myself with the fact that despite my experiences, I return to the special torture.

But I may have discovered another reason for my ambivalence to this particular breed of vitamin, the way yoga is taught in a heated room. It strikes me that the people who gravitate to Hot Yoga, are markedly different from the people who attend ‘cool’ yoga. And not just the students, but maybe even the teachers. The students in hot yoga are more into the workout, you see a lot mis-aligned faces (including mine), less ohmming, chanting, meditating, or turning that drishti (gaze) inwards. Todays’ teacher pushed her students to give everything a run for it’s money, even if they were obviously uncomfortable. She gave the hard variations first, and almost as an after thought for the “wimps” she verbalized the easier variation. Nor was she apologetic for it, she admitted she wanted us to feel like we worked. By work, I’ll assume she meant sweat, and sweat I did.

By the time the class reached the half way point, I hadn’t managed to catch my breath, we were so busy moving from one position to another, I could barely keep from collapsing. Her voice and my ego, kept demanding that I push myself to the next expression, at it’s fullest, in 105 degrees! Those who managed it got non-verbal approvals, expressed in the form of a smile, a deeper adjustment. While I had lost my compassion, and my composure was fast following. Then as if by magic, I detached. I let go, and moved on to my own world, in my own practice, where the room and she didn’t matter.

By the time the class rolled down to it’s 2min savasana, I barely remembered my distemper.
My detachment and I went through the motions of changing and showering, at our own lovely pace. When I heard my instructor talking to another student, about how some people get really obsessed with hot yoga, and how some teachers push the workout too far. Seemingly she thought she was gentle, and the temperature, mild. Is it possible, that all people who do hot yoga, are type-A, demanding, unsympathetic, and pushy to the point of annoyance? I found that idea to be simple and satisfying, because it means everything is wrong with THEM and not me.

If only it was that easy, if only she didn’t have a sweet smile, encouraging words, a quirky sense of humor, and a knowing smile that let on, she knew I would be back. If only to experience that rare warmth of accomplishment you feel when you know you’re getting better at it. And there’s just something about being in that much heat.

I’ve completed the first week of the teacher training program at New York Yoga. It’s an intimate program, ten partipants in all. And after just one weekend with these girls, I feel like we’re all “friendlies”. At the same time, I feel that for everyone in the program this respresents some kind of milestone in thier lives. Maybe they’ve considered this for a long time, and now it feels right, maybe they were uncertain, but took the dive, did something for themselves.

I guess, I’m there for all of the above. In the past year that I’ve been practicing yoga, I’ve changed. It’s like I’ve discovered something, I had long since forgotten. When I was younger taking dance lessons, I loved it, I couldn’t get enough of it, and from the ages of 5-13 it consumed me, until around the age of 15, when I finally let it go. I fell out of love with it, I got busier in school, I noticed boys , people said it wasn’t a serious profession, all of the above.

One day, I wasn’t dancing anymore, I stopped hearing the music in my heart, and over the years I’d convinced myself that I loved it only because it was the one thing I was good at, as a child. Maybe all of that is still true. But I also believe that even as a child, I realized that the movements of the body could bring peace in my mind. And more than a decade later, I’ve found it again, that inner satisfied peace. It’s like looking in a mirror and finally seeing a reflection that isn’t blurry.

In the past year, I’ve also seen Josh’s commitment to his hobbies, how he practices every day, just to get a little bit better. He devours books on the subject, and just when I think he’s going to throw in the towel, he doesn’t. Sometimes I wished he would, so then I wouldn’t have to know, that I CAN do more with my time, I’m just choosing not to.Which brings me here, to my mat, on the floor in teacher training. Finally ready to stop making excuses as to why I can’t commit, and accept that baking the donuts at my day job just isn’t fulfilling even if it does pay the bills.

So tomorrow I go back, to my mat, to the class. Ready to gaze fearlessly at myself, and begin asking the question I have for so long ignored. And if I don’t have the answers tomorrow, that’s OK, as Kristin (my guru) says, “sometimes just asking the question is enough”, today it is.