It Ain't Like That

Right before I moved back to L.A. I was so pleased with my yoga practice. Each sequence felt like a fluid, beautiful dance of breath and energy. My body felt strong, my mind calm, and I was finally starting to understand the meaning of softness, stillness and heart-opening. Off the mat, I felt peaceful and serene even amidst a chaotic month-long whirlwind of change and transition. It was as if I had once and for all conquered my restlessness, anxiety and fear. Ahhh. Deep sigh of relief. Check enlightenment off the to-do list and move on with my life.

Wait. Not so fast.

A mere two months later, and most days I feel like I never starting practicing yoga in the first place. My mind drifts easily away from conversations and schoolwork; even deep breathes in chair pose can barely captivate my attention. I react easily and dramatically to ordinary things: traffic, my roommates dirty dishes, tripping as I climb the stairs of the law school when I'm late to class.

For the first time in four years I find myself glancing at the clock during triangle pose, rolling my eyes at the thought of 40 more minutes of "this." I barely recognize myself. Where is that lively yogi who relished back-to-back vinyasa classes, long intense holds and opportunities to practice ujayi breath in her every day life?

I drag myself to the yoga studio every day hoping for an awakening. Maybe when I wiggle my fingers out of savasana I will be reborn as my former self. Maybe the teacher will say just the thing I need to hear, right in the moment I need to hear it.

I stumble out of the yoga studio feeling defeated and depressed. No awakening. no wisdom. I've got nothing but sweaty, frizzy hair and a million criticisms: of the teacher, the practice, even my fellow yogis.

Not surprisingly, this unbalanced version of myself doesn't wait for me on my mat each day. She goes to class, shops at whole foods and shows up, over and over again, wherever I go in my life. The more present I get to my energetic changes, the more frustrated I feel. I am filled with self-doubt and self-judgment: how can this be happening? I thought I had it all figured out? I had balance, stability, resilience and strength. How could four years of effort and intention disappear so quickly, almost overnight?

For those of us who have spent years measuring our life in achievements, it is a difficult pattern to break. We plan. We work. We get what we want and start the process over again, slowly running down the list of things to do to make our lives seem worthwhile: Finish school. Get the promotion. Find a spouse. Have a baby. Buy a house. We arrive on our yoga mat for the first time the same way arrive everywhere: with a plan (it varies among us and may even change over time). Get fit. Relieve Stress. Attain enlightenment.

But that's the thing about our yoga practice: It ain't like that. It refuses to conform. It won't be confined to a structure, set of rules or steps of progression. It's the most innovative teacher in the world. It is constantly changing with our environment, experiences and needs. It recognizes where we are by mirroring every aspect of our life. It asks us to recommit to it in every moment. It never rests, and it cannot be accomplished.

Coming to this realization requires rearranging the basic framework that governs my entire life. How can I be so addicted to something that has no defining moment, no pre-determined ladder of ascension, no awards for "best" or "most distinguished", not even a "most improved?" There is no degree, no finish line and no one else to compete with. It's just you, your breath and a practice of observation.

The miraculous thing, in spite of all this, is that yoga has had the biggest role in generating actual happiness in my life. All of my achievements can't do anything to quell anxiety, remove fear and create space and sanity in times of difficulty and distress. In fact, it is often the pressure to "do everything" and "be the best" that creates the stress in the first place. The challenge is not getting attached to the feeling of succeeding at yoga. It is tempting to dwell in self-satisfaction during periods when yoga feels effortless and easy, but it's a sensation that can quickly transform into disappointment and frustration when we feel insecure and unsteady again. And so it is. Our life, our practice our journey through ups and downs, joy and sadness, love and loss. As one of my teachers frequently reminds us, life is a wave-learn to surf.

Our yoga practice reminds us that happiness and fulfillment cannot be awarded, then framed like a diploma on the office wall (then transported to L.A. and hung up again). These are things that require our constant effort and attention. When we struggle emotionally, spiritually, financially, etc. it is hard to give our attention to anything. It feels like failure. Other times, we struggle less. Our attention is soft and steady. It feels like victory. The challenge is to learn to accept both feelings with the knowledge that neither is permanent, nor defining, maybe not even "real."

For years I have told people they should do yoga because it has solved everything that is wrong with my life. But the truth is, yoga can't solve anything. What it has actually done is give me the tools that help me deal with every day issues that make my life more complicated than it needs to be. Acquiring the tools is one thing, using them is another. Since our lives are constantly changing, we are perpetually in need of a new set. It requires patience. It requires faith. It demands that we keep practicing even when it is unappealing, challenging, painful. We must keep showing up, and trying to figure it out.

When my strength and stability return, I know it will not be forever. There is no destination on the spiritual path, only stretches of freedom, clarity and bliss before the traffic backs up again and the tension returns.

For now, I will take one breath at a time. I will try not to reward myself for peace, nor degrade myself in moments of anger and frustration. I will go back to my mat because there are tools to be discovered and lessons to be learned, and L.A. could use a few more deep breaths.

Yoga for Over-Achievers

I started practicing yoga my senior year of college. After 22 years of moving quickly, constantly achieving and believing in the American myth of staying busy, I was reluctant (to say the least) to try something I associated with slow movement and soft flute music.

One of my friends told me I should try yoga because it would make me less "frenetic." "It will help you manage your 'L.A. energy.'" Frenetic? What? I'm not frenetic. I'm from Northern California for God's sake?! Jerk.

I think I went to my first class to just prove him wrong.

It's been four years since I first stepped on a yoga mat. That first class was gentle and non-confrontational. My teacher had long pigtails and sang in savasana. I walked out of the John Wooden Center that morning with a feeling I couldn't describe. Maybe it was stillness, maybe it was peace. Whatever it was, I wanted more of it, right away.

I went twice a week my last quarter at UCLA. 10 weeks of breathing and bliss.
When the year ended, I went back to my other life. I was a runner, an eliptical rider, an ipod listening, distraction-seeking gym-goer. When I had time, I liked to rollerblade with my mom on the American River bike trail. I had been forcing myself to "workout" every day since I was sixteen.

I stumbled into a power yoga class for the first time in the Fall of 2006. My friend was doing "30 days in L.A," a self governed challenge where he tried something he'd never done in Los Angeles, every day for a month. He discovered a "donation-based" yoga studio, and dragged me and my roommates along for the experience.

I was an unsuspecting student. I had come straight from my weekend coaching job. I was wearing soccer shorts and a baggy t-shirt. I must have borrowed a mat.
My first class was excruciating. I fell out of half-moon, probably seven times. I remember thinking, damn. That was intense.

I'm not sure what drew me back to Santa Monica Power Yoga, but I remember a distinct moment, it was probably my six or seventh class, where something clicked. I walked out of the studio that night feeling like I had discovered something extraordinary. Something that somehow, was going to change my life.

And it certainly did.

It evolved for me the way it does for many people: at first the physical practice was addicting. My body was strong and fit in a way I hadn't experienced. The more I got on the mat, the more I appreciated the 90 minutes I spent "out of my head." I started to look forward to it, then I started to depend on it. It was a workout, a coping mechanism, an escape. It was more than I ever could have imagined.

I stopped going to the gym.

Eventually, I went beyond the physical practice and started to connect yoga to experiences in my every day life. I could feel myself become more calm, more balanced and less reactive. I was lighter, happier and more in control of the experience of my own life. The community of people that popped up around me were likewise, happy, centered and loving. Yoga was incredible.

My practice was put to the test last Fall when I started Law School. Everything you ever hear about the first year of law school is awful. I heard warnings, horror stories and plenty of "good lucks." By the time I actually made it to my first day of school, I had every reason imaginable not to be there. I was genuinely prepared to surrender my happiness, free-time and sanity to the cause of becoming a lawyer, and it quickly became clear that many people in law school, do just that.

This blog was born, in some ways, out of my experience as a first year law student. In other ways, it has been years in the making. In my life before law school I was an over-achieving, high-strung, hyper-anxious type-A student. I can remember losing sleep over a presentation and pulling an all-nighter on a project as far back as the 3rd grade.

Strangely, for the first time, I found a sense of ease and comfort as a law student. I learned to take a deep breath before responding to a professor's challenge. I learned to focus on the work that was immediately in front of me, instead of getting overwhelmed by the volume of work looming in the future. I learned to concentrate on my own experience, and tune out the stories of my classmates who loved to complain, brag, whine, react, compete, etc. Perhaps most importantly, I learned how to detach my self worth and identity from my achievements as a law student.

Everything I 'learned' that year I had practiced first, on my mat. The miracle of my first year was really three years in the making. Three years of showing up. Three years of breathing. Three years of first struggling, then surrendering. The repetitive process, that as yogis we come to depend on, to bring balance back into our lives.

It's hard to tell these days whether I'm still an 'over-achiever.' Sometimes I still refer to myself as one out of habit, or conditioning, or ego, or something else. Yoga has given me powerful insight into what it means to over-achieve, and the reasons why some of us Type-A, go-getter, high-energy types, do what we do the way we do it.

This blog is my practice of "doing less" and "being more." It is a reminder to myself that love, compassion and acceptance should take priority over achievement, both for myself and the people around me. It is my exploration of the day to day challenges that face someone who is trying to find a balance between "getting what I want" and "being who I want to be," on, and off the mat.

Namaste.