Last week, after a busy three-day mini-break filled with a road trip that covered hundreds of miles all across this gorgeous state of Cahlahrahdah, music, dancing, rodeo spectacles (and I do mean spectacles), good friends, Kerrrs Original, tasty treats, dehydration, and needing a full day to recoup because I ain’t no spring chicken, I rolled out my mat after six days of letting it rest against my bookshelves. And after six days away, I lay there last Wednesday before the start of class and I honestly felt a little nervous. A tiny twinge of panic wound its way through my brain about what was in store for my body, which had gotten tired and a little soft from being stationary and, admittedly, a smidge gluttonous.
Luckily, as quickly as the uneasy thoughts crept in is as swiftly as they snuck out. By the time I sank my hips into Balasana CHILD’S pose to start the hour I was no longer thinking about anything at all. Instead, from the first sun A, I moved on my mat with a certain alertness, a surprising assuredness, a soft sharpness, unexpected strength and stability. How does this happen? Why wasn’t I weaker than last time I practiced? Why was I able to feel clarity and constancy when I could have been shaky and unbalanced?
Which led me to ask: why is one day so different from the next sometimes? When little, if anything, has changed?
I’ve been pondering this one for some time and I want answers, dammit, but there just doesn’t seem to be one. Is it inexplicable in the same way a problem you face one day is surmountable and a similar challenge just days later feels like it could take you out at the knees, threaten to ruin your very existence? Is it because I stopped trying to predict the outcome? Because I stopped trying to determine how I would fair in a pose, in a class, and instead I let the yoga happen and applied the skills I learned over the years and stopped thinking about what the poses are supposed to look like? Instead, I just did the yoga. And it felt pretty darn good.
In fact, for the first time ever, I didn’t over-think kicking into Adho Mukha Vrksasana HANDSTAND, and I am not a get-upside-down-nonchalantly-kind-of-girl. Those words uttered by an instructor toward the end of class, Adho Mukha Vrksasana, can strike the fear (of falling over) in me. But on this particular night, I had absolutely no expectation of the pose and just went for it. And I got some actual hang time: my legs paused high in the air for about three seconds. Three seconds. Those three seconds felt scary and so good. And so much better than not having tried at all.
Every day there are tests. Every day forces you to acknowledge who you are in the face of challenge. That which is the bane of your existence one day just might be a piece of cake the following. This I can say for sure.
Wow-that last paragraph is fantastic. I have wondered about why some days are harder than the next in exercise and yoga, but honestly never related it to life off the mat or outside of my workout. So true though. Having focus and clarity in every situation is often a hard awareness to keep, just like living in the present is as well. The success of actually doing this and flowing with mindful strength and calmness is amazing, only if one (I!) only am able to achieve it rarely:) Thanks for making me ponder on this one Aubs~xo
thank you, I am blushing. Or not hahahha. Either way, it is funny how a shitty day can be a shitty yoga day or a great yoga day. Or vice versa. I like how that happens…you just never know what’s gonna happen in that studio. I flowed the same class the last two days…last night I hated it and was irritated and pissed, mostly because there was a country song playing when I walked into the studio to roll out my mat. Made me immediately edgy. Today, exact same flow. I felt calm, cool, collected. Same music (except I was later arriving so I didn’t hear the country–the culprit, I wonder? no, probably not:) and I jived with it. Who knows?