I got bettah

I did.  Yesterday at noon I was disgruntled and frustrated and vexed with Daniel and feeling really clenched and boxed in.  By 4pm, I was feeling fine and lovely.  And I’m writing it down because this is one of the ways that I can remember how to make the feelings temporary and the breath permanent.  The key was that I broke some rules I had for myself and I got back to some good practices, some of which have been neglected for years.

First: I blogged.  My goodness but writing is therapeutic for me.  I wrote the bad feelings out of myself.  I could look at them.  I did something with them, and then I could leave them alone.  (And thanks so much to my commenters Belette and Susan who are so lovely and supportive.  They make writing especially rewarding.)

Second: I did yoga.   I hadn’t done a good practice in almost 4 days, partly because of limitations on exercise after my biopsy.  I need to practice every single day, even if it’s just for five minutes, but of course much better if it’s for 15 or 30.  And even if I’m going to practice later in the day, I still need to get on my mat very first thing for five minutes.  Yoga is as necessary to my well-being as sleep.  Sometimes I wish it were otherwise.  I wish I could be my loveliest self even without yoga (or writing).  I fear that it makes me rigid and high maintenance.  But those minutes actually make me much more easy-going and flexible (pun kind of intended) for the rest of the day.   Self-care won’t wait.  This is actually a good thing, and I need to just insist on it.

Third: I broke a rule.  My first yoga training was in a very classical Iyengar method.  There was never, ever music in the studio.  Classes were teaching classes, not the groovy, glowy, flowy classes that are so popular.  We didn’t work out.  We learned stuff so we could do a practice at home.  It wasn’t like going to the gym, it was like going to piano lessons.  Even when I started going to vinyasa classes (groovy, glowy, flowy), where there was always music, I never listened to music when I did yoga at home.  Y’know what?  It’s great!  It’s really great for a long practice.  I love it!  I’m going to keep doing it.  I just had this internal rule about it, but it didn’t make sense.  It wasn’t necessary for me to exclude music from my practice.  It’s MY practice.  I get to say what it’s about.   This is actually kind of earth-shattering for me, to define something that could be very rule bound (Iyengar is so very rule bound — lots of people don’t like it for that reason) according to my own needs and judgment.  I took back a little bit of authority for myself.  All it took was some Astor Piazzolla.

Fourth: I went on a walk.  After my practice, I walked, fast, to the vegan bakery a couple of neighborhoods away.  I used to be a pretty dedicated (although not very fast) runner, then, when my knees and back said, “hey, you’ve been doing this for almost 20 years, and that’s enough,” I was a pretty serious walker.  I loved running and walking through neighborhoods.  I rarely listened to music, I just paced myself with my breath and lost myself in my surroundings.  The best was when I’d walk or run at twilight and peek into lit-up windows, or walk or run in the morning before the city woke up.  But I fell out of the habit — let’s put it this way, the last time I walked regularly, having an iPod wasn’t an option.  It’s hard to find time now to take a long and strenuous walk (I walk to and from work, about 20 mins each way, but not aggressively enough to get my heart rate up.)  But I’ve been feeling the tug, ever since the fertility treatments failed.  Running or walking again was one of the things I wanted to take up to mark the next phase.   But I hadn’t, until I did.  I just did.  I decided that nothing I had to do around the house was as important.  I decided I didn’t need to be home when Milo and Daniel returned from their outing.  I just did what I used to do so many years ago when I was young and carefree: I grabbed my keys, tied my shoes, and just went.   And I felt great.  I reclaimed something that was valuable to me and a big part of me but that had fallen by the wayside.

How simple is that?  Movement, music, and a wee bit of self-assertion.  Why is that so earth-shattering?  How have I kept myself away from that?  I have let go of these very simple but very important things.  I am getting back to who I used to be when it was easier for me to be happy and hopeful.  I am putting a little bit of useful space between me and my domestic obligations and the people I live with (this is good — we are too enmeshed).  And I’m writing it down so I can remember it.

(The title only makes sense if you recall the scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.  My adored college roomate and I used to crack ourselves up by walking around the apartment saying that, in bad British accents.  Actually, there was no end to the ways we’d crack ourselves up.  Still do.  So, the clip below is for beloved M.  You can stop after 1:32.)