Shift Happens

Nothing lasts, but nothing is lost.--Shpongle

One of the first valuable insights I gained from my yoga practice, when I'd shake and want to cry and run from the room, was to stay and breathe through the discomfort. I'm only talking about sensation here, not the kind of pain that indicates real injury. There are times when leaving is right action, and times to stay, and, I suppose, times when there is no choice either way.  But I've learned that what happens when I stay present to what is, even discomfort, maybe even applying a little inquiry to it, is a shift both in perception and in actual sensation. In practice a deep stretch can feel physically intense and bring up emotions like fear, frustration, dread. At times it's been all I can do to stay with it and breathe, but the shift does happen, if not immediately, then gradually after I show up on the mat again and again. The actual physical sensation eases as my breath sweeps through the muscles and coaxes them to release tension. Breath also soothes the edges of fear and dread. "Stay," was my mantra for many of those first months. I did, and now have a strong body and healthier mental outlook. I don't fear as much and come to crave those deep stretches. My practice itself has shifted from simply getting through without crying to feeling a wholeness in the postures and loving the awareness of a contracted oblique abdominal muscle holding me steady in some torturous-looking contortion.

I've written about my physical transformation, and it might sound cool on the surface, but there's always an underbelly. You don't wake up from years of depressed autopilot without a major upheaval. Old patterns and buried feelings resurfaced with a vengeance. At once intoxicating and bewildering, I had an idea that I needed to cut ties with everything connected to my old life--husband, kids to a lesser degree. If this was a mid-life crisis, it was a doozy. At the height of confusion I sat at the edge of the abyss with Chris and talked about divorce. That's a hellish place to sit, but I'm glad at least to have had enough experience with my mantra to not make a reactionary leap. Chris and I both stayed with the confusion and damaged trust. We saw each other in a different light, closer to the people we actually are. It came down to a choice, and at the very second I could have leapt, I knew instead I would stay. On the flip side of this is shift and creative stability. Breath and staying power allow me to see that my need for growth and individuation was genuine and necessary. Things couldn't have continued as they were. In the energy of a big, swift change, however, the pendulum swung to another extreme.  I would have preferred to make the change without wreaking so much havoc on those around me. I felt like the voice in Neko Case's song: "This tornado loves you. What will make you believe me?" Tornado or not, the evolution was vital. There is perhaps no atonement for our blunders and missteps, but we try.

I've just learned that my grandma died today. This news brings that same sense of connection that kept me from breaking away from my family. Those quirky ideosyncrasies that were Grandma are in me. Though we lost touch, we are still connected. Grandma seemed fragile from my earliest memories, but now I'm only reminded that we all are. I find myself today looking at my daughters with new eyes. When did they become their own persons? I stop to really look at Chris--who is he? We are making the rules up as we go along, finding ways to stay connected and responsible for each other even while taking care of ourselves. We don't do it like other families. Do other families do it like other families? I have shifted in a new way and do not fear or want to run from these connections even when they are uncomfortable or dredge up hurts from the past. These relationships no longer feel stifling, but rather interesting and alive. I strive to see the people around me in each moment. I am coming to love what is unique and human about who we are as individuals and as a family.  Shift will continue to happen. I'll breathe.