Seeds of something fine
Taking flight
Staff writer
I’ve tried to master a yoga pose, called Crane Pose, for years. Once four years ago, I even undertook months of preparation and study in an attempt to “take flight” in what is supposed to be one of the easier arm-balance poses. I never got past the part where I was crouched down, leaning my entire body weight into my armpits with my elbows bent.
Yoga has since faded in my life, now that I balance work, daughter, dogs, home, husband, etc. Nowadays what used to be a daily, 45-minute “practice” looks more like two or three minutes of stretching while I’m loading the washing machine or chopping vegetables. Every once in a while I roll out the mat and get 10 minutes to do sitting stretches, but these are something my daughter considers “team activities.”
Today, when I had an unexpected morning to myself, I decided to forego productivity and do one small loving thing for myself, something I used to do when I had time. I cranked up the Rolling Stones. I rolled out my mat and lit incense and prepared to simply follow my very out-of-practice body into whatever series of poses it wanted to follow.
Watching me do yoga is pure comedy when I’m attempting to not look stupid. When I let go in the house by myself and crank up the shamelessly nerdy music, look out — it becomes a disturbing mesh of yoga, beginner ballet (but only the arms), a bad Pilates tape I once tried to follow, and a few kick moves I don’t think really belong to any fitness genre.
I stretched and breathed and mouthed along with the music: “You can’t always get what you want…” I did graceful arm-lifts and nearly toppled … I bent and grunted and remembered to exhale … I followed my mood and found myself squatting in preparation for Crane Pose.
I was alone in my house with the dogs so I figured, “why not?”. I steadied my mind and took a few breaths and leaned my knees onto my bent forearms. More breathing. I lifted my feet from the mat and to my surprise didn’t fall on my face. I heard the Stones in the background, “but if you try sometimes …” so I did. I pushed through my palms and extended my forearms and tucked my feet up. And suddenly, in the middle of my living room, I was flying.
I couldn’t have done it four years ago. Back then my arms were not tested daily by the weight of a 2-year-old pulling the “jelly legs” routine when she doesn’t want to go somewhere. Back then I hadn’t had to work really hard to get flat(ish) abs after a C-section. Back then, physical ability wasn’t something I had to work for. Today, my body earned every inch I rose off the floor and my heart floated way above me because of it.
And then I fell.
But something monumental happened. Usually when I look for ways to take care of myself, I think back to what I used to do when I had more time (before the baby, the dogs, the husband, etc.) and just end up feeling really bad about myself that I don’t have the energy or the means to do any of it anymore. Then again, when I used to have time to yoga or write bad poetry, etc., I never really felt successful at any of it in a way that made me feel good about myself.
Today I found time to try and, while I didn’t get what I want (a daily yoga practice), I got something I needed – I got a small success!
And that success made me feel so good I wanted to pass it on! I made treats for my family and called a friend who is having a tough time, just to listen to her. And that kinda makes me think maybe I’m better off than I was four years ago. Now, when I get the chance to fly, it doesn’t take much for me to feel like I have enough to share. I like that better.