I can't believe I wore those underpants!

Remember first grade? Fourth grade? Eight grade? Everyone has some time in school that kind of sucked. You got teased or bullied or wore a kilt with really loud underpants on tumbling day in gym in third grade. It is that indelible memory that you have for years, maybe your whole lifetime, of utter embarrassment or despair or humiliation. It enters your semi-consciousness periodically. As the years go by, it has much less power. The memory is more like a whisper that a kinesthetic jolt.

This year my daughter Lucia had her time (or at least one of her times). Three boys singled her out and decided she was the one to whisper about. Lucia never knew the content much beyond, "Lucia has a boyfriend." As a first grader, Lucia was embarrassed, humiliated, and ultimately, after too many days of the same unrelenting teasing, in despair. The situation has since been remedied and I think if that is "the" big moment that will plague Lucia's psyche into adulthood, she is very lucky indeed.

While Lucia was enduring this, I felt conflicted. On the one-hand, I thought, "I should kick those bad boys in the ass and tell them to take a hike." On the other-hand, I thought this is an opportunity for Lucia to take on some discomfort and find her way through it. The situation was bad enough that the teacher and principal did end up getting involved. The boys targeted another girl in Lucia's class and when Lucia told her to just ignore them (as she'd been instructed), one of the boys pushed her, knocking her to the floor. In a private meeting with Lucia, her teacher and the principal they told her that she had been brave to help the other girl. They told her that they were there to support and help her. At the end of the meeting, Lucia felt proud, special, and courageous. She had new energy to take on the problem.

Lately, I've noticed that there is surge in people struggling on their mats. Could be weather related. Could be because we have lots of new students. Maybe it's me. I struggle myself--often. When I see people fidgeting compulsively or leaving their mats at random times to fill their water bottle or go to the bathroom or do whatever, I think (and often say aloud), "Just hang in there. Stay the course of your discomfort or anxiety or dizziness." I advise this, because when we do stay the course, we learn that we can get through it, so next time the fidgeting or leaving the room won't be our first choice.

I can see it with Lucia. She didn't get a new classroom. She got some new tools and some thicker skin. I know sometimes it is hard to stay in a class that feels challenging and frustrating and overwhelming. But try. You'll find that what you get is much more satisfying. At the end of your class you will feel proud, special and courageous. Staying the course might not be your first choice, but it's the best choice.

Broken phone

Last week my phone broke. It was kind of traumatic and kind of awesome. I happened to be in Belize (poor me) so my phone was really only with me so I could receive any information about my daughter who was not with me. Emergency only really. But on the fourth day, I dropped my phone and the screen just went black. I could hear the phone ring, hear when text came in or a reminder for an event, I just couldn't see the screen to activate anything. It was okay. I used my girlfriend's phone when I needed to, but the broken phone really was a major challenge for me.

This past Sunday (4/22/12)in the New York Times, there was an article titled "The Flight From Conversation" by Sherry Turkle about how texting has compromised the ability of many to have conversations. Yes, we talk to each other, but are we really there? We text while we talk, always one foot out the mental door to the next thing. We are able to edit ourselves, monitor what we share, even with the people we are closest to. Some of us text all the time. I do. A few weeks ago I had a friend over who I rarely see. She was texting intermittently while we talked in depth about our love lives, children, struggles, deep things. It was just weird! Last week in Belize, I was on a tiny little 10-person plane. It was a very short flight, a very small plane, with lots of water below. The pilot was texting!

Yesterday I went to get a replacement phone. The woman at the Verizon store told me that I use very few talking minutes, but LOTS of texts. She confirmed what I already knew. I'd rather organize my thoughts and present them as I want them to be heard, rather than pick up the phone and talk. After I got my new phone, I went to work, but you can bet I checked my phone about 12 times on the way (in the car). Later in the afternoon, I had to make a difficult phone call. I would have emailed, but I didn't have the person's email. I was hoping that it would just be a voicemail, but she answered. Completely disarmed, I just said what I had to say. Much harder than texting or emailing, but cleaner too. Immediate results.

I was basically without a phone for less than a week, but I noticed such a difference. At breakfast with Lucia, I wasn't constantly checking the time on my phone to make sure we were on track to get to school on time. I just trusted that five more painstaking minutes with the slowest eater in the world would be fine. When we were stuck in traffic on the way to Lucia's soccer game, I couldn't call to tell anyone that the goalie would be late. I couldn't look on my phone to see what all this bullshit traffic was about. I just sat there talking about how the bee in the bee movie Lucia had recently seen called his butt "his heaving buttocks." I was so much more present!

This has all been said. It's the talk of the era. Google glasses are next. We'll been seeing screens as we walk down the street. Or the automatic car that drives for us so we can do texting, emailing, Photoshop, marketing analysis.....Sherry Turkle, in her New York Times Article, says, "We think constant connection will make us feel less lonely. The opposite is true. If we are unable to be alone, we are far more likely to be lonely."

Ms.Turkle makes a great point. The phone and the constant connection it represents is a false connection. The real connection comes from talking to or being with another person. Or it comes from being connected to yourself by being alone with yourself and appreciating that. Not waiting for the next thing. Not being part-way in the current thing.
I love my new phone. It does amazing, cool, efficient things. It's going to be hard, but I'm going to find some phone-free spaces in my life. If I start to slip, I hope you'll remind me. Just send me a text.

A text would have been so much better!

I hate listening to voicemail. Blah blah blah blah. Just text me okay! God, that sounds so bratty. Anyway, last week I was running around all morning like a nutbag-- drop Lu at school, park, race to a meeting, race to another meeting, and TRY like hell to make the noon yoga class.

At 11:52am, I made it to the studio, scurried to grab my clothes to change. I still had to put my mat down and fill my water bottle. I checked my phone because I always do to make sure there's no message from Lucia's school (I know, neurotic) and saw there were two missed calls from a 949.286.3973. I don't know that area code at all, so I just ignored it because that's what I do. I ignore it.

I got my clothes on, my water bottle filled, my mat situated. Frani came in to the yoga room, turned on the lights and the heat and started Pranayama. At the exact moment that she told us to start inhaling, I had a thought that would plague me for the next fifteen minutes. 949.286.3973! That's my house alarm company. My alarm is going off and I'm either getting robbed or it is a false alarm and I'm going to owe ADT $150! How was I going to get out of the room to listen to my messages? Could I? Would it be awful? Would the other students just think I was doing some important owner-task that had to be done right in the middle of class? No way. I was stuck.

I was completely checked out through Pranayama. Between images of a masked villain rifling through my underwear and bras, I told myself to just breathe, let it go, and concentrate on my practice. And then, flash, an image of my beautiful newly-painted green front door smashed through with a hatchet would take me away again. Breathe, I told myself. I was still plotting how to get out of the room through Half-Moon and Awkard. I thought, maybe during party time I can make a break. But somehow, in Eagle, I must have switched over. I had let it go. When party time came, I didn't want to leave the room. I knew there was nothing I could do about my alarm or the $150 or all of my important worldly goods being gone.

And so it was. I practiced my practice. Maybe not my best ever. Definitely not my best. But I was able to let my obsessed brain release its obsession for almost 90 minutes. When I finished class, I didn't even remember to check my phone right away. It wasn't until after my shower that I remembered to listen to my voicemail. I was being offered a new credit card! All was well in the world. I'm so glad I practiced.

This is your brain on Yoga.....

Gretta, Lucia's piano teacher, is very kind, but she's also strict about her expectations. Last week she told Lucia that she absolutely has to sing the notes and sing the counts of the notes while she practices piano. Lucia has received this instruction multiple times from Gretta, always with the same result. Practicing the notes is fine. Lucia gets up every morning and (with some nudging) practices. When I tell her to start singing the note names or singing the ta-ta-tas to count the timing, she freaks out! I mean, WHOA, you'd think I handed the girl bagpipes and asked her to play a little jig.

The last time Gretta gave Lucia the singing instruction, I told her what happens. I said, in my most diplomatic voice because Lucia was standing beside me, "Singing while playing seems to be really frustrating for Lucia." I was hoping Gretta would say, "Okay, don't do that." But of course she didn't. She told us that it is very important, so important, because Lucia, in doing these two activities (playing and singing) simultaneously, is creating pathways in her brain.

The next day, I did some research and found this on the web,
"Bulk up your brain by performing two different sensory activities at the same time. For example, listen to music and smell flowers, listen to the rain and tap your finger, or watch clouds and play with modeling clay at the same time. Performing multiple sensory activities at the same time stimulates your brain to create new neuronal connections." *

Well, that can't be bad. New neuronal connections. I definitely want Lucia to have those. I want to have those. And, when I started exploring where I could get them, I didn't have to look far.....

Dr. Timothy McCall says this, "With advances in understanding and technology, scientists now talk about 'neuroplasticity.' The brain, they have realized, is plastic, meaning it is capable of change.... Two thousand years ago, Patanjali wrote in the Yoga Sutra—classical yoga’s foundational text—that the key to success in yoga was to practice regularly without interruption over a long period of time. This sounds like the perfect formula to create deep new behavioral grooves that take advantage of neuroplasticity: Regular repetition of a variety of yoga practices will increase the number of connections among neurons and may even cause new neurons to be recruited for the task."**

So there is hope for us, grownups like me who thought brain functioning would be mostly downhill from here. Remember how people used to tell us that we had limited brain cells, so we shouldn't sniff rubber cement or lick Sharpies? Remember that commercial, "this is your brain on drugs?" Now we know that we can make MORE brain cells, BETTER brain cells. We can make neuronal connections. Yoga is is the key to making this happen.

I think especially right now of all the folks on day 27 of this month's 30-Day challenge at The SweatBox. They have literally changed their brains. That's amazing. And such good news for all of us who practice yoga regularly-- practice Savasana and Tadasana and Trichonasana day in and day out. We are bulking up our brains, creating new pathways of our own. Two thousand years ago when Patanjali wrote the Yoga Sutra, the idea of changing brain chemistry through yoga was just a theory. But no longer! It's a brave new world-- neuronal connections, neuroplasticity, recruiting new neurons! The results are in--this is your brain on yoga.


*http://www.livestrong.com/article/216213-brain-plasticity-exercises/#ixzz1plQ7U4XC

** http://kripalu.org/article/179

Shhhhhhhh!

Fairly regularly, I have the disturbing notion that everything I am doing as a parent is completely wrong. Not a great feeling. My daughter, by most accounts, is a really delightful, well-adjusted seven-year-old, but still, I must be royally screwing her up right? Probably. But I still try to be a good parent despite the sad, likely inevitability that Lucia will resent me, dislike me, condemm me for some part of my parenting.

In my feeble attempt to prevent that sad, likely inevitability, I recently read a great parenting book-- Parent Effectiveness Training: The Proven Program for Raising Responsible Children by Thomas Gordon. One of my take-aways from this book is the idea of acceptance. As parents, one important aspect of raising our children is to promote a sense of acceptance for them. For me as a parent, this translates into sometimes stepping out of Lucia's way and letting her figure things out for herself. It means sending her the strong clear message that, even if it isn't that way I would do something (the puzzle, the spelling homework, the sewing project), her way is okay, and I accept it. This is hard. It involves being really quiet, and maybe even completely removing myself from an activity. Being an engaged parent, an active parent, might in some ways be taking away from Lucia's ability to find her own path, her own voice.

I've noticed, for example, if I stop directing Lucia so much in her piano practice, she tries new things, like playing two chords at once instead of sticking to her prescribed lesson plan. Or, if i take myself out of her football game with her friend Cece, she gets way more down and dirty (a good thing for my risk-averse, indoor kitty child). My job-- to watch, to notice, to appreciate that she is figuring out who she is without my voice. This does not mean that I don't discipline Lucia. It doesn't preclude me from engaging with her. Not at all. It just puts me in the added position of being an active listener to what she is saying, doing, experiencing.

In many ways when we practice yoga we are our own parents, our own teachers. We discipline, direct, often judge and criticize. In yoga, particularly Savasana, we have an opportunity to shift roles. Like sitting on the sidelines while Lucia plays football, we get to get out of our directing roles and just listen--to our bodies, our minds, our hearts. When you are doing Savasana, notice if your parental voice is there. Is your mother's voice telling you to stop fidgeting? In Tadasana, is your old coach's bark commanding you to stay focused? That discipline, that rigor in our practice is so important. We don't want to lose that. But over time, with regular practice, the discipline and rigor are there. Let the voices quiet down a little bit. Allow yourself to practice without the judgement, the criticism. You'll be surprised at what you might learn.

Little Baby Burrito

When my daughter Lucia was tiny, a little 7 pound lump, I swaddled her in a contraption called the Miracle Blanket. The Miracle Blanket was nothing more than a super-soft, organic cotton, hippie-looking piece of fabric that could be folded strategically to wrap a baby like a little burrito. The theory behind the blanket is that it comforts infants to be contained and swaddled in a way much like they were in utero.

The Miracle Blanket was truly amazing. Lucia was wrapped about ninety-percent of the time during her first few months. My mother, when she first came to visit, worried that her muscles might atrophy from lack of movement. But I was dedicated to the burrito maker. Even when Lucia wailed, flailed, and kicked, I used the Miracle Blanket. The calm that came over Lucia when she was swaddled was comforting to her, but to me too. As a sleep-deprived, new mother, bloated with milk that responded to my baby's cry like a fire hose on a burning building, I grew to depend on the Miracle Blanket to make everything okay in the world. Calm for Lucia meant calm for me.

Today when I was practicing yoga, I thought a lot about the Miracle Blanket. My class this morning was a ninety-minute crisis management session. I saw stars, I held back puke, I blinked away eye cream that dripped into my eyes. If it wasn't one thing, it was another stupid little distraction feeding my anxiety. "If only I had the ability right now", I thought to myself as I hoisted myself to standing for another vomit-inducing posture, "to contain myself like the Miracle Blanket used to contain Lucia."

Most babies are lucky. Their parents swaddle them, contain them, give them the physical sense of comfort that induces calm. Most kids too. Parents set the rules, make curfew, control sweets, give them the sense that someone else is in charge, containing them, keeping them safe.

Not adults. We're responsible for finding that calm for ourselves.

Eventually in class this morning, I just sat out for a whole pose instead of trying to get up. In the eighteen years I've been doing Bikram yoga, I've had many hard classes. I always get through them, and I always go back for more. Once I removed myself from my self-induced physical pandemonium, my full-on drama about my nausea, my dizziness, my fatigue, once I finally lay down, it was clear what I needed. I needed a Mental Miracle Blanket. I'd been here before and I knew what I had to do-- stop fighting myself, let myself be contained. And it happened. When I let go of the struggle, I could feel it, the sense of calm, just like the little baby burrito.

Welcome to the Revolution!

Last week while we were cooking dinner, out of the blue, my seven-year-old daughter Lucia said, "Mommy let's make a revolution to not be perfectionists."

"Revolution?" I questioned, then clarified, "A revolution is like a protest."

"No. No. Not a revolution. What's that thing called when you make a decision to change how you act?"

"Resolution?"I asked.

"Yes. Yes. Let's make a resolution to not be perfect all the time."

My heart swelled and broke at the same time. I was so proud and happy to hear Lucia articulating herself clearly and openly, but devastated with the realization that she shares my affliction for perfectionism.

My head still spinning with images of the tortured life my poor little perfectionist would lead if I didn't do something immediately, I seized the opportunity for a teachable moment, "I think that's a great resolution Lu. No one's perfect all the time right? Every single person in the world makes mistakes. All the time. Every day."

"Yeah Mommy, like it doesn't really matter if you don't have the perfect boots on when you get dressed." Lucia lectured while stirring pasta. "You could be ready a lot sooner in the mornings if you didn't worry about your boots or your socks or your skirts."

Stab! Definitely a top ten bad mommy moment!

Later that evening while Lucia was practicing piano, an ongoing stressful event, she kept scolding herself for messing up. I reminded her about our resolution, "Shake it off Lu. Remember, you don't have to be perfect. No one is perfect." She wiggled her arms, took a breath, and tried again.

Since that evening, I've had lots of anti-perfection moments with Lucia and with myself. Like when I let go that my new green-striped Smartwool socks were in the laundry. My black tights would be fine. Like when Lucia read about Martin Luther King and mispronounced "Congress" repeatedly and I held my tongue. Like when Lucia and I built a magnificent snow girl and the head fell off an hour later. I started to run outside to repair our hard work, but instead I just said, "Oh well, she's a smushed snow girl now."(Smile Smile Wink Wink).

I'm not sure what motivated Lucia to make this 2012 resolution, but I'm grateful for the reminder to stand up and fight against the institution of perfectionism.

Welcome to the revolution!