Balance

When I was six years old, I loved the balance beam. I felt so proud of myself, and brave, when I walked across without falling. One summer, my dad made me a balance beam out of 2 x 4s. I got a ton of splinters that summer, and quite a few bruises, but by August, I was joyfully skipping rope up and down the length of the beam.

For most of us, balancing around center is a fickle and fleeting experience. But the quiet steadiness found when we do balance around center is sublime. As a physical skill, balance diminishes as we age, and yet is increasingly important as we get older. Luckily, due to the brilliance of the human body, the ability to balance can be improved with practice!

When we practice balancing postures, we gain a visceral understanding of the fact that balance is not a fixed point. Rather we wander in and around center, and then we fall. Sometimes we fall quietly and lightly; other times we collapse in a heap on the floor. At the moment, the cycle of falling out of center and then finding center again is most interesting to me.

I like things (a.k.a. my life!) to be steady, even, and tempered, so that the emotional feeling of balance is never too far away. I imagine that many of us of us feel that way. Thankfully, life doesn’t cooperate with such safe, and sometimes lifeless, plans. For example, I had a baby in August. So I am now the mother of a five year old and a four month old. Needless to say, I’ve lost my habituated sense of center.

So day after day, now, I recalibrate and begin anew, the delicate dance of navigating equilibrium. I’ve heard “center” described as the place from which we can fall in all directions, and that is ringing true for me lately. Sometimes I am literally balancing the baby on one arm while playing with her older brother. Other times I am quietly wandering the depths of my heart, in search of the place from which I can love fully in all directions.

Snapshot From the Map of Love

Son #1 left for a new college last week. Today I’m on the Cross Sound Ferry issuing Son #2 back to school in Maine, where he will complete his senior year of high school (without incident or infraction, pass Spanish, and fully partake in the gifts and opportunities this educational experience has to offer).* Little does he know that every time I look at him, I map his freckles. I’m cool: He doesn’t know that instead of really listening to how he’s going to spend all his money on truck parts, I’m swimming in his translucence.

Son #1’s departure wasn’t as smooth. I got caught in the anxiety trap, lost sleep, and clutched too hard. After the first few texts from him at his new school, I knew he had forgiven me. More importantly, he’d found a good place to land and learn. I have him in my vision (clear, bright, happy, healthy: thriving).*

“Worrying is praying for what you don’t want,” someone said. How did it take 50+ years to hear that? With the prospect of an empty nest, I take a day off, surprise my husband with the gift of my time, my presence.

Ocean swimming was glorious this summer. For me, there’s an edge to it. How far out can I go before I start calculating the distance between me and the bottom, and what might be lurking there? Can I let the liquid-crystal water hold me, or do I race for shore, heart pounding?

I think of another quote: “Let go and let God.” This is so much better than “Let go and let your anxious mind wreck havoc on everything you care about. ” When I catch myself there, it’s “Inhale, exhale, pause.”

So it’s September. We return to the work of our lives. Letting go and letting God, letting love, letting breath, meeting challenges, letting life.

*Manifestation practice. What else can a mother do?!

Role Models

I went to visit one of my dearest friends in the hospital the other day. (We met the day I moved to NYC. I taught him yoga, and he taught me New York.) We spent the afternoon reminiscing about our friendship and the ways that our lives have changed since we met. He saw the exhaustion in my eyes and said, “Joyce, in the last year you’ve become a wife, a mother, a new business owner—an adult. That’s a lot for one year.”

I’d gone to the hospital to see my friend, and I left feeling seen.

In yoga, we often ask the question, “Who am I?” I’ve always thought that we were supposed to use this question to break free from the roles that we play every day—to go deeper than “I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a sister. I am a business owner.” Honestly, I’ve always considered any one of these roles as somewhat superficial. However, it felt so profound to be seen by my old friend, that I’ve begun to re-examine the question, “Who am I?”

The roles that we play in our lives are deep, and much bigger than who we are as individuals. In fact, these roles are often deeply ingrained in the fabric of our society. To be in a particular role in your family or company—can help you manage your time and life effectively.

But back to the question, “Who am I?” What if we want to break free of a traditional role? What if we want to evolve that role? What if we want to live with two or three roles that are actually at odds with one another? Well, then I suppose you have a pretty dynamic life to lead. And what better place to practice the dynamics of finding balance and counterbalance of opposing forces than on the yoga mat?

What I have found particularly important about having a daily yoga practice is that no matter what else changes in my life, the fact that I have a practice can remain constant. No matter where I am in the world, no matter how much or how little time I have, no matter what other people around me are doing, I can still practice yoga every day. And without fail, having a daily practice means I feel more patient, centered, and genuine in all the other roles I am juggling. I hope to see you on the mat soon.