Ever started cooking a recipe only to find you were missing the pink Himalayan rock salt? The one ingredient that not only added depth to the dish, but an inviting and inspiring color to the garnish. In this moment you make a decision: use the table salt you have in the back of your pantry, go to the corner store and hope for the best version of gourmet salt, or you drive to the specialty store 20 minutes away and risk the entirety of the dish being over-cooked or served way after bedtime. Does it really matter what choice you made? No, not really. But if the intention behind the meal was to savor the complexity of flavors and the art and flare of cooking, maybe the table salt fell short of those expectations. Now if you were just really hungry and needed something in your belly, table salt is the perfect choice.
I bring up this scenario related to food to make a point about purpose and planning. Imagine if days before you decided to cook the meal you sat down, looked at the recipe and made a list of all the ingredients, then went to the store and stocked up. The state in which you prep and cook the meal would be more mindful and perhaps fun and enjoyable because you knew with certainty you had everything you needed to cook and enjoy the meal.
Now to layer this onto something a bit more intangible, the food for your soul. You realize it is time for some yoga. You can tell not because your tummy is grumbling, but because you're a bit on edge and a little irritable, so much so that your family and friends are recommending you take some time for yourself. You acquiesce. You glance at the rectangular oracle (your phone) and find the next conveniently available class without regard to the teacher or format. This will probably get the job done in the time that you have, true. But imagine spending the time once a week to plan for your practice, one that reminds you of the joy of being here and now, despite the obstacles that life can present. With planning, that teacher, friend or class will benefit from!1your energy in being there, time will magically appear in your day because the class is on your calendar, and that fantastic yoga outfit is already in your car. You’ve committed, not only to the class but to your well-being; and those are the kinds of experiences that offer sustenance for the busier, trying times.
Is one better than the other? In my opinion, no. Do what you can and make it practical because if it’s not practical, you won’t do it, and some yoga is better than none.
Try it! Plan for a new class, a new teacher, meet friends, or see a teacher that you haven’t practiced with for a while. Trust me she (he) would love to see you too.
At the start of 2019, I made a promise to myself that I would have as many uncomfortable experiences as I could. That is to say, I would intentionally put myself in situations that were less than warm and fuzzy. Why? Put simply: Fear.
So when the opportunity arose to do a 4-day hike on the Inca trail to Machu Picchu, I figured, why not. I sarcastically joked, "At least if I fall off the mountain, I'll go out in a cool way." But my morbid sense a humor was merely masking a much deep-rooted fear. What appeared as a fear of heights on the surface, I started to realize, was a fear of falling (and failing) from the passions in my life-- the tops of my mountains, so to speak. A deeper layer to that, which the first two days of my hike shed light on, was ultimately the fear of not knowing myself, especially when it came to pain.
As I write this now, alive and back from my journey, I realize that I will be unpacking this experience for years to come. The layers are almost difficult to summarize in words. There is something to be said for using physical exertion to take apart your mind, only to put it back together in an unfamiliar way. Everything I had expected didn't happen, and everything that happened I didn't expect. The main thing-- excruciating knee pain.
Having no knee pain prior to the trip, it was a hard hit to my ego when on Day 1 (the easy day) my knee was visibly swollen and throbbing after only a few hours. My initial reaction was stress, anxiety, fear, and all of the habitual patterns that are ready and waiting when shit hits the fan back home. Looking back, it's no surprise they made their appearance with me in the Andes. But it wasn't a lesson in pain management I needed to learn-- it was mind-framing.
In the first two days, I would stop to elevate my leg and obsess about resting. At a low point, fear had me bawling and contemplating the worst case scenario of continuing. But what did that accomplish? With the help of some wise reminders from my friends, I returned to the purpose of my trip. "Embrace the suck; sit with discomfort. Face fear." That was where the lesson was.
There were a couple of mantras I would recite across the thousands of steps I took on my hike. "No mud, no lotus" reminded me that without sitting in the dark places, we are not able to grow. In those moments where I felt that things were at their worst, "this too shall pass" would assure me that all is temporary, even pain.
So on Day 3 and 4, rather than being limited by the pain, I used it. I found that if I kept moving through it, and didn't stop, I felt the pain less. As I moved, I was more aware of my steps and my breath, and the muscular effort to keep going. The moment I stopped, stillness brought a negative hole of throbbing pain. So I kept moving.
While I wish I could say pain was the only element of challenge on the hike, it was not. My fear of heights joined the party on Day 3, just to be sure I didn't get too cocky about working through my pain. I started to understand that fear is not something you necessarily overcome, at least not right away. You simply get better at handling it. While it can be crippling, fear can also be the largest motivator.
Our fears tend to hide in the shadows, making themselves at home in the confines of the mind. They manifest themselves by quietly influencing our actions and behaviors. Sometimes it takes stepping out of our comfort zones to establish or understand the source of those fears. Perhaps it's a fear of rejection that keeps us from making connections, or a fear of the unknown that keeps us seeking answers. Maybe there's a fear of obscurity or, on the contrary, a fear of being remembered for inadequacy. Suppose the fear of missing out (or FOMO) is masking a fear of scarcity, or the fear of losing control leads us to plan and micromanage others. Then there's the fear of pain and death, which can affect our desire for new experiences.
As counterintuitive as it sounds or feels, the path we avoid, is often the one we need to take. When we stop hiding from fears and embrace what we're afraid of, what are the possibilities? What discoveries could we be opening ourselves up to if we embrace vulnerability and stare our fears in the face? Sure, there may be some discomfort along the way, but on the other side of that is growth. Without the climb, you'll never reach the top of the mountain. And without the descent. you'll never reach the bottom.
When I tried to pinpoint the main lesson or takeaway from the trip, I came up empty-- simply because I am so full of lessons to narrow it down to one. Maybe that's the point though, to stop trying to squeeze an experience into a box. Let it be what it is, appreciate the beauty as you see it, and allow what comes.
- Brittany Pires