There are no shortcuts in life or love. Pain must be felt because the alternative is much worse, and it is what makes us special, and worthy, and human. But pain is always accompanied by hope. And that is where I have been, somewhere between agony and hope. Transition is never easy and the last year has been anything but. Throughout my melodramatic struggle, I have found that having some kind of peace with myself was utterly impossible. That is until I found myself in the most lonely city in the world, desperately reaching literally and figuratively for some kind of meaning or understanding.
While trying to make one of the biggest decisions of my life I had agreed to go to church with my roommates. I knew I was looking for guidance but what I found was the most intimidating, commercial and modern “church” in the middle of Times Square. Testimonials of drug addict prostitutes finding god because of the free donuts left me angrily wishing someone would talk about how, not just some vague story that just says they finally got their act together. I knew I needed something, I just didn’t know where to find it.
Yoga class started much like almost every activity in NYC, waiting in a crowed room with too many people. I knew I needed this. I had been trying to go for weeks now, there were too many excuses that had stood in my way previously; delayed trains, happy hours, and just too scared to try something new. I set up my mat on the edge of the room, in true Erica fashion, I needed to have my own private place to think. My neighbor’s mat was slowly but surely inched closer and closer to mine as the time grew closer to 730 and an unbelievable number of people squeezed into this studio. It was quite possible that the building itself was also practicing its own form of yoga, stretching to fit some many people in this one room. Finally my intimidatingly fit neighbor was practically sitting on my lap, I looked at her and said, “pretty crowed huh?” In response I got a “yea” accompanied by look of great distain.
How was I going to focus on my breathing and calming my mind when I felt like a sardine! I am a closeted people-phoebe; too many people in one room makes me nervous. Amidst my panic attack, class starts and before I know it I am in downward dog and just trying to pretend all of my neighbors aren’t there. This worked of course until I almost kicked the poor girl behind me in the face while raising my left foot to the sky. Rightfully so, I received the same look of distain that I received from the first girl.
I wouldn’t consider myself a yogi by any stretch of the imagination, mostly because I picture monks and vegetations and other calm individuals when I think of yogi. I love yoga’s mystical, spiritual, centering feeling, calmness and strength that it brings to my body, but I come back for more because of the work out. I practice yoga so that if it ever becomes necessary I will be flexible enough kick my own ass. In addition to being one of the most intense workouts I have experienced, yoga brings your consciousness back to your body and yourself that I can’t find anywhere else. It cultivates a way of maintaining a balanced attitude and short-circuiting anxiety. Even with my workout-aholic tendencies of running until I am too dehydrated to function, bike riding till I am bruised and bleeding, taking hits from an unrelenting soccer ball or wailing on the punching bag until everything in my body hurts, I have yet to find any workout as physically and emotionally fulfilling as power yoga. Because of my obsession with being intense, I hardly ever do traditional yoga, I prefer heated vinyasa also known as power yoga. This is a workout done in 100 degree temperatures, moving and stretching with your breath in order to gain strength and flexibility. Like they say, if you can’t take the heat, stay out of the studio.
Attending yoga class is the only time I ever focus solely my body, feeling and engaging every muscle I can in each pose. It may only be calming because it’s hard to think about anything else. Take a full right lunge pressing your weight into that front thigh, hold strong on your back leg, pressing your heal and outside of your foot to the floor, press your hips down keeping your tailbone stacked on top, rotate your waist forward squaring off your hips, keep pressing down, reach towards the ceiling with your arms and fingers while dropping your shoulders down and relaxing your neck…oh yea, don’t forget to breath. Feel the Burn yet? When your body is at its limit you take a deep breath and everything else seems to leave you with the exhale.
At the end of class we were instructed to lye on our mats, face down with our hands by our waist, palms up. The instructor told us to turn our heads to the left, ears pressed on the floor. Luckily for me my face turned to the wall. As I lay there I felt so helpless and venerable in that position, like a baby seal, beached. I don’t know why but very silently I started to cry if only for a few moments, I didn’t even need to hide it because after an intense hour of stretching my body as much as it would let me, sweet was pouring down my face. Who can tell the difference between sweet and tears anyways? At that moment the song “Orange Sky” started play, a song that makes me think of my estranged sister, a song that if I wasn’t crying already would have got me going.
Finally, at the end of the class my body was as exhausted as my mind has been for weeks and I felt at peace. I realized that in my quest for spirituality that week when I attended the most commercialized non-denominational church in NYC, I had finally found it here, in myself….
I have now made the “Yoga to The People” classes part of my weekly routine. Though I really need to stop crying in class, it is going to ruin my street cred.
To learn more about Yoga to the People: Visit http://yogatothepeople.com/
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