Day 32 Lock-Down
Every living organism has a mechanism to protect itself from harm or threat, from the classic fight-or-flight response, to the more subtle: withdrawal, camouflage, external armour, repellent spray, group safety, etc. These days, our dangers are not primarily physical, no sabre-toothed tigers or warring tribes after us. Yet we go through our days with defenses up: game faces on, bluffs at the ready, jokes and pat answers prepared, because the biggest risk is truth. The biggest gamble, intimacy.
We’ll do almost anything to protect ourselves from vulnerability, but the fact is, we all go through periods of failure, humiliation, gross errors of judgement, uncertainty, ridiculousness, grief, crap-your-pants terror, and, the worst of all:
An audience for our shame.
I’ve been thinking about this kind of stuff lately, and apparently that’s not unusual at this stage of a yoga challenge. Some people, I’ve heard, react on an emotional level to this deeper physical work. Opening up, as it were, from bones to skin.
We’re talking tears. I’m a cry-er at the best of times. The worst of times? Watch out. I was dehydrated before the opening credits of PS: I Love You had finished scrolling. I will NEVER watch City of Angels again. I’ve wept my way through books, conversations, therapy sessions, solitary walks, funerals (of course), weddings (not all tears are sad tears). So yeah, I’ve felt a little teary lately.
I find myself craving intimacy, while being too tired or sore, or afraid, to let down my guard enough to seek it out. It’s so hard to trust that the people around us won’t hurt us. It’s easier to pretend we don’t care, that it doesn’t matter, that we never expected more anyway.
So we laugh it off, send back a “joke” in return. We pull up our armour, tighten our masks and tell ourselves we’re tough, we can take it. Only we can’t, not always, and when we pretend, something inside us withers just a little. We go into lock-down.
Trust is hard for good reason. We’re a thoughtless, self-centered, and sometimes mean-spirited species, and yes, we do stuff in our worst moments that we’re ashamed of in our best moments.
But we’re also kind. We can be, at least.
It’s another type of risk, kindness, but it can break the cycle of mistrust, chip away a little bit of the armour that keeps us from seeing each other. Like a warm bath for sore muscles, kindness eases the armour loose, until it drops away and we can face each other in all our warts and wrinkles, our failings and weaknesses.
Free. Honest. Real.
Day 30 I’d Like to Thank the Academy…
I did it, folks! I DID IT!!
30 classes in 30 days, which is more consistent exercise than I’ve had in, well, ever. And 30 blog posts in 30 days, which is more consistent writing than I usually do, at least without a contract.
I don’t know which one is more significant for me. Some of you know the struggles and disappointments I’ve faced in the last few years. Publishing is a fickle business and there’s only so much you can control. They say the ones who make it are the ones who just hang in there long enough for the competition to give up, or die. So I’m hanging in there, by my fingernails some days, hoping to outwit, outplay, outlast. And from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for joining me on this journey because above everything else we writers want – fame, fortune, multi-book deals and covers that don’t embarrass us – we need readers. The 1000 true fans who keep on believing in us even when we suck. Thank you for reading my words. (And an especially big shout-out to those of you who’ve commented, linked, forwarded and hit the “like” button. Love you, Tracy-girl!)
Sniff. Okay, enough of that.
And now an announcement: I’m doing it AGAIN. Yes, I’ve extended my 30-Day Challenge to a 60-Day Challenge. (Which means I’m already half-done, bwah-ha-ha!) I figure, with this weather, I can’t work in the yard, so for now, I might as well stick with the hot room.
Ach der lieber. Some days I scare myself.
For anyone who’s still interested, I’ll do a tally of results and goals tomorrow.
Day 28 A Good Mennonite Girl Breaks the Silence
Posture number 14, of the 26 in the Bikram series, is called Wind-Removing Pose (or Pavanamuktasana. I can’t say it, but I can spell it. Even if I couldn’t, who’d know??) It looks like this:
And if there’s any little effervescence hanging around your colon, let me tell you it’d take a bionic sphincter to keep it in. Hence the name.
But, fortunately this is not the silence I broke.
I shushed Ken and Barbie. Yes, I did.
It was the beginning of class, the initial savasana, and they were lying side by side, whispering and canoodling and giggling, all of which is strictly verboten.
Well, alright, there’s a bit of lee-way with the whole silence rule; sometimes newcomers aren’t sure where to put the mat (you might recall me mentioning this issue earlier) or they start to ask questions in a somewhat panicked sotto voce: “Is the fan broken? It’s not supposed to be this hot, is it? I think I’m going to throw up.” Etc.
So you quietly comfort and reassure them that yes, the heat is deliberate and no, they won’t puke if they shut up, lie still and breathe. But mostly, shut up.
But this was not the sort of twittering Ken and Barbie were doing. I tolerated it, breathing deeply, until suddenly, something inside me broke.
“SSSSSHHHHHH!!!!!”
I shocked myself. You see, I was not brought up to make waves. My biggest goal in childhod was to be invisible, to avoid the spotlight, to always run with my back against the wall, like a mouse in daylight. I did not run out in the open, with the popular crowd, and I certainly did not shush them.
It’s kind of a cultural thing; Mennonites may not have invented martyrdom, but we’ve certainly perfected it (we’ll claim mediocrity if you ask, however.) We may frown in silent judgement, but we don’t talk about people. Or even to people, unless they’re fellow Mennos. We endure. We suck it up. We huddle together and eat pie. And even though I haven’t been a good Mennonite girl for decades now, the lessons of early childhood are hard-wired in me.
So, while Ken and Barbie will never know who shushed them, I still felt like I’d broken through some psychological barrier in my little brain. Hey, it might be small but it’s my victory.
Erin Brockovich, kickin’ ass and takin’ names, that’s me.