My dad's scarlet letter

There is nothing quite like the glint of fake jewelry soaring through the hot Nevada air toward their demise to cement a memory.

My dad was a baseball player. Actually, he was a man-of-all-sports, but baseball was his true love, the one that could have taken him to college and beyond, had the motivation been his and not just the talent. Raising four fairly girly daughters kept him from tossing the ball around in the back yard. Since girls didn't fit the definition of "ball-tosser-arounders," it's likely it simply never occured to him to attempt it. When grandsons finally showed up after six granddaughters, it didn't make a difference. He was out of practice, but some talents never leave us.

I wonder if he realized the irony that two of his best pitches, the ones that clearly demonstrated that even rusty, the man had an arm that was meant to throw, were fueled by defeat. Part of the events that had brought us to that moment are second hand; I had spent the night with my best friend at her mom's house in West Las Vegas, while my parents trolled the Strip. Sometime before I returned, but after their morning breakfast buffet of thinly sliced prime rib and sugary pastries, a desperate man approached them, jewelry in his hand, deceit in his heart. He was losing badly at the tables, and needed to shed some valuables to get back in the game. The  flash of gold, the promise of value beyond the price contained in the watch and the necklace, sunk deep into my dad's heart. And possibly my mom's too, as, in her own words, "I pulled out my hundred, too." I imagine the deal was over almost as fast as it began.

It was after that moment that time began to stand still. By the time I had rejoined them, doubt and regret had started to eat at my dad's heart. Both were emotions he knew well; doubt was always right behind all of his schemes to get something more from something less. The wooden duck decoy business. The reverse osmosis laundry ball. The myriad of real estate deals that never panned out. Oh, how he wanted to be a success. To finally edge away from his regret over his blue-collar lay off and his inability to provide for his family in the aftermath. What he didn't realize was that being laid off is generally more forgivable than spending your entire life afterward in a funk of desperate regret. 

They had already started to bicker as I climbed into the car at our rendezvous point. Dad was trying to convince himself and his wife that the item's imperfections implied that they had value. Mom was blaming him for his impetuousness. Both were dreading the inevitable. I don't remember much as we drove to the hotel where my uncle was a security guard to find a jeweler. I know there was a long walk through the casino, trays of necklaces with tiny tags, and expectations that were predictably dashed. The finality of the jeweler's eyepiece as it dropped back to his chest, swung a few times, then lay still.

It is impossible for me to leave Las Vegas without remembering. The air in the car was thick with blame and regret and guilt and shame. Words didn't help, nor were they easy to find. To keep talking about the event made it worse. Small talk was crowded out by past and present and future.

Just after you climb out of the valley of sin, the desert stretches north. Somewhere in the midst of all that nothingness, we suddenly stopped. I watched my dad climb from the car. The necklace and watch were ceremonially cast away, as far as my dad's once-golden arm could get them as his wife and daughter looked on. He hoped that by casting them away and then making a pact to never talk about the event again, it would be erased. The fingerprints would bake away in the sun. The rust that had already started to eat away at the necklace would be helped by the wind and rain. The watch would run out of time.

But the ache of that morning lives on. The attempt to erase acted like cement. Knowing my dad was trusting and too-hopeful and eager to get something for nothing became a rust that degraded my faith in him. Oh how I wish it hadn't. The glint of defeat that is my last visual memory of the jewelry was never erased by any subsequent success my dad could show me. He couldn't process it for himself, so I neither could I. I could neither side with him or against him, because to do either was to go against one of my parents, and that didn't feel right, even though it was the general way that things were played in our family.


How I wish I could tell him that I forgive him for being hopeful and eager. Assure him that those aren't bad qualities. Joke about the glints of flying gold to take away their power. What I understand now is that it was never about the loss of a few hundred dollars. Those few hours and cheap items became a glowing symbol of all the ways he failed those around him, instead of a moment of poor judgement.

He wore that necklace and watch, and all that they implied, on his heart until the day he died. Only three of us could actually see them, but I regret to say that almost everyone could feel them.

Review: Bikram Yoga Express Class.

I've been inconsistent with yoga this year. During the fall, I was able to attend more than one class a month, and I was starting to feel the benefits. So far in 2015, I've only been to a few classes. But, as they say, it is what it is.

The Bikram studio that I frequent started offering an express class - a 60 minute class instead of the traditional 90 minutes. I love to practice Bikram, but there are challenges. Eating has been a hard thing to figure out for me - I like to give myself 3 or so hours after a meal before I practice, and that is hard to do for a non-morning person. My time is limited (whose isn't?) so a typical  class can feel like a strain on my day. And, I tend to feel sleepy and a bit spacey after class. I'm not sure if it is the heat or the time of day that I take class (either morning or late afternoon) that causes this.These aren't things that keep me from practicing, just items that I have to manage on the days I practice.

I went to my first class last week, and it helped me with a lot of these issues. The mid-day class gave me enough time to have my morning with my kids and then do errands or chores once they were off to school. I could breakfast like normal and still had time to digest. Plus, I still have a bit of time after class if I need to finish up any projects or tasks.

During the class, I had a lot of trouble keeping my mind in the room. I had overheard two of the instructors talking about teaching an express class and how to best manage the time. I ingested too much of what the one instructor said about how they organize their classes. I wish I hadn't. It kept me from experiencing and trusting my instructor. I wanted to think I knew what was coming next (hello, control issues!), and so when I had to repeat certain poses that I had anticipated being singular, I felt mental anguish, especially the ones that I don't enjoy! I wished so much that I could quiet my brain and simply experience the great class my instructor was giving me. She is an instructor I know and enjoy, and I didn't like feeling distracted by my expectations.

I also learned about trust. My overly-anxious mind kept me watching the clock, wondering how we would finish on time. Part of it was curiosity, but most of it is related to my tendency to second guess others. This is an issue that bleeds into a lot of areas in my life. I want to get better at letting things happen, trusting others expertise, and quieting my anxieties.

We have been learning about mindfulness (which is really just an easier-to-swallow word for meditation) at work. It has has extended my knowledge and understanding of meditation and the effect that our thoughts and feelings about stress have on our lives. This class and my mindset was a good example for me of my bad habits. I'm trying to break the cycle of anxiety caused from anticipation and overthinking. My old habits keep me from being in the moment and more fully experiencing what I am doing.

The class itself was a whirlwind. Here are some thoughts:

•  I loved moving through the poses quickly. I didn't have time to dread either what I was doing, or what was coming next. 
• When it came time for Camel, I found it less difficult emotionally. We did two sets, and I did both with a sense of surprise that they came so fast, and that they were so much easier than normal. I almost didn't hate the pose. Almost!
• I liked that my feet didn't ache as much as they do in a 90 minute class. I get so distracted by them.
• I tried to be thoughtful in the poses that were singular. I know a few of my bad habits now, thanks to receiving corrections for things I do wrong in the back strengthening poses. I put extra effort into them, which helped me feel that I got just as much back from doing them once as I would have doing them twice.
• I left feeling every bit as challenged as I usually do, and just a bit less spent, which was very helpful to the rest of my day. I wasn't tired or groggy like I usually am, which my family appreciated.

I am sold on the express class. It is something I plan on incorporating into my weekly workout regimen. Also, the more I experience at Bikram West Jordan, the more I enjoy and appreciate the studio. Everyone is welcome and valued.  I hope that this class is successful and stays around permanently.

Book Review: My Name is Resolute

In January, the History Channel did a mini-series called Sons of Liberty. It was awesome. It was interesting to see the American Revolution from the perspective of Sam Adams (who I didn't realize was actually important, or a Patriot), John Hancock, John Adams, and Paul Revere. I liked that it told the story of Margaret Gage, the wife of the commanding British general, General Thomas Gage. Even though I knew America would win its independence, the show was effective at depicting the uncertainty of America winning its freedom.

My Name is Resolute by Nancy Turner was recommended by Amy one night when I was desperate for a good read. January and February were very dry months; I tried to read The Burgess Boys, The Boston Girl, First Frost, The First Bad Man, and The Miniaturist with no success. It was a great suggestion. Resolute is the daughter of a plantation owner in Jamaica. We learn early on about an undercurrent of tension in the family regarding a family acquaintance, Uncle Rafe. It's difficult to see whose side Uncle Rafe is on, and Resolute is clearly on the side of distrust. Shortly after being introduced to the main characters - Resolute, her sister Patience, brother August, and Uncle Rafe - Resolute and her family are captured by pirates and loaded on a ship for the Americas.

Resolute's life is full of adventure. She endures the horrors of being in a slave hold aboard the ship,  witnessing (without understanding) the nightly violations of her sister by the pirates (including our favorite uncle, Uncle Rafe), and being kept alive on hard tac and rum. In the midst of all of this, all she ever wants to do is get back to her mother, the only family member who didn't make it onto the ship. Her determination to go back home carries her through landing in the Americas, being sold as an indentured slave, and kidnapping by Indians. Miraculously, she is able to stay with her sister Patience in one way or another until, 7 years after their initial capture, Patience helps Resolute escape their life as captives in a convent in Montreal only to abandon her, alone and friendless, near Lexington, Massachusetts.

It is in Lexington that the story picks up. I loved watching the events that lead up to the Revolution through Resolute's experiences as a wife, mother, and weaver of fine linens and wools. The mentions of a baby Paul Revere, of John Hancock running goods to the colonies to avoid paying taxes, of illegal Redcoat searches of Resolute's home in attempts to find banned goods like wool, iron, and guns, told a bit of history and helped me to sympathize with the colonists and their dream of freedom from Crazy King George. It produced the same uncertainty I felt while watching Sons of Liberty. I was so glad I'd already met Margaret Gage and her special friend Dr. Joseph Warren. They were depicted as having an affair together in the show, but were just seen together in different scenes in the book, but I appreciated thinking I knew their unstated, but widely believed, subplot.

But mainly, I just loved Resolute. She wasn't a perfect character. She has uncommon good fortune, with a few generous benefactresses that were a bit of a stretch. After she grows up, the book details what happens to her, focusing on the story more than character building. But I didn't mind it; it was satisfying to just read a tale that didn't have to have a big reveal, or a surprise ending that required me to go back to look for clues. It ended in a mostly tidy way, but that's ok. The story brought to life so many real and vibrant characters, all with their own agendas. If you just want a long, satisfying, good story with excellent writing, character development, and a dose of accurate history to go along with it, I would recommend this book.

Currently: The Early Spring Edition

Reading: My Name is Resolute, Love Letters to the Dead, and Freedom from your Inner Critic. I have one book in different places all over the house so that I can have access wherever I go. I've never read anything by Nancy Turner before (she wrote These is My Words, which has always sort of been on my list) and I'm really enjoying Resolute. I went through an extremely dry reading spell at the first of the year, so I'm relieved to finally have some good books. Although I'm reading really slowly lately - I stopped taking the train to work, so that killed a lot of my good reading time. But, parking under my building and not having to walk over a block to work from the parking garage or train stop for the first time in 15 years is really, really nice.

Enjoying: my spring bulbs. Fears of global warming aside, I've loved seeing my early spring friends. My mini-daffodils were adorable, as were the new giant hyacinth that I planted. But my favorite are the poppy anemones. They are so sweet! They are various shades of white, pink, blue, and purple. I die every time a new one blooms. I planted 100 of them, and I'm tempted to plant more in the fall.

Sewing: baby blankets. I haven't sewn since 2013, how sad is that!? But there is a whole new crop of babies coming. I even picked out the flannel with my mom, which was fun since we don't usually get to do errands together, but she was living nearby for a while during her spinal fusion recovery. I had forgotten how much I love being creative. I think I spent most of January and February looking at my phone, texting and incessantly checking social media. I need more creative outlets.

Practicing: nothing, specifically on the piano. I sort of lost my mojo for playing in January and haven't gotten it back. I'm actually kind of embarrassed now (which is my insecurities showing, I know!) that I was playing in public. Most of the time it sucked. But I'm also sad I'm not practicing anymore. It was a lovely outlet for a few months. And, I'm wasting the piano tuning I had in January, which made my old piano sound so much better! Honestly, I think I miss playing Christmas songs. Church hymns get boring after a while. I don't feel like I can play much else because with those two genres, I have the advantage of always knowing how the song should sound so I can be lazy and not figure out the rhythm.

Running: in my neighborhood. One of my favorite routes is closed now, and is being repaved and sidewalks added. It makes me sort of sad - I ran that stretch of road more times that I can count for over 15 years. But I've found a new route that is making me happy that includes a new road that just opened a few months ago. Again, global warming aside, this winter was lovely for running. I ran in short sleeves in February multiple times. Who knew that could ever happen?

Liking: my new wallet. I bought it at the University of Utah hospital while I was visiting my mom. I'd had my old one since Ben was in diapers, so I think it was justified. Plus, it has two pouches with zippers so I can keep my key and phone all in one handy spot, thus theoretically preventing me from saying "Where's my phone!?" as often.  (I am anti-purse. They just aren't my type.)

Eating: the most delicious breakfast sandwiches ever. We got a breakfast sandwich maker for Christmas and I use it every day that I eat breakfast at home. It has revolutionized breakfast around here. Love.

Smiling: because of this selfie. We didn't get a pic of us when we saw Margaret Atwood in 2004. It was satisfying to get one this time, even if we couldn't get one with Ms. Atwood. (Also, Amy and I are veteran sister-selfie takers. We perfected it in Italy. Just in case you wondered.)

Going: to the gym for a sculpting class. It's been months since I've gone, probably since last summer! I'm going to be so sore. Update: I stayed for 15 minutes of spin class after sculpting. I really, really hate riding a bike. But I like being sore.

Surviving: having my IUD changed. Those 3 minutes when they clamp the cervix are awful. But, the lack of periods and 5 years of birth control pretty much make up for them. Also, I realized that I'm glad I don't have a lot of female problems and pain. The hour of cramps after the insertion before my ibuprofen kicked in were almost more than I could deal with. Kudos to those women who have painful female parts. My apologies if you didn't come here to hear about my cervix and uterus.

What is current in your life?

The same old fears, part 347

Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.

Wish you were here, Pink Floyd

Last night, I went to a Margaret Atwood lecture at my alma mater. The event was part of a lecture series called the Tanner Lecture on Human Values. There were so many things about the evening that I loved - being with my sister, driving my old route to the university past my first apartment, enjoying the beautiful spring light as I made my way into town, listening to Margaret Atwood talk about the necessity of the arts in society and how they are part of our most basic selves, remembering all the time I spent on that campus when I was young, and attending something that was out of my regular routine and being 100% comfortable with it. It was a great time, a much needed bright spot. Plus, Margaret Atwood is wickedly funny and smart and thought-provoking. And, did I mention, time with my sister? Love.

I've been in a mental rut for a few months. I could blame it on other people and their choices and struggles, but really, it's not their fault. They were the catalyst that set me on this path, but I can only blame myself for the way that things played out. It put me into a tailspin of emotions and guilt. It's complicated, but I think I complicated it more than necessary because I slipped back into old habits that don't serve me or those around me well at all.

I was looking through my journal the other night. I found entries from two years ago when I was desperately trying to dig myself out of the funk of our decision to not have another baby. Later, I found entries of when I was in Italy having both the time of my life and a different kind of emotional revolution. Over and over, I read my own words of the hope I had to finally be a grown-up, to pull my shit together, and stop allowing others to steal my zen.

I keep figuring out the same damn thing about myself, over and over, "running over the same old ground" just using different people or situations or trials. As a result of it all, I have the same "revelation" and try to set the same goals to "fix" myself, which I promptly forget when the crisis abates, to then do it all over again a few years later.

Maybe everyone does this. (Please, please say that other people do this!) But I think I'm really here this time. I think that I'm finally figuring out who I am and what makes me fall into the same self-defeating patterns.

I'm participating in a meditation series hosted by Deepak Chopra. These meditations come around every few months; the most significant time that I have participated, other than this year, was in 2013 when I was trying to get over my back injury. Meditation got me out of a very dark place then and allowed me to stop punishing my body for its injury. This time, I am learning about success. Not the success that comes from being wealthy or fabulous, but the success that comes from making choices that are healthy, from understanding what successful thought patterns and effective emotions look like, and ways to quiet my inner critic and fears.

At church, the young women say a theme each week that begins this way: "We are daughters of our heavenly father, who loves us, and we love him." I was thinking about that statement during a meditation. Every week, I say those words, but I don't know if I believe the first part, that God loves me. If I don't know that, are there people in my life whose love I distrust? I started replacing "we," "daughter," and "heavenly father" with other names and relationships. "I am Thomas and Ben's mom, who love me, and I love them." "I am Don and Sue's daughter, who love me, and I love them."There are people in my life that I am secure in saying that phrase about because I know our love is mutual. There are others whom I know I love, but who I shy away from authentically believing their love for me. I think it's important for me to accept that they love me, even if I don't relate to their mode of love. I'm going work on that.

You know how when you learn a new word, you hear that word constantly for a few days afterward? Between the meditations, talks with my husband and my sister and other good friends, a few books on aging and anxiety and dealing with the inner critic, a writing session from a place in my heart that showed me some of my oldest and most irrational, childish fears and motivators, and last night's lecture from Ms. Atwood, I'm starting to hear what the universe is screaming at me.It wants me to grow up. It wants me to be the same on the outside as I am on the inside. It is showing me who I am with certain people and why and how I can stop being that person (if I am brave and self-aware enough.)

I think I'm ready to make some true internal changes in my world view that will last longer than a family party, a blog post, a few weeks, or a month. Wish me luck.

Emotional road map

Subtitle: Caution - Rough Terrain Ahead

My favorite class in all of my college career was called Ethics and Values. I had the best instructor - a man who introduced topics each week like abortion and euthanasia and then asked us to write an essay on what our opinion was. He never once - until the very last day of class - told us what his stand on any topic was (which I think was so brilliant of him. No one could cozy up to him to get brownie points by following his lead.). I came out of the class knowing where I stood on some things that surprised me, but were authentic to me.

One of the big ideas in the class was intentions versus consequences. Let's say I make my neighbor dinner. No matter what my intentions, the consequences are that she and her family eat for a night. But, I can make her dinner with the following intentions, depending on the situation:

• So that she will have a meal and not feel stressed about her new baby (or her sickness, or whatever situation requires her to have a meal.)
• So that I can stop feeling guilty for all of the times that she made me dinner
• So that my other neighbors can see me taking her dinner and they will think I am fabulous
• So that I can hope that later, when I am in need, I can hope that she would make me dinner
• So that she can know that I am much more generous than her, because she didn't make me dinner when I ______.
• And so on.

Now, I'm not really talking about making my neighbor dinner. I like to think I only make dinners for the first reason, but not the other reasons. It's easy for me, the star in my own story, to say that my intentions are always good. But I'm sure that they aren't. I'm sure that other people would read into my actions and judge and critique.

Recent events have me looking at intentions and consequences in a very serious way. I'm evaluating myself on why I've done what I've done for people. I'm also looking at what motivates me. I find that guilt is one of my most frequent motivator.

Conversely, I see some people around me and they have these emotional holes that they are filling. Some fill it with substances. Others fill it with food. Some fill it with a sheer will to pretend that their holes don't exist, or avoidance, or running away.

I know that I have my own holes. I sort of know what my holes are, and I know what I use to fill them. Some are healthy things, like running and yoga and meditation. But others aren't so healthy, like running to the gas station for a soda, or Starbucks for my favorite hot chocolate. I'll admit that trips like this to reward or cheer myself are frequent.Wow, I visited this person - gotta hit Starbucks. Wow, I had a bad day - I should stop at McDonald's for a $1 drink. It seems like a small thing, but if I look at it for what it is - it's a destructive behavior. Yes, it doesn't have the same effect that shooting heroin would, but it's doing the same thing: filling an emotional void, or pain, that I obviously have.

So, I want this post to come out to say that I want to be different. I have some goals that I want to document. They are all wrapped up in what has been going on around and inside of me for the past 2 months. Call it manifesto or whatever you will.

• Stop doing things out of guilt.
• Have better intentions for doing things for other people. I don't want to have the feeling that others are looking over my shoulder and keeping a tally of what I do so that it looks like I am a good mother, friend, daughter, sister, wife, neighbor. I hate that I just had to write that sentence, because it means that I've been doing this. But maybe others around me already know it and I'm just saying what is obvious to them. Regardless, I want my intentions to be more authentic.
• I don't want to panic anymore when I get into a situation that causes me stress, where someone is asking something of me that I am uncomfortable about or that will not be a possibility. I get into trouble because all of my "training" tells me that I have to do what the person is needing me to do, exactly as they need me to do it. I don't have the security in myself to say the part I can do without torturing myself over not being able to do everything. I worry so much about hurting others feelings when they are already hurting mine. I can't keep doing this. 
• Learn how to say my honest feelings. I don't trust that others can "handle my truth," which gets me into trouble. At the very least, it degrades my feelings. It also insults them, because I'm not treating them like the grown-up that they are (or should be.) I think it's deep-seated, irrational fears that do this to me. I've applied this in my life in some ways over the past few years, but there are others that I am still "protecting" in this way. I have to stop this.
• Stop allowing people to make me feel guilty. If I'm doing something out of guilt, it's not authentic to me. If I'm not doing something out of guilt, it's not authentic to me. With a realization that I have people that depend on me, I have to realize my limitations and put them first, and then do what I can for the others around me. Those others are very important and I want to do what I can for them. 
• I want to find my "holes" and try to not fill them with things or activities that will never satisfy. 

I've been reading a book that has helped me find a road map for to do some of these things. Here are the bullet points:

• I need to give up on meaningless (guilt-induced, or "checking off the box") attempts to satisfy others
• I need to stop power struggles
• I need to avoid situations that put me in conflict with other (there are topics with family members that immediately cause strife. Some of that is my fault, and some of it isn't. It is a situation of intentions verses consequences, and trying to change the outcome regarding certain topics is like beating my head against a wall.) I need to pick my battles and find ways of spending time with those people in less conflictual activities. 
• I need to make it clear what I can and cannot do in a constructive and non-threatening way, and with the right timing.
• (This one is my own) I need to stop trying to do certain things to try to anticipate others needs, because of feelings of guilt that I'm not doing enough. I also need to let those people deal with the problems that will come up from their choices, instead of trying to head them off for them. It's impossible, it frustrates me and them, and - ultimately - it's never enough, anyway.
• (Another one that is my own) I need to realize that I cannot ever repay some people for what they have done for me in my life. I can be grateful, but I can never do enough to satisfy their emotional needs (because, again, it will never be enough.) My enough has to be good enough for me, and I can't change the fact that it isn't enough for them. That isn't my problem, it's theirs.

How strange that I feel that I have to write a blog post to say all of this. If only I could just already have learned all of these lesson. I'm almost 40 years old, for crying out loud. But maybe this is what it means to turn 40. I know when I turned 30, I found I naturally dropped some unhelpful personality traits and picked up others. It might just be another step towards finally being a grown up. And if writing these things helps me remember them better, commit to them better, practice and apply them better, then it's a step in the right direction.

Get a good grip on your heels.

Last week was insane. I can't go into all of the crazy, but suffice it to say, I never want another week like that again. Looking back, if I had to say what caused most of the anguish, I would say it was lack of planning on the part of others, insensitivity and assumptions, and the foolish feeling in me to always need verification of my feelings from others combined with a tendency to want to take care of people in impossible ways.

Basically, a recipe for disaster.

By the time Saturday rolled around, I had an emotional hangover to match the real hangover I had the morning after my bachelorette party. I felt bruised and battered and I had a desperate urge to feel something physical to take away the emotional drama. So I went to hot yoga. While I usually strive to do my very best in class, I gave myself permission to get through whatever I could in the class, even if that meant just laying in Savasana. Plus I knew that even if I cried through the whole class, no one would know because it would just look like sweat. Hopefully.

Luckily, I did okay. I did take a knee for the second set of Triangle Pose. I got through all of the floor poses in a good state of mind until the second set of Half-Tortoise Pose, when I began to have a mini-panic attack at the thought what was next - Camel Pose. Camel is always a hard one for me. If there is anything emotional going in my life at the time, it usually bubbles up during Camel. I've cried in it, I've felt elated in it, I've also felt absolutely nothing in it (but that is rare.)



 http://0398ea4.netsolhost.com/WordPress/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/accamel_yoga_video_online.jpg

I found I was breathing so fast I thought I would hyperventilate. Even though I was 3 feet from the front mirror, I avoided any eye contact with myself. I dragged myself into the beginning position of the pose, head down. Leaning backward into the pose felt like I was being flayed. Or crucified. I could barely endure the feeling of exposure. I kept thinking of the terrible conversations I'd had in the preceding days, and I recognized the same feelings of panic and despair. When it was time to come out, I got out as quickly as possible, collapsed onto my back, and cried, dreading the knowledge I'd just have to do it all again.

But that was when I got pissed. When Savasana was done, I let my anger drive me. I turned around, stood up on my knees, and stomped my way towards the mirror (which looks as comical as it sounds), looking at forward the entire time. Before I dropped my head back to begin the pose, I stared into my own eyes and let the person in the mirror look defiantly back. I went into Camel and let all my anger override my fear of the openness. It was the exact same pose as before, but the intention was completely different. I let that sink in, and thought of the recent conversations and how I could improve my intentions, even if the consequences are the same. I stayed in the pose just a few seconds after the instruction to come out came, just to prove to myself I could face and learn from hard things.

After Camel comes Rabbit. Rabbit is as closed off as a pose can be.

http://www.mnn.com/sites/default/files/styles/featured_blog/public/rabbit-pose.jpg

It was a relief to feel protected again. I listened to the instructions that were given - get a good grip on your heels. What I heard was "Get a grip on your life, Becky." I need to find a good handhold inside of me to balance my recent openness with people I've been closed off to for 20 years with my tendency to close off to those same people. Pulling back in didn't negate the openness I felt before. The thought came to me to adapt to the extremes and find the middle. As I came out of Rabbit, the instructor reminded me to come out slowly, aligning my spine one vertebrae at a time (which is so symbolic of what has been going on lately), tightening my core, bringing up my head last, keeping that good grip on my heels, and finding my eyes in the mirror.

I don't always have such a dramatic yoga class. I went to the class with the hope that Camel pose would do its worst and allow me to see clearer.

What I took away from the class was:

• I can be open with people without flaying myself or allowing them to flay me. 
• My Camel doesn't have to be so deep, and my Rabbit doesn't have to be so protected.
• I need to stop finding the extremes in everything, stop allowing others to ruin my zen, straighten my spine, and lift up my head to face the world.