January 5, 2006
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The Weasel and the Downward Dog
© The Author, 2006I am a fan of the New Years Resolution, which from what I understand has acquired a pretty bad reputation. Always excited to better understand those that I know, I’ve been inquiring after the resolutions of people in my circle this week. This questioning has been met with abundant eye-rolls (I think people think I’m joking to ask such a thing), shoulder shrugs (resolutions just aren’t on their radar, I guess), and the occasional tirade about how the unnecessary stress caused by the pressure to have fun, set goals, when it all adds up to nothing makes the New Year nothing short of hell, so why bother even acknowledging the damn thing to begin with, why not just put up a new kitty calendar on January first and call it a day (pant, pant, pant). Some call resolutions cliché, arbitrary—they rattle off any number of labels: meaningless, formulaic, passé, desperate—but they can call it what they will. I, with my whole sentimental heart, think resolutions are beautiful.
Don’t gag yet. Bear with me here.
In my life, and in the lives of the best that I know, resolutions are but tiny fragments to be explored in a larger, fuller life. They do not consume. They do not always stay on course, nor are they always meant to. They are reminders to ask questions, to open up to a new thing, to challenge your current reality, to linger a while longer—be it an entire year, a day, or a lifetime—on a detail that has caught your eye. And the best people that I know have stumbled upon far more interesting details than the extra ten pounds of lipids softening their bodies.
I venture that resolution-makers are bound to their love of resolutions not because of the charm of goal setting, accomplishment, or (a word I especially loathe) self-improvement, but rather because they are curious about details of all kinds and as such, it is easy for them to see something relatively small in their lives that would be interesting to know more about.
Some people call this interest in detail: “possibility,” “opportunity,” or “a new beginning.” But those kinds of words place a value on the exploration, making people feel like shit if they don’t “accomplish” anything from the interest (accomplish is another word that I think is stupidly unfair and I apologize for all the obnoxious quotation marks in this paragraph). I much prefer the word exploration to guide any resolution. And in the long run, I am certain that exploration provides more of a reward. Because no matter how long you stay true to the original concept, you are able to value whatever you gain from it. And you always gain something.
Last year my New Years Resolution was “To Write More.” Like any red-blooded American, I was itching to tack on a prize, so it was really hard for me to resist adding “…And Get Published” to complete the resolve. But I did resist. Who needs the pressure?
I started writing more in baby steps. First I started this blog to force me into writing something once a week. I’ve always been a journal-er, but I began to formulate story concepts, observations, and characters in my journals instead of strictly my feelings about my personal life (which are seldom shared in all their rawness in this very public forum). I enrolled in classes at a Story Studio. And with my heart open to chance, a publisher invited me to write a chapter for a book about Writing Center Theory. So I wrote it. And published it will shortly be.
This year my resolution has two parts. The first is a slight variation of last year’s goal: To Continue to Write Regularly. We’ll see where that takes me.
The second will undoubtedly benefit my writing goals, but also I am just dying to know more about it. Lets take the long route to its revelation, shall we?
I might have mentioned a few posts ago that through a colleague, I was invited to try a free month membership at a super posh gym. Well, I gave it a shot with a yoga class a few weeks ago. I am typically an outdoor, long distance runner (I also dig hiking, bike riding, swimming in lakes, and singing Madonna songs loudly while rollerblading), so the yoga scene was completely new to me. But I’m always up for trying something new and, in all honesty, I had no choice but to give it a whirl because there is nothing more I hate than stupid leotard wearing ladies telling me to “squeeze my buns” or sweating at a crewel, soulless weight machine and, aside from the yoga class, those were the only things happening at this super posh gym.
Wait…on that note, I have an entertaining little side comment: I want to mention that the saddest thing in the world for me to do is to pass by a Bally’s when hordes of people are all staring out the window into space while running on treadmills silently. My heart grips with the pain of the loneliness and isolation that must be felt by a person who can smell the toxins leaking out of their neighbors pores, yet is unable to strike up a conversation with them. Not that I view running as a social act, which is why I run alone, outdoors, where I move on the ground and not with fifty other people to all sides of me. And when I do pass another runner, we always exchange at least a head nod or a “good morning!” The symbolic weightiness of trying your best and getting nowhere (literally—you are running in place) is my version of absolute hell. If there is a hell, I will be sent there (along with all the other cool people I know), and the demons will torment me by making me power walk on a treadmill for all of eternity. CURSES!
Anyhow, so I’m at this yoga class at Super Posh Gym and it’s before the New Year so the class only has me and another woman in it because no one has decided to prioritize those ten pounds of lipids softening their bodies and flock to the gym yet. The instructor is in her mid-twenties, soft and relaxed looking, with the most welcoming, non-pretentious attitude I’ve ever encountered in all my time frequenting gyms on short-term freebie memberships.
At first the poses she instructs us to do seem easy. Yeah, I think I dig yoga. Its relaxing, its peaceful—I can do this. Then the instructor walks over, and gently, kindly, shifts my body.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
There is stress searing my muscles in hideous new ways, there is heat and sweat and my cowardly, secret inner-sneak starting to imagine reasons that I could invent to let me walk out of the class right this instant but I don’t so the chicken shit desire manifests itself in my body wiping out but trying to be discrete about it by attempting to cheat the poses just a little, teensy, weensy bit to make them easier. And right before I find the way to cheat, the instructor saves me.
“Surrender to the pose,” she coos, “Surrender and breathe through it.”
And I do. And I surprise myself by falling a little deeper into the position, by seeing something a bit past the discomfort. And soon, I am only the breath. I am just breathing.
Walking to the el to go home from the gym that night I felt beautiful: my organs loved me and sang happy songs of oxygen and blood inside my body. My mind came back to the instructor advising me to surrender. And the concept of surrender has been churning in my mind ever since.
My whole life I’ve been struggling against something. I am a Pisces, and the image of two fish bound to each other’s tails and swimming upstream is an accurate description of my life. As early as elementary school, teachers were telling my mom, “Truly certainly marches to the beat of her own drum.” I go against the grain. I am a force of resistance.
While much of my familiarity and comfort in being the voice of descent has been beneficial in my activism for civil rights, my lobbying for socialist agendas, and my simple curiosity about things that go against the status quo, I wonder how often I resist surrender when I might gain much more by doing so. I wonder how often I’ve struggled against myself like I did when my inner-weasel attempted to get the best of my downward dog.
This year I’m going to dedicate myself to exploring the concept of surrender. I’m sampling different yoga studios and gyms in my neighborhood and around my workplace that will help me delve into the concept further. I’m sure there is much to be read on the topic, including works by our Buddhist friends, and I am eager to write more about the applications of these practices into daily life. I trust that my innate self-discipline and the high standards I set for myself will keep me from diving off the deep end in this exploration and waving a white flag at every oatmeal raisin cookie and military dictatorship disguised as The White House I come across. I am not looking to convert. I am interested in the concept of balance.
So, my second new years resolution for 2006 and beyond? Explore surrender.
Now. That wasn’t so bad, now was it?
________________________________________________________________________How does surrender play a role in your life? Read/watch/see/hear anything good on the topic lately?
Comments (8)
First: That was a lovely piece. You wrote it eloquently.
Second: I hate New Year’s Resolutions. However, I guess it’s all in the way you apply them. If you are not putting undue pressure on yourself, it’s not harmful. Everyone I know, however, uses them to FORCE themselves into a new mindset and end up failing utterly. I also fail utterly. That’s why I don’t do them.
Third: Surrender is an integral part of the 12-step program. So, I surrender daily. It actually feels good.
Fourth: I tried, oh, I tried to get yoga. I really did. But a former sprained neck just will not allow me to assume certain poses, no matter how I surrender. I did really dig tai chi, however, and I’m actively looking for a class. That is really dancey, smooth, strangely beautiful, and full of the wonder of being stretched between heaven and earth. I just love it. I wish I could find a class that isn’t far away or at a time I can’t accommodate.
Anyway, really great stuff here. Keep up with the yoga if you can. And I agree that there’s nothing more soulless than running on a treadmill.
Lynn
Surrender.
I too am a Pisces, and while at first glance, I seem to be sort of a mainstream gal, I too have spent my life swimming upstream.
There is just something delicious about giving in, surrendering, sinking into something. I gave in, a few years ago, to my inner ballerina (I was always a tomboy and had resisted dance as a kid) and it gives me great joy to dance, which I had never in a million years anticipated. Surrendering to secret desire was the best thing I ever did…
I think I fight my own desire to surrender actively. I want to surrender to my wants and desires on a daily basis, and have to fight to maintain control and balance. I remember my mother telling me to “just have a little self-control!” as an adolescent. But I suspect weakness - which is what I always want to surrender to – is not what you’re talking about here.. but instead the surrender to your inner desires to let go of the earthly and embrace something greater. Something that transcends our humanity.
My resolutions, when I make them, are usually more like… what’s that buzz phrase? MOBs. Measurement by Obejectives. Measureable, attainable goals with mid-points and action steps. They’re pretty much the suck. But then, I’m a Virgo and like to have things orderly, measurable, and perfect. I fight the urge to surrender to that, too.
Am I the token male on this site? If so, I should note that society’s messages and metamessages tell us to conquer instead of surrender. To get ahead in life. To take charge in that relationship. To beat back those extra 10 pounds of lipids. To cement those rock-solid abs. To win the War on Terror. Etc. Lots of active, if not militaristic, verbs tell us that surrendering is unthinkable. Funny, eh?
I’ve made a blanket resolution this year: To become a better me. So what does this mean? It’s general. Eating better. (Not I’ve succeeded.) Working out more. (Not that I have.) Being nicer to people. (Which has been strained regularly.) Oh well … resolutions are things we attain in the long haul. At least I’m not going overboard in the first week and tapering off later. We’ll see how it works.
^ re: Tim’s comment: somehow, I can’t imagine him not being nice to people.
Anyway, very nice essay. I like your version of new year’s resolutions much better that the traditional manifestation of the concept. It’s the whole “I’m not good enough” thing that gets to me. Yours doesn’t have any of that. Yours is about learning, and that’s great.
About yoga: there’s a 5 dollar yoga class in my neighborhood, hosted by someone who lives on my street. I started going, and I love it. I used to think that yoga was some sort of yuppie co-option and misunderstanding of a much more spiritual Hindu ritual (and it some ways, it is), but if you’re there for the right reasons it can be wonderful. The whole bit about you struggling with the yoga pose (which was excellently written, btw) resonated strongly with me. I know exactly what you mean to surrender to that, and to realize that you just need to adjust your focus and then you can actually do it.
Which is why, I guess, I need to stop focusing on what I don’t think I can do and put my energy and focus elsewhere. Surrendering, in a way. That’s my new year’s solution.
Also, ryc from a few weeks ago: I, too, have a feeling we’d be friends if we lived in the same metropolis.
I ended up getting a cold so no fun in the sun. Shoot! This better not last very long.
Very funny about your continuing battle with yoga. It just doesn’t like me.
Lynn
No, Tim’s not the only guy who reads this site. In my reading of your essay, another word for surrender in my mind is “patience.” It’s something I’ve worked to cultivate for much of my adult life. The relationship between the two is in not fighting the current circumstance, at least not immediately.
The yoga pose is hard to hold; the book doesn’t make much sense; the workout program isn’t showing results; the job seems utterly futile… “Be patient,” I try to tell myself. Let it roll over you. Put your head down and slog through it for a little while longer. When you look up, it’s often fascinating how things have changed.
In defense of running on treadmills: I prefer running outside, but traveling a lot on business, hotel gyms are often the best choice. On a treadmill, the journey is in your mind. The numbers on the machine combine with the feelings in my body and the music in my head (both metaphoric, and when I remember to bring my iPod, literal), and I run through all kinds of worlds of possibilities. And yes, I even nod to the folks on the neighboring machines and chat after the run in ways that never seem to happen by Lake Shore Drive or on the canal trail. It really isn’t as hellacious as it looks (but as I say, I prefer the breeze and the smells outdoors).
As always, you write beautifully.
Take care,
brad