Dance on Your Edge

I could have chosen a photo of one of the jaw-dropping flowers my husband’s grown in our yard, but that would be too cliche, too obvious. How many times are we told to stop and smell the roses? Flowers are natural attention-grabbers, after all, as they beckon to us clamoring, “Look at me! Smell me! Touch me!” Their vibrant colors scream, “Pay attention to me!” Mushrooms? Not so much. In fact, we shy away from them because we don’t know if they are friend or foe. Poisonous or palatable.

It occurs to me that mushrooms aren’t the only triggers for such ambivalence in us. We avoid ambiguous places in our lives that call to us yet leave us befuddled. What to do with them? Make peace with them or deny them? That place, my friend, is exactly where your yoga practice starts.

If you are thinking of yoga as a series of poses done on a mat, you are a little confused by all this mushroom talk. If you can think of the physical side of yoga as a teacher for life off the mat, you will be ready to go hunting for your inner shrooms. We learn about those sticky spots in our anatomy by observing our body’s response to different postures. We work through them, mindfully, dancing on the edge, as one of my favorite yoga teachers says. Our emotional life requires no less work and the same quiet attention. When a feeling arises that leads to consternation, rather than turn away, go into it—dance on its edge.

Doing just this is what lead me to the mushroom-turned-blog-fodder pictured above. I was feeling out of balance in that way that all parents will recognize—like the part of me that is mom (or maybe dad for you) was overshadowing all the other equally fascinating facets of myself. I felt myself being pulled this way and that by the demands of parenting which threatened to overwhelm me. I felt the me-beyond-the-mom floundering and struggling.

Rather than succumb to the Calgon-take-me-away escape route (tempting!), I closed my eyes and recalled the purest moments of connectedness with my children. I knew that even though I wanted to hole away with my computer and get my non-parental work done, I needed to get outside with them and see what Sophia would reveal. So I went into that uncomfortable place. Rather than denying it or running away from it, I took it by the hand (along with my nine-year-old) and walked with it out into the wide world, letting the experience heal this discontent brewing in my soul. We saw mushrooms as big as our faces, blossoms that come before berries, lizards that vanished like mirages as we reached for them.

Going into my discomfort instead of running away was right for me that day. It gave me perspective I couldn’t conjure myself and reminded me of the parts of parenting that feed my soul in ways nothing else does. As you find your own edge and learn to dance on it, I would love for you to share your stories from the dance floor in the comments section below.