Sometimes self acceptance means a Charlie Brown stamp on a condolence card
This morning at yoga an acquaintance asked me “How did you get so good at yoga?”
I listened to myself respond about how I’m actually not good at yoga–and very inflexible–and that yoga teaches me to stay with hard things.
During class a different answer appeared; self acceptance.
When I started yoga in my twenties I often found myself frustrated, comparing myself to my classmates. Instead of working at my ability and from the inside out, I contorted myself from the outside, striving to attain the “look” of a pose (tight hamstrings be damned).
People often use the word “contortion” when talking about yoga, but truthfully if you have a good and wise instructor, if you listen carefully and heed their guidance honestly, yoga becomes not about contorting but about allowing. Today, yoga for me means challenging myself to myself, not challenging myself toward an external ideal, or in competition with anyone else. I hardly even notice my classmates anymore, except for the bold display of male confidence who wears spandex booty-shorts and nothing else.
I don’t know when I stopped striving in yoga, but this comment from my classmate came at a time when I’ve been striving too much in other areas of my life. I’ve been wishing for a great infusion of encouragement to fill my reserves–a place no Facebook like can reach. His question prompted me to realize that instead of an external pouring-in, I need the internal hugging of muscles to bone, of heart to soul, of self-acceptance.
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Two condolence cards sat on my desk over the weekend, because all I have on hand are Charlie Brown Christmas stamps. Sending messages of strength to the grieving with Charlie Brown Christmas stamps seems gauche beyond my normal gauche-tolerance. Knowing that a trip to the post office for more appropriate stamps would delay sending the cards days or weeks or indefinitely, today I affixed two of the least-festive stamps to the cards, and put them in the mailbox. I didn’t pick the stamps with Charlie Brown’s pathetic tree, because it’s one thing to send gauche off-season cartoon strip stamps to grieving friends, and another to send gauche off-season depressing Christmas tree cartoon strip stamps to grieving and coincidentally also Jewish friends. But you know what? Sometimes self-acceptance means a Charlie Brown stamp on a condolence card.
Last week’s efforts at more conscious eating culminated in a grand and sweeping Cookie Monster episode on Friday night. That was not an external pouring in I needed either.
Our house and things and future need investment and tending and updating. I have no idea how or when or IF any of it will happen. Ever.
My kids need haircuts and dress shoes, impossible schedules made possible, firm boundaries and monitoring yet simultaneously more trust and autonomy.
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Yoga does not require contortion, in fact contorting yourself in yoga can cause injury. Perfectionism and striving require contortion, and can cause injury and Cookie Monster episodes. Somewhere along the way I’ve learned to allow myself to be exactly myself in yoga. If I can do it on the mat, that gives me hope I can do it elsewhere in my life, too.
