Commitment

Flashback: I’m in my college lit class, steaming with self-righteousness, as we discuss Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon .

The protagonist, Milkman is a classic commitment-phobe. He runs from relationships and responsibility and nonchalantly glides through the motions of life. As the story progresses, Milkman begins to make commitments – to a family quest, to a lady and takes responsibility – and ironically, as he decides to commit to life, instead of becoming caged and stuck, he is set free from his past and able to grow into a confident and full human being.

The discussion struck a raw heart chord.

Talk about commitment sparks thoughts about men like Milkman – the dancing through life men folk who dazzle and flee – and at that time, I was fuming over my own commitment-phobe heartbreaker. I even considered sending him my lecture notes.  Life Advice For You, I gleefully imagined the email subject line would read.

My frustration with commitment-phobes has provoked many eye-rolling rants. I never (like never ever) thought I was at all similar to the world’s crew of Milkmans. I’ve always prided myself on my emotional openness and ability to commit.

Well, I’m learning to beware of what I rant against because I tend to project my own issues onto others. Thank you, Universe, for that lesson. Instead of thinking of my then-ex during that English class lecture, I should have been taking notes for myself.

This recent autumn bout of restlessness dissolved when I made this epiphany: I’m struggling with committing to Life. I’ve been weighing my options, researching and researching, and hesitating to the point of paralysis. Keeping my options open has left me feeling anxious and unclear. I’m not taking action in the fear that I may make the wrong decision and take the wrong course of action.

My yogi-self knows that commitment issues are signs of an unbalanced third chakra. Taking action, showing up in the world and making a commitment are aspects of Self ruled by the third chakra, the energy center dwelling in the space above the navel. This is our power center, home to our ambitions, self-image and confidence. Represented by an inner sun, it represents the vibrancy of our personality and our inner majesty. 

I struggle with my third chakra. I struggle making and adhering to personal boundaries. I feel self-conscious about my looks. Recently, instead of taking intentional action, I’ve been prone to inaction.

Thankfully, I’ve got family members and friends with kick-ass (and that would be the mantra of the third chakra) power centers. My younger sister immediately comes to mind. She knows her needs, knows her boundaries and speaks up for herself and for others.

My childhood best friend is a force to be reckoned with, too. She knows her dreams and actively manifests them into reality. A recent example: she was looking up trips to the Bahamas, happened to fill out a “win a giveaway trip” form at a sushi restaurant while in Alabama and won a legitimate free vacation for her and her boyfriend to a resort there. Now, I need to channel some of that visioning power.

My third chakra has been off balanced. I can partially blame Mercury in Retrograde and the Vata winds of October, but the third chakra demands us to be responsible and to take responsibility for our actions.

So, I’m taking responsibility and taking action. I’m getting clear on goals and taking steps: booked a plane ticket to New York City to see a best friend and do some grad school visiting and started studying for the GRE. I’m not taking action to just take action. I’m taking the necessary pause to breathe deeply and listen and if I hear a “yes”, I go for it. 

Returning to that undergraduate English class, I hear my professor say, “Commitment liberates.” And like Milkman (and maybe those commitment-phobe exes have learned this, too) I’ve found this to be very true.

Tips For Powering Up Your Third Chakra:

*Watch an action movie.

*Go to the gym. Sweat and sparkle. Or take a walk. Get moving.

*Look Good. Dress Up. Impress Yourself.

*Practice a fun, vinyasa flow. Focus on yoga poses that strengthen your core, home of the third chakra, like boat pose.

*Take time to be quiet. Contemplate an issue or something you’re struggling with making a decision on and see what your gut tells you. What option feels light and right? Trust yourself and go for it.

Get Pumpin’ Playlist :

*Play It Right – Slyvan Esso

*Don’t Wait – Mapei

*Bang Bang – Nicki Minaj, Jessie J, Ariana Grande (my guilty pleasure)

*Every Other Freckle – alt-J

*Bailando – Enrique Iglesias

*Girls Chase Boys – Ingrid Michaelson

*Left Hand Free – alt-J

*So Have I For You – Nikka Costa

*Hey Mami – Sylvan Esso 

Restlessness

 There is something in October that stirs the gypsy blood: We must rise and follow Her. When from every hill of flame She calls, and calls each vagabond by name." 

~ William Bliss

***

Restlessness prompts a walk at twilight. Stepping out onto the front porch, I breathe in the fading evening. I set off on a familiar path. I pass by dimly lit houses, ruby red tinted trees, and glowing street lamps. I walk in the middle of the street, relishing the sound of my boots clicking against the pavement. No cars appear; no one interrupts with a hello or neighborly small talk.

My whispering thoughts are background noise to a present heartache. A heaviness is here, a heaviness that is not entirely mine, a collection of stories spoken by loved ones and news reporters. I walk quickly, as if I could somehow outrun this ache.

Walk with the heartache. Be present in the discomfort. Breathe.

The moon rises in a grand, slow debut. In the darkening shadows, I’m tempted to run, carefree and wild down the block. Running may satisfy this nagging hunger. It’s a hunger that doesn’t want to consume. It’s a soul hunger eager to give my entire self to a cause, a person, a piece of writing. This hunger is growing and is becoming a daily presence. It’s manifesting in a restlessness begging for a short trip, pushing me out to walk alone at twilight.

I resist the urge to run. I continue to walk and breathe deeply. I listen for the lesson, for the wise voice to tell me what to do next. I don’t hear an answer, only the sounds of the falling night. I let myself be restless. I breathe into the twilight. I notice the appearance of the stars. I embrace the moment and let the starlight embrace me. 

Grounding Down for October Magic and Fun

October, I am thrilled you are here! I relish the crisp air, the whisper of magic, the carved pumpkins, the appearance of leather jackets and boots. I’m planning Hocus Pocus movie nights and a trip to Magee’s Bakery for the famous pumpkin cookies is definitely on the Fall agenda.

I’m ready to embrace the playful, sweetly wicked side of October, but I also recognize that I’ve been feeling ungrounded lately. The Fall season, with its winds of change, can easily stir me into many a thinking frenzy and am lured into scheming about the future, repeating the past (Gatsby, I can relate) and end up disconnected from my body and the present moment.

What helps ground me down? Routine and rituals focus my dancing, Vata mind. I just need the discipline to follow through with them. So, I add a little bit of sparkly fun to encourage my bouncy self to settle down for a moment. 

At the start of the new month, I make a point to sit down with my beloved, personalized Erin Condren  planner (best gift to self EVER) and a prized collection of pretty inked pens and take the time to record appointments, yoga classes, birthdays and events onto the calendar. Instead of feeling stressed or overwhelmed with the to-dos, scheduling the month actually makes me feel better prepared and helps me make intentional plans. If I see that I’m double teaching for a few days in a row, then I know and make sure that I get a day off to take it easy and decompress.

A morning mindfulness and meditation practice also replenishes and calms my go!go! mind. Before I get up and start the day, I take a few moments to simply rest, hearing the sounds around me and noticing how my body is feeling. I rise and find a comfortable seat for meditation. Meditation lets me witness where my thoughts are flying off to – either the future or the past. I compassionately recognize them and then lovingly return to the breath.

Sometimes I fear that when I meditate I’ll just go more thought crazy, but I haven’t found this to be the case. I feel calmer, breathe more deeply and operate more smoothly for the rest of the morning. There’s also no “bad” meditation experience. So even if I were to meditate and just bought into thinking the whole time that would be all right. It’s an experience. I can always begin again with a new cycle of breath.

There are a few rituals special to October that invite me to experience the beauty and magic of one of my favorite months. First of all, I relish the Fall weather. October promises beautiful walks around the Ashland Estate, through pumpkin patches, across sidewalks carpeted with red and yellow leaves. During these walks, I set an intention to receive and marvel at the beauty around me. I feel my feet connecting me to the ground. I take courage from the rooted trees and see my thoughts like leaves, floating in the wind. Walks connect me to my natural, unhurried self.

For Halloween, I’m musing on whether I should be a flapper (for the third year in a row, but the roaring twenties are my favorite era!), or Cher from the 90s classic Clueless. I’ll be celebrating with all the ghosts and ghouls and will be doing so with a calm mind and both feet on the ground. The midnight broom ride can wait until November. 

Peaceful Presence

As I write this, a hawk watches from the tree outside my bedroom window. He’s a royal prince, arriving at dusk and just in time to catch me from spending too much time locked in thoughts. His acknowledged presence reawakens me to the fading splendor of the moment – the last glow of sunlight on the leaves, the evening hush falling gently on the street.

The hawk exudes such quiet strength, a peaceful majesty. His observant, intuitive way of being answers a question I’ve been returning to again and again these past few weeks.

I begin by replaying the scene: The Saturday morning blooms sunny and crisp. I stand behind a glass door, my heart a flutter with pre-yoga teaching nerves. I play the hostess role, standing at the entryway, on the lookout for yogis to welcome and show them the way to a new yoga class space.

From my self-assigned doorwoman position, I see a barefoot boy pause before crossing the street, motioning for a stopped car to go. The driver, instead of simply preceding to turn the corner, explodes in a verbal rage.

“JUST FUCKING GO!” he roars. He continues to hurl obscenities as the boy bolts across the street. The boy, his face scarlet, runs barefoot down the block. The driver, fuming and cursing, turns, but his anger leaves an imprint on the morning. I still stand at my post, behind the glass door, silent and in disbelief.

A few minutes later, I take a seat on my yoga mat. Smiling yogis greet me. The theme of the class – compassion in action, being a presence of peace – holds a new heaviness. The scene outside puts into glaring focus what it means to truly be a presence of peace in this world.

I am troubled to think that I am just a bystander. I wish I had been an advocate for the boy. The confusion of the moment left me truly stunned. It happened so quickly and a part of me can’t believe I saw what I saw: a kid verbally abused for not crossing the street soon enough. I’ve seen actors explode on screen but I’ve never seen someone in real life unleash such rage.

In this moment, before I begin the class I’ve been longing to teach, the one combining my passion and my heartbreak, I silently hold the boy in my heart. I think of the driver, too. I let go of the need to psychoanalyze him. I feel compassion for his struggle, his projected pain.

A part of me thinks it’s rather silly now to sit on a yoga mat and breathe in peace and send it out to the world, but my wiser self tells me to rise. She reigns. The nervousness I felt disappears with a deeper conviction to teach from a place of peace, a place of awareness and presence.

I am grateful for my co-teacher, my kindergarten soul mate who is a true example of compassion in action and she will listen to this story with understanding and love.

I am committed to the students in front of me. I feel such gratitude for this conscientious group of yogis who took the time and effort to come to a new place for a Saturday morning class.

This breath, this moment, and this class is an opportunity to be peaceful, to move with intention, to offer a safe space for self-acceptance. This peace may only be present until the end of savasana; or maybe a sense of calm stays with one student for the rest of the day. One conscious breath, even if it is my own, is worth it.

The practice doesn’t erase the scene I witnessed. It’s a harsh reminder that people in my community are struggling and makes me question how can I truly be a presence of peace in my hometown.

At this thought, the hawk flies away, off into the twilight. I’m grateful he stayed for as long as he did, a motivator to focus and write. I’ve been on my own a bit too much today. My thoughts were growing mean. The sudden sight of the hawk brought me back to kinder, gentler self and brought me to the blank page.

“Embrace presence,” says Eckhart Tolle, “the place where life happens.”

How to be a presence of peace? The hawk reminds me to be kind to myself, for peace begins from within, and to be compassionate to others, for we are all waging our own battles.  

The hawk’s watchfulness, his intuitive way of being is a lesson: be here, be a witness, and know when it’s time to act, to fly.