Times, they are a’changing

Over the past 6 months I have done a lot of traveling back and forth between “home” and home. One home contains some of my things, my daily activities, and my work. One home contains my family, has my friends nearby, and has been my residence for nearly the last decade. It seems a little strange that right now neither of them feel perfectly like home. Such large pieces of my life are housed separately in each.

I’ve talked with a few friends recently about transition periods, and how we each seem to be in one currently. I thought of the quote, “the only constant is change” (I think I’ve paraphrased, and just learned to attribute it to Heraclitus), as it seemed like a sufficient cliché to throw at our various situations. But as I was looking up the author of the quote I fell down the rabbit hole of reading quotes about change. I found an idea I liked even better.

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river, and he’s not the same man.” – Heraclitus

Even if I perfectly recreated the situations of either “home” at the next, things would not be the same. There is a passage of time, growth, change. And really, I think I’m cool with it. Of course, sometimes I’m overcome with nostalgia, thinking about when my life was a little more central and somewhat put together. I miss my husband, and my dog, and my old yoga studio, and my old gym, and my bathtub, and my freaking friends. But, I’ve taken a killer step in my career. I’m closer to my mom’n’em (I think I did that right? Still working on my Southern). I Love New Orleans. I have an adorable tiny house on wheels. I’m living more independently than I ever have, and it feels pretty damn good.

An idea that comes up pretty often in the mindfulness community is “I am not my thoughts” or “I am not my situation”. I have thoughts. I am in a situation. I am still me, I’m just in the midst of a circumstance or two at the moment. When I get caught up in the story of my life unfolding, I can take a moment to ground myself by coming back to my breath. Once I’m back at home in my body (and no longer in my story), I like to go to my gratitude practice (which always makes me thing of Bing Crosby singing, “when I’m worried and I can’t sleep I count my blessings instead of sheep, and I fall asleep counting my blessings”). I realize there is happiness exactly in my reach. All I have to do is hold onto it.

On Masturdating

What’s the point of dating? When you first meet someone it’s probably to find out if you are compatible. You share fun facts, interesting tidbits, and maybe a few secrets about yourselves. You’re looking for chemistry, or sparks or butterflies, or whatever feels like connection to you. But after you start to figure each other out you don’t just quit dating. When you’ve been together for longer and schedules get crowded maybe you start to schedule date nights. Date night Might look like quietly sharing the kids’ Halloween candy in the kitchen after bedtime, but time spent is time spent. Amirite? We’ll call this stage of dating “maintenance mode”. It’s when you check in with your partner. You see what’s new or exciting that might not come up during regular hustle and bustle. Maybe you aren’t actively searching for sparks in maintenance mode, but you may just catch one if you’re paying attention.

We spend tons of time seeking dating relationships or maintaining said relationships with others. How often do we persue that kind of intimate relationship with ourselves? When was the last time you made a mental note of what makes you interesting? How often do we take time to check in with ourselves? Asked yourself, how are you feeling? What’s stressing you out? Slowed down to figure out why you’re so tense, or tired, or pissy? Enter Masturdating. Masturdating may not be entirely lewd, as such a dysphemism may suggest, (though, if you need a little lewdness in your life, do you, boo. 😂) but rather a clever name for dating yourself. (I would go into root word breakdown here, but I think we get it) Maybe self-dating seems pointless or even a bit loser-y, but it seriously has some advantages. On a date with someone else you hear their opinions in their voice. Opinions are naturally colored by conversation. On a date with yourself you can hear your own opinion in your own voice. Your opinions and thoughts may even have a chance to develop and grow as a result of self reflection as you discover what’s true for you in this moment. Understanding what is happening internally for you may help you decide what you need from other relationships in your life. Spending some Q.T. with yourself may help you appreciate those other relationships. Obviously our loved ones have some type of residence in our minds. Nothing says alone time can’t be spent, at least in part, appreciating those relationships.

But how do I masturdate? I’m glad you asked. Haha. Everyone’s ideal date will look different but one of my favorite ways to date is to wine and dine myself. My love language is gifts, so naturally some shopping is usually involved. I get a little dressed up, like in my Fancy leggings. I go to a restaurant I like. Sometimes I take a book to read between courses. Yes, courses. I’m Here for dessert. Sometimes all the reflection I get done is figuring out how being alone at dinner feels. Does it make me uncomfortable? If so, why? And, boom, there’s some self-study.

In the Yoga Sutras, Patanjali discusses some ethical principles by which to live, in relationship with self and others, known as Yamas and Niyamas, or restraints and observances. Among the Niyamas (observances) is Svadhyaya, commonly translated as self-study. Let’s break that word down. First we have Sva, meaning own or one’s own. Second is dhyaya, which comes from the root word dhyai, meaning to contemplate, to think one, to recollect, or to call to mind. To contemplate one’s own. Self-study requires honesty with self. It requires discipline to stick with it when maybe we see some less than desirable patterns inside. Most importantly, self-study requires (one of my favorite Sanskrit terms) ahimsa, or non-violence. Ahimsa reminds us not to judge or criticize, just observe. Be as gentle with yourself as you would if someone else were showing Their heart to you.

So. Going back to the masturdating. We’re all grown ups here. We have to schedule dates with other people. We need to schedule dates with ourselves too. Perhaps you are in the thick of it with a threenager, or you just otherwise have no resources for wining and dining. There’s still hope! If you still breathe on a regular basis, you have time to date yourself. Maybe your dates just look like locking yourself in the bathroom for 100 seconds, or however long you can manage.

There you are, on your fancy bathroom date. Start to notice your breath. Notice where on your face you start to feel that breath on the inhale. Notice where that breath settles in your body. Does it make it to your collar bones? Does it make it down to your ribs? Can you feel it all the way down in your belly? If your breath feels blocked, where does it stop? Why do you think it stops there? Take a quick mental scan of your body. Do you feel any unnecessary tension? Can you take a deep breath and watch that tension move out with your exhale?

And just like that, you’ve spent a moment on yourself. Self-care, self-study, self-dating. Whatever you want to call it. I promise, you are worth it. ♥️

A Little Story About Yoga

I originally wrote this blog in January of 2015. Though much has transpired between then and now, it still feels like a good introduction for this new site. It’s also really fun to look back at how relationships change and grow over the years. So without further ado, I give you Yogi Jess from early 2015.

About 4 years ago I was at work browsing Groupons and other social deals and not working, as I tend to do. I came across a deal for Hot Yoga and Pole Dancing (oooohh!) at a local-ish studio. So, as I also tend to do, I bought that sucker. I decided I would Not be doing the pole dancing portion (turns out they only offered the pole dancing like once a month), but would give the hot yoga a try. I had done yoga once before, but had done gymnastics and cheerleading most of my life growing up. I was a few years removed from “growing up” time, but figured it was like riding a bike. Also, I was taking college classes at the time and had signed up for a gym class, so it was pretty much like I was in shape already. A few weeks later I bought some new yoga pants, got a pedicure, and signed up for my first class. February 1. It was a Tuesday. I brought my sweet new yoga clothes with me to change and go straight from work. I announced to all my (all male) co-workers that I would trying hot, sweaty yoga, and I was hoping not to die. They were more concerned with the flexible details of a hot yoga class than they were with my hydration level or possible death. Anyway, no thanks to them, I didn’t die. As my schedule permitted, I attended hot yoga once a week on Tuesday afternoons for the length of my discount deal. It felt nice, and the instructor was in hella good shape, so I figured I would probably get jacked like her if I continued. I bought a 10 class pass when my deal was up.

Fast forward to May. My handsome sailor husband deployed. For 7 months. I had been living there like a year and half. I had Some friends, I knew some people from work, but I didn’t have a dedicated hang out group to speak of. I saw a girl I knew in the grocery store the week before he left and I cried on her shoulder in the produce section. I’m a fairly independent lady, but 7 months of solitude is kind of a tough pill to swallow. He left on a Wednesday. The studio offered a level 2 (I think they were calling it advanced hot yoga, which sounded really scary, but they turned the heat off, so it wasn’t actually hot) yoga class on Wednesday nights. I decided, since I had some free time on my hands, that I would give it a try. If you do not believe in fate or divine intervention, stop reading now, cause *spoiler alert* I’m bouts to talk about it. I was meant to be in that class. My teacher, who I’m not convinced was not heaven sent, was married to a private security contractor who worked overseas for a few months at a time. She was on some sort of study grant leave program while she wrote her dissertation for her Ph.D. She did research and yoga. And loved them both the same. (and fun side note: I took my first class with her the day hubby deployed, and the last time I saw her was at a party at her house the week before he returned home… tell me she wasn’t my deployment angel) She challenged me mentally and physically in every practice. She was the most handsy teacher I’ve ever had. She made me feel the poses. She wasn’t my only teacher there, but she was My teacher. Yoga was transforming every inch of my body and brain. I was not only coping with deployment, but thriving. One day after she started back teaching at the college, she came to yoga in a whirlwind. Her hair was a mess, she looked pissed, and frazzled, and just tired. I don’t remember what pace her class was that night, but I remember the look of peace on her face when we were done. Yoga works even when you are teaching it.

The studio I spent 3+ hours a day at all summer and fall closed that November. I had just enough time to get ready for my husband to come home. Months passes and I attended some workshops here and there, tried out a few other local-ish studios, but nothing really felt like home. Late that summer I was Googling yoga studios in Hampton, VA, as I did pretty religiously at least once or 10 times a month, and, One Popped Up. OMG. It wasn’t open yet, but it Was Opening!

When the day arrived, I got a pedicure, put on my coolest new yoga threads, and carried my Christmas Manduka to the studio. The studio was owned by a devastatingly attractive husband and wife team (we’ll call them Yoga Dude and Yoga Lady). He was the outgoing, she was the tender. They were awesome. They Looked about my age, but because they owned a studio (as their side gig to day jobs as aerospace engineers) and had their shit together, I assumed they were at least a few years older than me and yoga was keeping them young looking. After my first class, I decided. These are my people. I started back to school and life got busy. I caught a class here and there. One night I was in a level 2 class with Yoga Dude and I was attempting something relatively difficult. I was completely capable of this difficult thing, but was just a little out of practice. As Yoga Dude tended to do, he had a little word of wisdom as we were all trying to contort into some glorious pretzelesque shape. I don’t remember the exact words, but it was something about Regularly and Continually showing up on our mats. Got it, Dude. Hear ya, loud and clear. The more I was around Lady and Dude, the more I learned, and the more I loved them. The next summer I decided to commit to Yoga Teacher Training with them. I finally convinced SS (step-son) to take a class with me. His dad was working, so we made a date night out of yoga and a movie. Yoga Dude taught class seemingly just For SS. He used words non-yogi teenagers would understand. He adjusted SS to make sure he was feeling what he should be in each pose. He ended class with the most amazing meditation about sharing love to rekindle sparks in others when theirs may be almost out. It was so beautiful we all cried.

The next day Yoga Dude died in a plane crash. He was 31. My age. He left behind Yoga Lady and 6 month old Yoga Baby, and one large, aching Tribe. It was a dark and sad time for a while, however, from such a tragedy I’ve seen new things born. I said earlier that Yoga Lady was the tender one. And she is. But I have learned so much more of her and about her since then. She is without a doubt the bravest, most genuine person I know. Even though she’s less than a year older than me, I kinda want to be her when I grow up (and with a slightly different understanding of time, it’s totally possible). She led our small yoga teacher training group with grace, and sometimes tears. We all started to heal. When I teach, yoga works on me, not just my students. Our studio has truly become the Tribe it was intended to be in the wake. I’ve made more friends in a quiet yoga room than it even makes sense to have. Yoga makes me sore and heals my body. It breaks my heart wide open and fills it back up. At the risk of sounding super dramatic, yoga is the piece I’ve been missing for a while. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it feels good, but it’s always with me. It’s always mine to keep and mine to share.

Chill, man.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to take instruction from others. I think I’m right and I take trusting myself pretty seriously. I won’t voice my non-compliance. It more often comes out at a shrug off, or like when you touch a whiny little kid and they’re like, ehhh, no, don’t touch me, and they make some very dramatic yet noodly display. That’s me on the inside. After a few years of self-study, I can see this reaction when I feel like I’m trying really hard and someone offers a better way of doing something. I don’t often see it fast enough to stop it, but I’m working on acknowledging it and correcting myself and apologizing for being a d-bag (ok, maybe I’m still just working on the correction part).

In the Yoga Sutras, Patanjali discusses some ethical principles by which to live, in relationship with self and others, known as Yamas and Niyamas, or restraints and observances. Among the Yamas is aparigraha. If we break down the Sanskrit word a-pari-graha, we have ‘graha’, meaning to take, to seize, or to grab; ‘pari’, meaning on all sides; and ‘a’ negates the word, essentially non- (guys, I love root words So much. Ask my kids). We translate aparigraha as non-greed, non-posessiveness, or non-attachment. My personal loose translations include, don’t hold on so tight, keep an open mind, and chill the eff out.

When I keep an open mind, when I trust others, when I don’t feel like I always have to be right, I am better at receiving instruction. I am better at making decisions because I am not stuck on being right so I can actually process facts. When I am not attached to being right and remaining right, I can stay present with a conversation or situation. I am not dwelling on old business to prove my case and I’m not planning what to argue next. When I don’t have to be in both the past and the future at once, I am happier.

Why am I thinking about all of this now? I am in a lot of new situations lately. Many of these new situations, however, have at least a tinge of familiarity to me. (I don’t Love new stuff, but that’s for another day) In new situations my brain tries to sort according to the known. It doesn’t take long for me to leap from frame of reference to, “I know better than you, I’m tuning you out.”

I joined a new gym that comes with a complimentary trainer session. I have worked with an amazing trainer in the past. I respect and value his expertise. Right now I’m clinging like hell right now to the idea that I know what trainers have to offer, and this new, unknown trainer has nothing for me. Like stage 5 clinging. I’m already causing myself unhappiness because I assume it will be a waste of time.

When I step back I can loosen my grip on the situation. I realize that though I have worked with an excellent trainer before, this trainer my also be excellent. After teaching for a few years I have seen that I can tell people the Same thing over and over, but it will not connect until they are ready to listen. Not holding so tightly to what I know just might help me learn something new.