Arresting August Stories
A Yogini — That’s Meby Charlotte Rogers Brown, president and co-founder Shoe Woman’s Network
Last month I shared the story of seeing my 7-year-old grandson, Nathan, earn his yellow belt in the martial art known as Jiu-jitsu. I explained how it had taken more than two years — countless hours of practice — to qualify to move up to that level of proficiency, and how proud he was of himself for reaching it. At an age when good things are hard to wait for, when patience is unnatural, Nathan accepts that progress in Jiu-jitsu is both slow and difficult, and I found great inspiration in that acceptance — particularly as I recently took on a new challenge of my own.
Two months ago, I signed up for a five-month program to become a certified yoga instructor. By the time I learned about the class, only one space remained. Impulsively, I signed up and, less than a week later, found myself in a circle of aspiring yoga teachers.
At 53, I am not only the oldest woman in the class, I have the least experience with yoga. As I observed these other women — some half my age — moving comfortably into positions that painfully cut off the circulation in my limbs, I could only watch and wonder what in heaven’s name I could have been thinking to sign up for this. That last glass of chardonnay must have killed the one brain cell I had left with any sense.
I only started practicing yoga two years ago. I fell in love with the practice, but as a means of getting in shape. After two years, I could see progress in my strength and flexibility, but remained in awe of my instructor whose lean, toned body moved with such ease. The idea of becoming a teacher myself never entered my mind, that is, until my husband brought home the flyer he found tacked on the bulletin board at work. Even then, I don’t believe I signed up for the certification program with the sincere intent of becoming a teacher; I simply felt drawn to the challenge.
And a challenge it is. Every class stretches me, literally, to my limits and beyond. It requires intense concentration to relax into each yoga position, to focus on the sensations in the body rather than resist the discomfort. Those positions that call for balance are the most difficult for me. While others balance in a graceful tree position — arms overhead, one foot lifted to rest against the inner thigh — my “tree” tends to quiver and fall as if someone came after it with a chainsaw.
At first, I felt discouraged. Worse, I felt foolish for enrolling in a class designed for would-be teachers. But two things have changed my feelings. First, I’ve taken to heart my grandson’s wisdom in accepting that anything worth achieving takes time, practice, even failure. Second, I’ve learned from my instructor and from my own study that the physical aspect of yoga — of practicing the poses or “asanas” — is only one small part of the practice.
The heart of yoga is in discovering and loving your true Self and, in turn, discovering and loving your connection to all life. This requires full acceptance of who you are right now, this minute — and that acceptance requires not judging yourself against some standard of what you think you should be. If you can’t stand in tree pose without falling over, so what? It’s the practice that’s important, not the pose. It is being fully present in what is, not wasting precious time and energy lamenting over what is not.
I’m learning the same holds true for every aspect of my life. I don’t reach every goal I set for myself, in the time frame I’ve devised? So what? I take steps, I do my best, and I evolve a little more each day.
At class the other night, we were each asked to draw a card from a deck. Each card contained an affirmation of some kind. Mine read something like this:
Many say, “As soon as I get this, then I will be joyful.” But you must be joyful first. Through the corridor of your joy is the pathway to your desires.
Thanks to Nathan, I can accept that mastering yoga at any level is a long, hard-won process. Thanks to the practice of yoga itself, I can better find joy at every step, in where and who I am right now.
I can say it with confidence: I’m a yogini — a female on the path to enlightenment!
Enjoy this month's stories and consider sending us your own soon . . .
Arresting August Stories
Feature Story: Pioneers, by Jane Norde
Paw Prints: "Puppy", by Karolyne Smith Rogers, PhD
Acorns: Life is Wonderful, by Ramona Sallee
Feature Story: Not Just Clowning Around, by Jami McFerren
Sole Mates: Face, by Suzanne Richards
Dear Friend: Because You Stand for Humanity, by George Roundy
Feature Story: Seeds, by Rev. Sandra Hopper
Childhood Dreams: The Key to Having What You Want,
by Courtni Dyer
Feature Story: I've Been Inspired, by Tanya Misfeldt
Memorable Journeys: My Rx for Stress,byTiffany Weis
Traditions & Ties: Forged by War and Hellfire, by Ramona Sallee
Ego Trips: Embarrassing or Merely Amusing?—That Depends on Who’s Watching, by Charlotte R. Brown
Amazing Feets: Fearless,by Karen Vanasse
Freudian Slippers: A Dollar’s Worth of Truth,
by Karolyne Rogers, PhD
Wabi-Sabi: Neither Half-Full nor Half-Empty , by Holland Schrank
Charlotte ’s Story: A Yogini — That's Me,
by Charlotte Rogers Brown
Charlotte ’s Choice: The Dressing Room Blues, by Karen Vanasse
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