Hannah, just breathe…

The art of saying “no.”

November 9, 2009 · 12 Comments

I wonder if Nancy Reagan knew the gold mine she opened up when she coined the phrase, “Just say no,” and helped spread it ’round the nation.

Drugs.  Sex.  Alcohol.  Peer pressure.  Unwanted groping.  Unnecessary bullying. Combat it all—in an idealistic world—with that one-punch word:  No.

Thing is, why weren’t we ever taught how to say “no” in the other areas of our lives? Our adult lives, I mean.

You don’t say “no” to the boss.  And you don’t say “no” to attendance requests at important networking events or dear friends’ parties or to invites to intellectually stimulating outings like museum visits, book readings, or trips to the theater.  You don’t say “no” family that needs your help or friends who need your listening ear. You don’t say “no” to your love life.  You don’t say “no” to health, exercise, daily body maintenance.

If you did, you’d be rude, unsupportive, anti-social, lazy, selfish, unhealthy.

But, really—where were the lessons on saying “no” to any of this?  Did I miss the after-school special that covered the above situations?

I’m beginning to think so.

Especially considering, when I looked up at my mother through tears and hiccups last Thursday, this is what she told me:  ”You don’t know how to say ‘no.’”

I don’t?

Huh.  Well.

In my defense, mi madre, I think the world has more “yes” people than “no” people in it, largely because we are scared of the ramifications behind that two-lettered lump of negativity.

If we opt out, we miss out.  If we decline, we regret what we could have accepted.  If we say, “no, thanks,” we never know what we could have been oh so thankful for.

We please people when we say “yes,” while we disappoint with the word “no.”  We find entertainment, round out our experiences, even shape our thinking, when we agree to an activity.  We impress when we face a challenge, an uncomfortable situation, a potentially disastrous blind date, when we buck up and declare, “Yeah, sure, of course, I’ll do it!  Count me in!”

“Yes” carries less guilt and angst, less after-thought and analysis.

“No” leaves you wondering.  What if?  Just maybe?  Perhaps I could have if I’d just given it a try?

My mother listened to me ramble through this argument—her in the blue wing back chair, me rumpled and curled at her feet, like a child.  My words sounded hollow as I said them aloud.  Even I could hear the echo of indecision and exhaustion and frustration in my voice.

We sat silently then, for a minute, as I collected myself, as she watched me.  And then she took my hand, and squeezed it, and leaned in close, and said, “The world won’t go to pieces if you say ‘no’ to something, baby girl.  Just say no, and then—what do they tell you in yoga, eh?—let it go.  And move on.”

I drove back north yesterday, the Pennsylvania countryside passing my window, then miles of Connecticut woods, and then Massachusetts’ hills and bare-limbed trees. I sped further and further away from my beloved parents, my sister, my nephews, toward another week of work and yoga and my life.

Behind me were my mother’s words.  My childhood home, Stoneyway, sunlit in the late November afternoon.  Crunching through the sugar maple’s crimson leaves with my giggling nephew.  Laughing with my father.  Eating fresh, home-cooked meals around the old kitchen table, in the belly of the house.  Easing into the quiet, safe, comfortable arms of those who love me unconditionally.

I choked back a few tears, even as my eyes rolled at such dramatics.  I squeezed the steering wheel, so tightly my knuckles hurt.  My hips twinged, tight.  The traffic bore down, relentless.

And then, the “Massachusetts Welcomes You!” sign.

And then, the Boston skyline.

The greatest advantage we have in this life is choice.  Perhaps that’s the greatest success of that “Just say no” ad campaign.  Behind that three-word message is the indirect meaning:

You have the choice to say “yes” or to say “no.”  Choose wisely. Choose for you.

As I roared back into my city, a sudden, sharp reminder struck me:  I chose this life, here.  I wanted it, desperately.  I fought for it and defended it and then reinforced it. Along the way, I healed my broken heart.  I worked this broken body into new form.  I let go.  I let others in.  I moved on.

So what if I have to brush up or, let’s face it, master my “no”-saying skills, now, a little delayed at nearly 29 years of age?

I choose a learning life.

Let the lesson begin.

→ 12 CommentsCategories: Lessons · Life

The pinch that reminds me.

November 4, 2009 · 7 Comments

It is so easy to neglect what you do not readily feel.

If it isn’t at the forefront, tugging at shirttails, squeezing our fingers, we keep moving. In motion, we forget.

In yoga, the forgotten details can lead to catastrophe.  For example:  We are constantly reminded to suck in our stomachs so as to support the lower back.  Some teachers harp on this more than others.  But, it is an integral part of the yoga, particularly the standing series. Because an unsupported back can lead to gruesome pain—believe me, I know.

I don’t like to feel this kind of pain.  I’m no wimp, but I’m certainly not a glutton for punishment.  (Says the woman who devotes 90 minutes a day to working out in a room that’s hot enough to scramble eggs…)

And yet, sometimes, it does me good to feel the pinch, the sharp sting that reminds me, “Oh yes, I need to take care of that.”

I’ve felt this sting in life lately, too.

And, oddly, I have appreciated its bite.

I like feeling healed—I like looking back on a time, a man, a rocky patch in a friendship, and thinking, “I worked past that, and here is the scar, and I am fine now, see?”  This is progress.  Forward momentum.  Staying in one place too long leaves me stiff, uncomfortable, restless.

But, it is good to be reminded of what happens when you move too quickly, too suddenly.

I spent last night’s class working as carefully and slowly as I possibly could, as I doted on the throbbing tightness in my lower back.  I can’t remember the last time I paid this much attention to every single movement my limbs and muscles made.  It was fascinating and exhausting and, ultimately, healing.  I crawled off my mat as loose and silken as ribbon.

And as I made my way home, my body soothed, I thought of the other pinches I’ve felt lately.  No part of me has enjoyed the sharp fingernails digging into the softness of my heart.  And yet, I am grateful.

Because I would rather face the reminder than suffer the regression.

I’ve worked too hard, damn it, to go even one inch backwards.

→ 7 CommentsCategories: Lessons · Letting Go · Life · Love · Yoga

Let’s laugh about it.

November 3, 2009 · 15 Comments

Wah wah wahhhhhhh.

Blah blah blaaaaaah.

Boooooo freaking hooooo.

Yeah, I’ve heard it, too.  All the whining, crying, complaining, huffing and puffing around here.  It’s been a bit of a shit show, hasn’t it?  I’ve lost that lovin’ feeling, haven’t I?

[Sheepish smile.  Shy, hopeful eyes.  Open arms, offering an "I'm sorry" hug...]

Well, don’t you worry.  I gave myself a talking-to.

In other words:  “Hannah, shut up!”

That’s what I said to myself multiple times yesterday, even leading up to last night’s yoga class.  Actually, a little profanity slipped its way in there, too.  Sacrilege!  Swearing in yoga class!  (Truth?  I curse left and right in my head all fucking day, on the mat and off.)

But really.  Enough.

My life, in all its craziness, is not THAT bad.  Come on now.

My job has taken off like fireworks on the 4th of July.  The items on my to-do list are diverse, interesting, challenging, and more unique than ever before.  The relationships I’ve spent the last year and a half making with coworkers around the world finally feel real, comfortable, strong.  The stories I’ve heard, from colleagues in Dubai, Seoul, Paris, Shanghai, and Abu Dhabi, are fascinating and funny and eye-opening.  This is a good job, a good place for me right now, in this strange stage of my career.  Must I really waste energy bitching about it, just because I’ve been entrusted with new responsibilities?

My friends continue to offer support, encouragement, care, and a listening ear, even though they’re as beleaguered as I am come day’s end.  Whether through e-mails or Facebook posts or text messages or comments on this here blog, the sentiment is the same:  They are thinking of me.  I am loved.  They are proud.  We are all trying our very best.  Why indulge in any thought regarding these precious relationships other than, “I am blessed“?

This yoga practice—what would I do with out it?  Really.  How dare I berate the very thing that’s given me so very much?  I had my yoga when I had nothing else, when I was broken and stripped bare and seemingly beyond hope.  I am a little ashamed, embarrassed even, at my lack of gratitude lately, at my indifference, my resentment.

And Boston—my Boston.  Each evening, I drive back int0 its skyline, murmering a little hello, as I wind through its cluttered, chaotic streets, horns honking, sirens squealing, my stereo turned up high.  I can feel the city wrapping me in its cold, steeled arms; but, it is a gentle, loving embrace, a welcoming home.

I have a good friend who’s asked me to help with an amazing project—and, in doing so, has offered me an incredible opportunity.  One of my dearest friends is newly engaged.  I’m going to meet a slew of Boston bloggers in December. My two favorite holidays are on the horizon.  This weekend, I get to drive south to Pennsylvania and visit my family.

Life is great.

I have not forced myself to do this in quite some time—to pause and to practice thanks.  I’d like to think I give myself regular reality checks.  These last few weeks?  Not so much.  Somehow, I’ve settled for wailing and wallowing.  God love you all for putting up with it.

Change is here, though, friends.  Don’t worry.

You want proof?  It’s okay—I would, too.

Yesterday, I made it to the 4:30 p.m. class for the first times in ages.  Day 8, ready to be conquered.  I arrived roughly 20 minutes early, threw down my mat, then proceeded to get ready for class, wander around the studio, talk to a few regulars and teachers.  With about five minutes until class began, I went back into the hot room.  Only to find it absolutely packed with yogis.  Like only two inches between each other’s mats kind of packed.  And nearly a quarter of them were newbies.

Uh oh, I thought.  This could be brutal.  The panic began to mount.  My stomach rumbled a little.  My gaze drifted rapidly back and forth over the room.  My mind started churning up the negative, doubtful thoughts.  And then, I looked into my eyes in the mirror and remembered.

Shut up, Hannah.

Inspiring words, huh?

But, it worked.  I proceeded to rock my way through a ridiculously humid and intense 90 minutes, without breaking concentration once, without skipping a single command in the dialogue, even when the mirrors steamed up so badly I could no longer see my reflection.  I just worked.

And when I laid in savasana afterwards, absolutely bathed in sweat and grinning, I thought: Nothing is ever as bad as I allow it to be in my head.

Now, I know I’m a fool most of the time.

But, come on—those words, that truth, is quite inspiring indeed.

→ 15 CommentsCategories: Change · Fabulous · Yoga

The why of it all.

November 2, 2009 · 9 Comments

Seven days.  One week.  Nearly 1/4 of the way through the 30-day journey.

But, who’s counting?

Not me.  I swear.

How are you all feeling this Monday morning?  A little sugar sick?  A smidge hung over, still, from your shenanigans on Saturday night?  Perhaps you’re even a little bruised and battle-scarred from falling down, tripping, running into corners, and suffering other such calamaties that can happen when you’re in costume? 

Me?  I hurt, too.  But more in the “I’m so damn tired even my eyelides are in pain” kind of hurt.  If I could sleep for an entire day, I still don’t think I’d feel rested.  And this isn’t a “I partied like a 19-year-old rockstar” exhaustion—no, it’s more of a “I’m an old lady who’s trying to juggle a full-time job, a part-time project, a daily yoga practice, and an active social life” exhaustion. 

Thrilling, I know.

The beauty of this yoga challenge, though, is that it almost feels old hab.  My body fully recognizes all of these feelings—this low, throbbing ache, the crack and pop of joints, the tightness just waiting to snap and release.  I’m going through the usual highs and pitfalls within each class, but it all feels customary, even a little comfortable.  And, interestingly, my mind recognizes it all, too.  Sure, I’ve had my moments on my mat where my face has scrunched into a mess of frustration and tears—for all of five seconds.  And then it’s the deep breath, the refocusing, the reminder that I’ve been here before, and the class carries on. 

Last night, when my roommate asked me how the challenge was going, the only response I could give was a one-shoulder shrug and a slurred, “Ehh, ’s okay.  Same old.”

She looked at me a little funny.  And I continued, “I mean, the excitement’s kind of gone from these things.  This is the third one.  I know I can do it.  I’ve already proven that to myself.  So, now it’s just…eh.  You know?”

Understandably, she didn’t quite know.  And I couldn’t quite explain it any better myself.

I couldn’t quite pinpoint the why—the why I’m doing this, and the why it isn’t more exciting, and the why I’m not more invested.  The why of my entire life right now. 

We do all sorts of things that we can’t fully justify or rationalize.  I look back on ages 22 to 25, and it’s one big head shake of “What the hell was I thinking?”  I know we can’t always have an answer. 

But, I will admit, when I laid down in bed last night, my body buzzing and twitching, my head swimming with the laundry-list of tasks to accomplish this week and my conscience kicking in and reminding me of all the things I didn’t get done this past weekend, I couldn’t help but sigh and want to burst out in tears. 

Because, at the end of the day, I do want to know why I overburden and overcommit and push myself over my limit.

It is a fair question. 

Now, if I could just find a freaking answer.

→ 9 CommentsCategories: Exhaustion · Life · Yoga

My freaky and fabulous life (pt. iii…kind of)

October 30, 2009 · 7 Comments

My life this past week has felt pretty freaky and…um, no, not so fabulous. 

Let’s do a run down, shall we?

Freaky:  Waking up at 5:25 a.m., ducking and dashing through thick sheets of rain, all to make the 6 a.m. sunrise class in Harvard Square. 

Fabulous:  Class rocks, body feels strong, teacher keeps me sane, man to my left nearly gets a slap to the head for all of his thumping and thrashing about—don’t worry, I refrained. 

Freaky:  Showering in shower stalls with no curtains.  Now, I’m not a modest lady in the locker room.  (Remember the rules, kids!)  But…well, shampooing and soaping up while all of your goods are hanging out in front of total strangers is, admittedly, a little disconcerting.  At 7:30 a.m., no less.  I don’t need to see that much skin at sunrise.

Fabulous:  Getting the hell out of the smallest, most crowded, most-exposed-bodies-ever locker room in t-minus 11 minutes.  I got ready so quickly I think I even beat the gents.

Freaky:  Sitting in 45 minutes of traffic to go all of five miles.

And that was just my Tuesday morning.  From 5:25 a.m. to 8:45 a.m.  The day had barely begun for some of you.  Hell, the week had barely begun for all of us!

Also freaky?  How my stomach feels right now.  I’ve often noticed that the more yoga I do, the more food aversions I suffer.  As in, as I’ve thrown myself back into a daily yoga practice, the thought of food this week has kind of made me nauseous.   I am wholly unenthused about eating anything.  Even toast—and I love toast.  This isn’t good—not when you desperately need good, hearty, nourshing food to refuel and reenergize your system.  But, man.  I haven’t wanted to eat a thing. 

Potentially fabulous?  My clothes are a tad looser.  Potentially fatal?  I might pass out from extreme malnourishment.   But at least I’ll look good doin’ it!

Also fabulous?  The few slices of time this week that I’ve been able to devote to my little side project, which I’ll share details about eventually.  It’s exciting and fun and daunting and kind of hilarious.  I want to throw all my energies and creativity into it, but my plate is full, I can only give so much, I will give what I can.  For now.  Who knows what will happen later…

Freaky:  The odd, creepy, dusty and old skeleton/ghost/demon puppet my roommate hung in our kitchen window.  I nearly kicked my poor cat clear across the tile floor when I saw it first thing in the morning as I was trying to give said cat his food.  Totally freaked me out.

Fabulous:  My roommate carved a pumpkin tonight at our kitchen table.  With a full glass of wine on hand, of course, and reruns of a bad television show blasting in the background.  Sometimes, I really do adore her.

Freaky:  My favorite month is nearly over.  October, where did you go?  Sighhh.  So begins the winter haul.

Fabulous:  I am five days into my challenge.  One sixth of the way done!  (But who’s counting…)  The two poses I really want to make some progress in are half moon and standing head to knee.  Both poses like to wrestle with me, like to taunt and tease and work me over, nose to toes.

Just you wait, poses.  I’m fabulously tough.  Freakishly committed.  I’ve got a fight to me you haven’t yet seen.

Enjoy your tricks and treats this weekend, friends!

→ 7 CommentsCategories: Fabulous · Life · Yoga