Hannah, just breathe…

I kind of hated yoga tonight.  

By day 26 of a 30-day challenge, some would say that’s perfectly okay, understandable even. But, I don’t like to hate the things I love.

Hate is a strong word. Let’s not say I hated yoga tonight. Let’s say I didn’t like it all that much. Let’s say we weren’t friends for the evening. Let’s say, if yoga was my date, we wouldn’t be hopping into a cab together after dinner. 

And why? Ohhh, to count the reasons…

The heat seemed too intense. My back hurt, and I was so annoyed I couldn’t get deep into my back bend. My left knee, which is so dry and irritated from so many minutes spent kneeling on my wet, sweaty mat, has begun to crack, and I could feel those cracks each time I kneeled tonight. The two men in front of me were undisciplined, careless in their movements, distracting, loud. The tops of my arms are still sore from Sunday, which irks me to no end. My stomach kept gurgling, even though I ate a light, mild lunch. 

And, I have to admit, my instructor was bothering me a bit. I couldn’t stay focused on her words, so, instead, I focused on my thoughts, which were: “Abort! Abort! Abort!”

A rough class, indeed. (Although, everything I’ve written is excuses, excuses, excuses.)

I left quickly, even though I probably should have stayed longer in savasana, considering I’m dragging myself to the sunrise class in like nine hours. But, I couldn’t wait to leave the studio, get into my clothes, and walk into the cold, empty night. I didn’t even stop and talk to an instructor who tried to strike up a conversation with me and who is, in a bald-headed sort of way, kind of cute. I just needed out.

And as I tried to hail a cab, bracing myself against the knife of wind at my back, I kept thinking, what do you do when you stop enjoying what you love?

This happens all the time. In relationships, in sports, in jobs, in friendships, in hobbies. But, given this regularity, why is it still a truth so difficult to acknowledge, to handle, to accept? Why the struggle?

My father gave me a fantastic quote today that addresses this question perfectly. It goes something like this: “The fear of loss is stronger than the desire to gain.” We are so frightened to give up anything, even the people or passions or material things we just don’t love, want, or need anymore, although that loss might lift us up from the ground. We are scared to gain the unknown and would rather cling to the familiar, however dull, however unsatisfactory.

I am fascinated by this thought: that the fear of loss is simply a disguise, an elaborately decorated mask, a bad joke we keep telling ourselves, for the fear of what we might gain by letting go. Our dependency, thinking we simply cannot survive without a person, a feeling, a support system, what have you, cripples our ability to move forward.  

I am certainly guilty of this. How many times have I written in this blog about letting go, for pete’s sake?! I am fully aware I can be the queen of clutching onto things that no longer serve me or make me happy.

For example, I played water polo for about a year or two longer than I really wanted to, because I didn’t know what I’d do with myself if I stopped playing. I’ve stayed at a job many, many, many months beyond a healthy, high comfort, interest and satisfaction level. I held onto an unhealthy friendship or two for years of fights and misunderstandings and disappointments—I just couldn’t bear to accept those friendships, which I had nurtured and invested such time and energy into, had expiration dates. And, yes, I stayed in one or two relationships one or two months (and more) too long simply because I worried losing that man would be worse than coming home alone, than regaining my singledom (single-doom?).

But, I did learn from these losses—and the gains after the fact. After all, quitting water polo led me to the Bikram yoga studio. And giving up some friendships cleared my calendar, allowing me to devote nights and weekends to other dear friends. And saying good-bye to those ill-fitted loves, however painful, simply taught me to be more careful in my selection the next time around.

I would like to think my anxiety with loss and letting go will ease as I practice these skills more—in and out of the yoga studio, of course. I would like to think I’ll improve my ability to make a decision, to act, to freaking go for it, even if that action results in a loss, of whatever kind. I would like to think I can change.

I say these things, but I know people—myself included—don’t change often or easily.

But, we can still try, can’t we? My teachers tell me it’s all about practicing—trying—with the right intention. 

I must believe this. Because I don’t want to wear fear’s mask. I don’t want to cling until I’ve wrung dry what was once soaked through with love.

I want to be someone who leaps.