On Breathing and Balancing

Why do I feel like crying at yoga class?! Under normal circumstances, crying and I are actually quite well-acquainted, including but not limited to baseball game brawls, school masses, moments with my lawnmower, and the general beauty of the natural world.  But what is this strange intensity that makes me feel as though tears will well at any second once I come to the top of my mat?

Let’s be straight. I know just enough yoga to be dangerous. But I do feel a strange calling to investigate this art of breathing and strengthening my muscles. I am assuming it will make me a calmer mother, too. (It really shouldn’t take much to improve on the lady yelling “I am not Cinderella” the other night. But really, you should see the ways these clients load the dishwasher!)

So lately I have been taking my talents to a local yoga studio. Last night I showed up with the awkward grace I am known for, and OHMed my way to the top of the mat.  I love the idea of the static stretch, the quiet, the focus. But the breathing sends me over the edge. I always feel like I am teetering between hyperventilating and breaking out into tears.

And there is the metaphor. I AM always teetering.

It’s been a big week of preparation for my children. The middle guy has his first Gallery Opening this evening at BayArts. His drawing class met every Tuesday all year, and I am amazed by the creativity that lives in his brain. Tomorrow, my baby makes his First Communion.  The importance of that moment is not lost on me, despite the chaos of fried chicken and baked beans and chalice cookies. Not to be left out, my girl is competing in the county-wide spelling bee on Sunday. Yes, I know I am blessed.

But I have been spinning lately. And running, both literally and figurately. And I guess it makes sense that when I stop for a second, emotions that I didn’t know I had will appear.   And it is somewhere in this chaos of mothering that the breathing beckons me. I read an article a few weeks ago about how kids grow up too fast. I can attest to that myself. But the article also contemplated what WE mothers are doing WHILE the kids are growing up. Am I growing too, and who will I be when they leave the nest?

Last night I scared myself. Went too far too fast in a halasana position, and felt like I couldn’t breathe.  But you know what? Just last week I couldn't do it at all. Progress.  I felt this same kind of amazement when I ran my marathon: 26.2 miles of me pounding asphalt.  And it made me wonder, what ELSE is there that I think I cannot do?!?

Yoga is a great way to see that my mind and body are connected, and I CAN do more than I realize. I can learn that on the yoga mat. I can practice that patience in my house. I can feel the fear in my career and challenge myself in new ways. I can relish those moments when breathing deeply is my best and only choice.

So what am I doing as my children are drawing and growing and spelling? I am breathing. And reaching. And balancing. No professional yogi for sure, but a woman in the midst of becoming. And the art of becoming is the perfect pose for me.