News from Jules | 05.20.2024 | Let it Be Easy
After the initial disruption, upheaval and exhaustion from all the moving passed—which of course felt like an eternity but was only two weeks—I woke up on a Thursday feeling ready and eager to go with the flow of the Sabbath. When all the work is done and everything is complete.
This is what the chirping birds, the swaying conifers, the drifting clouds reminded me during my half-mile stroll from the new duplex to my yoga studio, Namaspa. Each week since breaking my leg I had walked further, but my baby steps were still slower than usual allowing me to take in the crisp morning at the start of a beautiful spring day.
Sliding off my Birkenstock clogs in the lobby, I walked with two bare feet across the hardwood floor to my usual spot near the teacher’s mat at the front of the sun-filled yoga studio draped with colorful prayer flags.
Just like attending my first Yin yoga class a month after the accident—hilariously propped up with two blankets, multiple bolsters, and several yoga blocks just to lay down—it felt triumphant to return to the studio for my favorite Healing Flow class with 75 minutes of actual movement this time.
As soon as I laid down my sky-blue yoga mat, my favorite teacher floated over to say hi. Just my height, but a chiseled, compact frame and equally solid spirit, she looked me in the eyes for a long moment as if saying “Welcome back” before I even told her why I hadn’t been in her class for the past two months.
She nodded and noticed the ankle brace as I described breaking my right shin bone in a ski accident, then gently touched my arm, simultaneously smizing and smiling in her Buddha-like way: “Do what you can. Your body will know.”
My physical therapist (PT) had essentially said the same thing the day before. I was walking almost naturally in sneakers, without the boot or crutches, but I was still struggling going downstairs due to calf tightness and limited ankle mobility atrophied during eight weeks in the boot. We brainstormed and tried ways to explore the limits of my calf and ankle flexibility.
Could I do a Downward dog? Yes. What about Garland or deep squat? Or Plank? We carefully tried one yoga pose after another together. To our mutual surprise, they were all doable—within my powers and possible to do easily.
I could feel the curiosity of Beginner’s Mind—as if I was completely new to yoga, except with 20 years of experience. I couldn’t wait to attend class the next day and try a whole flow.
After saying hello to our teacher, I grabbed a yoga blanket and a couple of blocks in case I needed props to help in certain poses, then settled onto my mat to wait for class to begin with the invitation to three deep inhales and three deep ommming exhales to settle our central nervous systems and attune our spirits together.
“Now that we’re all present, let’s start with a heart-opener,” our teacher suggested.
I laid belly down on the mat and tucked one black yoga block under each shoulder per her guidance, awkwardly creating a little cavern that my head collapsed into. Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed how the blocks expanded my chest space. With one consistent breath after another, I heard my heartbeat slow down and my thoughts started to fade away.
We gently rose from the mat into a seated position, like reawakening to the spaciousness of a new day, before we stood and actually started moving. Standing with legs hip-distance apart, our teacher invited us to swoop our right hand down toward the floor, over to the left, and then up over our head as if to paint a giant protective circle around our body. Not the biggest circle you’ve ever made, our teacher reminded us. Just one within reach. Follow the gentle rhythm of your own ebbing and flowing breath.
Let it be easy.
We explored all sides of our mat with intuitive movements—from bottom to top circles, left to right twists, and front to back lunges—as our teacher guided us from less familiar to more common poses that my body could do by heart. I sunk deeply into Warrior II with my left knee bent into a perfect 90° angle and a straight right leg stretched to nearly the back of my mat. I felt a painful twinge in my right ankle so immediately rose a bit and slid my right foot closer to the center at a gentler angle.
Let it be easy.
Our teacher guided us back to the top of our mats as we prepared for what some consider the hardest poses: Balancing. Grounding into all four corners of our feet, she guided us in scanning our body from bottom to top, tensing every muscle as we went, until we stood with our whole body clenched as tight as a fist. Now, let it all go, she said with her wise, playful smile.
Let it be easy.
It was time to find balance. Facing us to mirror our movements, she stood steadily on her right leg and slowly lifted her bent left leg to her waist as if she were marching, then paused. My mind instinctively defaulted to its comfort zone and did the opposite, standing on my strong left leg and lifting my right leg. She gently whispered to me to switch feet as we both simultaneously realized why I was balanced on the left, while everyone else was on their right.
The week before during PT, I tried to balance on just my right leg and I couldn’t do it. But, all week I kept practicing marching in place, rocking side to side, and launching my right knee off every step of the stairs at home. So when the class switched sides, I decided to try.
I hesitantly lifted my left leg until my knee was at my hips and I was standing on one leg, just like a Great Blue Heron in a pond, before slowly rotating my knee out to the side, behind me, and then back to the front. With each passing second, my breaths grew shorter and the tears that welled in my eyes started dripping down my cheeks, just like how I cried during PT while taking my first scary steps in the boot a week after the accident. Could I do it? Was it strong enough?
Surprisingly, it was wobbly, but doable now—within my powers and possible to do easily.
After flowing through many more poses together, we finally laid down on our mats for the end of class. As our teacher reminded us to keep the body relaxed but alert, while the mind cleared and the spirit recentered—thus the pose I find the most difficult—our breathing slowed down in unison so we could hear our heartbeats in tune with the chanting music overhead.
As I lay there I marveled at making it through the entire 75-minute class with ease.
How doable it was.
How doable life is when there’s plenty of space. When our energy extends only within reach, not stretched too far or constricted too tight. When we stop overachieving. Heck, stop even achieving, instead of just being. Stop trying so hard, overcommitting, saying yes when we mean no.
How we find balance when we know our limits, do what we can, and most importantly listen to our bodies.
How doable life feels when there’s plenty of space for:
Healthy home-cooked meals,
Quality time in nature,
Stopping to take a breathtaking photo then staying to chat for an hour with fellow travelers, including an artist with the same name,
An impromptu coffee with the artist with the same name who happens to be passing through town,
Discovering a magnetic poetry board on someone’s front lawn while exploring the new neighborhood,
Noticing the light flickering through the white petals of the tree fully in bloom,
Meditating by the pond on the bike ride to work,
Strolling home after sunset accompanied by the mountain and the moon.
See fun photos of spring life in Bend on Instagram.
Yes, after a hectic transition into spring, life has started to feel doable again.
Return to the breath, return to the body, return to the mat, our teacher reminded us throughout the flow.
Let it be easy.
May you do what you can this week.
Love,
Jules