Yoga – Page 2 – Britt Skrabanek

Meditations in the Cold

My first fall in the Northwest has been a breathtaking sight.

The city has been overthrown by nature, its busy streets hushed by crisp colorful blankets of leaves from the army of trees commanding every block.

People wade through the crunchy mounds, smiling even on their way to work, thinking about crashing into one of the many piles just as they did when they were young and free from responsibility.

But, unlike the intense autumn I knew in the Midwest, all of this happens slowly here.

Each leaf flutters down from its branch with purpose, almost as if the leaf is taking its time to decide exactly where it wants to land. Whenever I spot one of these leaf performances, I stop and watch until it finishes its dance. Then, I smile and proceed.

To walk inside any of Portland’s forested communities, one can’t help but escape from the concrete, buildings, and congestion only minutes away.

Adding autumn and a Japanese garden into the mix enhances this magical experience.

Last Saturday Mr. H and I went to the Portland Japanese Gardens in the late afternoon. It was our first visit to the gardens and we hoped to catch some impeccable fall scenery.

Many of the trees were already bare and at first we felt disappointed that we had missed the best part of the season.

But as we walked, we slipped into a meditation, and silently absorbed the transition of the garden from the liveliness of fall to the solitude of winter.

Too often we lock ourselves inside when the cold takes over. We don’t know what to do, we feel anxious or sad, perhaps we’re already dreaming of spring.

But, we’re missing it.

This is a time of turning inward…to reflect on life, to explore the mind. It’s not a time of laziness, it’s a time to strengthen our spirits.

When we step outside, we can take a cue from nature. Things change—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly—and we should not only adapt, we should be a part of the beauty around us.

So what? It’s cold…take a walk.

I Came Back

I’m starting to realize an unsettling Something and I’m just gonna put it out there. We humans avoid self-reflection on purpose by staying so damn busy all the time.

We have full-time jobs, chores, obligations, and errands that must be done. We squeeze in time with family and friends when we can. We fit in exercise and passions, only if there’s time. We are glued to all of the shiny things the Internet has to offer—social media, blogs, news, recipes, the occasional celebrity gossip.

We have so much information available to us at any given moment. In fact, we carry a handheld device around with us to feed our hungry minds.

But, where are we in all of this? Treading water until we get so exhausted that we begin to sink.

Rather than drowning, I took matters into my own hands last year and tried a blogging and social media break, a clean mind sweep for two months. It’s my little way of going to a deserted island without leaving home.

This year, I only did a month. And, I came back.

But see, I meant to come back on October 1st. Then the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th went by quietly. At the end of my hiatus last month, I didn’t feel ready to come back. Not at all.

For inspiration I went back to my hiatus post to see if I completed my mission. I said…Most of all, I simply want to be.

It’s funny, because “being” isn’t simple at all. In fact, it’s effing hard.

WEEK ONE

I battled my ridiculous desire to check-in daily with my blog and social media accounts. Even with my email notifications turned off, muscle memory tricked me into pulling up Facebook on my laptop one night and Twitter on my phone another time during my lunch break. I quickly exited both times.

I realized the absent-minded habit I now possessed and yes, it was pretty freaky. I did my best to unlearn these habits and attempted to “simply be”.

That’s where things got a little dicey.

WEEK TWO

Every day I meditated peacefully in a forest, smiling as I reflected on the beauty within myself and the world around me. Not really.

When I wasn’t busy working and all the rest of it, I used my spare time to question what the hell I was doing with my life.

Mostly, I was coming down after self-publishing my third book, Nola Fran Evie. “Another book out, and still no signs of fame and fortune,” she thought sarcastically.

Also, broadcasting my personal life on blogging and social media started to make me shudder. Though I try to come from a place of good, is what I’m putting out into the world actually meaningful? Or, am I just another chick with first world problems talking about herself and taking selfies?

It was a rough week, needless to say. But then, Mr. H drove my sorry ass to the beach and this happened…

WEEK THREE

I stood in the sand and watched the sea, and guess what? I didn’t need to search or attempt, because I started that “simply be” thing I’ve been yapping about. I stopped getting down on myself and chose instead to see the good in me.

That moment I knew that I was doing alright with life.

WEEK FOUR

My hiatus was coming to an end. The big comeback blog post was looming. Shit.

I didn’t know what to write about—me, the girl who calls herself a writer. I wasn’t ready to deal with all of the waiting notifications and updates. I wanted to stay away, to keep my mystery, to viciously protect that small piece of me I found in September.

TODAY

At 8am I woke up to the sound of a trombone farting. Seriously.

Sunday morning. In the city. Trombone farts.

I wasn’t thrilled about it either, because I was having one of those lovely adult dreams you don’t want to wake up from—if you know what I mean. In the dream I was in the shower and my hunky husband was about to get in with me, then…trombone fart.

That brassy bastard.

My eyes flew open. The trombone farted proudly once again. What the hell?

Apparently, the Portland Marathon is today. Besides downtown, the route goes through our neighborhood as well. Two streets down there’s a block party with dance music and for some ungodly reason…trombone farts.

Surrendering to our fate, Mr H. and I put on some headphones and began our Sunday routine, drinking coffee in our chairs. I opened my laptop, then my WordPress page. I directed my mouse over to “Posts” and clicked on “Add New”.

My fingers started dancing across the keyboard, typing this nonsense. And, I was smiling big the whole time.

I came back.

A Haircut and A Hiatus

Yep, that is the tattooed forearm of my hairstylist showing off her latest hair trophy…my two long-ass ponytails. After painstakingly growing out my hair for the past five years, I decided it was time to chop it—to shed half a decade permanently and embrace the new.

It’s no wonder we gals get so attached to our hair. That hair’s been attached to us for years—through good times and bad, through boredom, through adventure, through love, and through sadness.

Of course, there is the obligatory idea that long hair on a woman is more beautiful, more youthful. We see celebrities wearing extensions to conceal their short hair from the public, we are told that only soccer moms and older women go short, and there’s a rumor that men prefer long hair.

Funny, but Mr. H likes short hair. Something about seeing my face better, which is quite sweet.

I had an interesting chat with one of our cool neighborhood bartenders a couple of days before the Great Ponytail Massacre. She was rocking a new pixie after a lifetime of Rapunzel hair. She felt liberated after letting it go and she looked it, like a weight had been lifted off her entire face and body.

As “pretty” as long hair can appear, I won’t miss the obscene shampoo budget or getting caught in car doors and automatic windows. The moment my ponytails were cut off, I didn’t get teary-eyed or feel regret.

I felt freaking awesome.

Now there is no mass of hair for me to hide behind. It’s just me.

Along with this newfound sense of freedom, I decided that it was time for me to take a hiatus. Last year I did a little experiment and took a two-month break from blogging and social media.

That’s right…cold turkey.

No weekly blogging. All email notifications of likes and comments were turned off. Commenters would receive responses after the hiatus.
No blog socializing. Though I kept up with my blogger buddies I am subscribed to through email, I refrained from my usual liking and commenting.
No social media. This included my Goodreads, Twitter, and Facebook accounts (personal and author). Email notifications were turned off and to avoid any slip-ups, all apps were removed from my smartphone.

It was my version of a going to a deserted island for a while. Though in reality I was still in Milwaukee, working in my cubicle, finishing my Yoga teacher training, and busting out my first draft of NOLA FRAN EVIE.

My intention for this experiment was to take some time away from the chatter to find focus, the kind that I was craving to achieve some personal milestones.

And, I did find it. Hell, I even nailed my first headstand after many months of hard work.

(If you want to read about my hiatus experiment last year, check out So You Want to Take a Media Vacay.)

This time my intention is quite different. Believe it or not, this go-getter doesn’t have any big life goals. The only thing I know is that I will hunt for inspiration through nature, books, and human experience.

I am searching for rejuvenation. Most of all, I simply want to be.

Rather than two months this year, I’ll be out for the month of September. I’ll still be keeping up with my favorite blogs, but I’ll be one of those lurkers who never makes their presence known. I’ll respond to any social media and blogging comments upon my return. Naturally I’ll miss you guys, but I know that you’ll all still be here when I get back.

If you miss me, you can always contact me the old-fashioned way…through email.

And, ahem—for those who still haven’t read my latest book NOLA FRAN EVIE, you know what to do. (Hint…buy it today on Amazon!)

I’ll be around until Sunday the 31st and would love to hear from you before I go dark. Thank you all for your gorgeous support.

Oh, here’s my hair…

Williams Bacall Iyengar

It was just after midnight on a Tuesday. I had been out at our local bar, drinking good beers, talking about the eccentricities of life with my beautiful husband and our favorite bartender.

Then, when I slipped into my jammies at home, I found out about a third tragedy—after Robin Williams, after Lauren freaking Bacall. Another great loss to mankind.

B.K.S. Iyengar.

Dammit, I lost it. I finally, finally cried because I couldn’t do anything else. I should have gone to bed. I needed to get up for work the next morning.

But suddenly I was charged with emotional energy to write this little piece. My mediocre tribute to these great people.

I made myself some tea, put my headphones on, and started writing. Shit, this is epic for me. To lose all of these gorgeous souls within a week…brace yourselves.

Robin Williams – Monday, August 11, 2014

Lauren Bacall – Tuesday, August 12, 2014

B.K.S. Iyengar – Tuesday, August 19, 2014

I sobered up enough to write this post. I promise it will not be my most eloquent work, but I felt compelled to write something. How could I not?

ROBIN WILLIAMS

Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons — Photo: Wikimedia Commons

I avoided the Robin Williams tribute because I was floored when I heard the news, and I knew I couldn’t do a magical man like him any sort of justice. I grew up with him, as this sort of distant uncle who seemed to know everything I didn’t.

He portrayed the mysteries of life through acting with a dedication and grace that I have never seen before—Dead Poets Society, What Dreams May Come, The Birdcage—these are films that genuinely capture the human spirit.

They are brilliant, and Robin was a key player in that brilliance.

I had just returned from a romantic weekend in Seattle with Mr. H and I felt peaceful, loved, and hopeful. Then, the next day at work, a coworker of mine came dashing over with the news. Robin was gone.

I didn’t believe her. How could he?

My first boyfriend (and my first kiss) killed himself during my Sophomore year in high school. Right on the baseball field…a bullet to his lovely head. Suicide is not something I take lightly. I’ve known those who have threatened loneliness and I’ve known those who have acted on true alienation from that which we call the “norm”.

It’s scary. It’s heart-wrenching, It’s out there.

I wish it wasn’t, believe me. If I could figure out a way to absorb this from anyone…I would.

LAUREN BACALL

Right after one of my film heroes—Mr. Robin Williams—Bacall followed a day later. The pretty songbird that I had known for so long had left my window. She was gone and it was so eerily quiet.

Bacall was, quite simply…beauty. She was an effortless woman, with her infamous voice and come-hither appeal. Beyond the exterior, Bacall’s acting was top-drawer—always provocative, smart, and moving.

I’ve been a classic films aficionado for a good decade now. I respect Grace Kelly, I adore Audrey Hepburn, and I caved in to the charms of Marilyn Monroe.

But, Bacall. Just listen and watch. She was a force, a damn gorgeous force.

B.K.S. IYENGAR

Photo: Yoga Journal — Courtesy of Yoga Journal

Where do I begin? Iyengar came to me much later when I was pursuing my Yoga teacher certification a year ago. I know what you’re thinking…big whoop. “Light on Life” by Iyengar is typically a required book.

Honestly, I didn’t want to read it. I certainly didn’t think I would like it.

On the cover was this man with bright white hair and matching eyebrows, smiling in a red robe, seemingly important and happy. Because he was important. Because he was happy.

He was Iyengar, the man who brought Yoga to those of us who truly needed it most…those of us in the West.

Last October I wrote a post called “I Am Still Learning”, which was inspired by Iyengar’s humble wisdom. I was a lost adult in so many ways until I found Yoga, until I connected with this man from another part of the world, a man who didn’t know I existed but didn’t care.

In some weird way, he was there for me when I needed him.

I’m not a religious person, but I am deeply spiritual. My faith belongs solely to the exquisiteness of mankind. Iyengar provided a connection to this realization and I will forever be grateful for that.

Williams, Bacall, and Iyengar left us. I can’t explain it, but I felt a strong kinship with all three of these incredible humans and I must say this…

Robin…thank you for your amusement, your intelligence, your cool.

Lauren…thank you for your loveliness, your emotion, your grace.

Bellur Krishnamachar Sundararaja (B.K.S.)…thank you for your influence, your spirit, your love.

If I had it my way, things would be so different. But there will not be an official holiday for any of these magnanimous souls. And so we will all go our separate ways—some will mourn, some won’t feel a thing.

I will forever know that these strangers did something special…and that they meant something very special to me.

The Observer

I taught movement for a long, long time. Ten years of dance to students of every ability and every age, followed by a Yoga teacher certification which launched me into another rambunctious nine months promptly after that.

At the end of March I moved across the States to the gorgeousness of Portland, Oregon. I haven’t taught since then, since early Spring.

Sure, a lot of it had to do with that effortless trauma that accompanies any move, or should I say a more uncomfortable word? Uprooting. But I’m not a good liar and I’m certainly not going to lie to you guys. The reality had nothing to do with that.

It was time for me to stop being the teacher. It was time for me to become the student…the observer.

I learned and grew so much from teaching, absolutely. Yet somewhere along the way I lost my own practice, the sweetness that comes with delving into the mind, body, and soul. The energy for myself was pushed aside to give to my incredible students.

I loved every beautiful minute of it—please, don’t get me wrong. But what is a teacher who is not able to pause and observe? Shit, not the teacher that I want to be.

I haven’t talked much about Yoga in the past year, not because writing has been more prominent with my book release but because I have been quietly observing my physical side.

My emotional and physical beings are deeply connected. As are all of yours.

The time has come to take the same approach with writing. To step away and give to myself by observing all that I can and once again become the humble student.

I’m determined to stick my little nose in as many books as I can. I’m beyond excited to dedicate time to reading again, rather than squeezing books into my packed schedule and feeling rushed.

So much of the past few years of my life has been dedicated to my work. I have self-published three novels and kept up a weekly blog which I pour my everlasting love into.

Every novel is the very essence of me. Every blog post is painstakingly created with attention to detail and undying tenderness.

I have three solid ides for my next projects—two novels and one short, a challenge I’m curious to explore. Unlike other times in my life, I’m not setting a timeline for lift-off. I’m gonna write when it’s right.

Now is not that time. Now is about observing the bits and pieces of life, absorbing that damning beauty we are all so fortunate to experience.

Before I used to teach any of my classes, whether it be dance or Yoga, I used to get so freaking nervous. My heart would race wildly, sweat would decorate my brow and my back, and I’d often consider ditching the class with some mediocre excuse.

Not because I didn’t cherish my students. Because I was terrified that I had nothing to offer…nothing to teach.

Through writing I learn incessantly about every moment, every breath, every heartbeat. I press the pause button on my personal chaos to record eccentricities, emotions, and events…but, what the hell do I know?

I’m only a student. And it’s time for me to observe.