The Temporary Nature of Things

This morning I was thinking about how all things in life are temporary. The good moments. The terrible times. The pain. The joy. Work. Love. People. No matter what, nothing lasts forever, and remaining present is where our lesson lives.

Today, in yoga class, our teacher asked us to open with downward dog. What ended up being a 5 minute plus hold of downward dog. One can learn a lot about themselves in a 100 degree room, with 49 other people, holding downward dog for 5 minutes. If you don’t think so, stand on all fours and try it now while you hover over a heater.

As we held the posture, Nicole talked about strength. How we are always, not often, but always, stronger than we think we are. How feeling exhausted at minute 3 would start bringing fatigue to our arms and shoulders (she was right), but to stay present. She reminded us to breathe. Because when we’re tired and when we’re uncomfortable, we stop breathing.

I felt my shoulders slowly creeping up toward my ears, which is not where they were supposed to be and, in that moment, she reminded us to bend our knees slightly and push our weight into our heels so our wrists, arms and shoulders were not holding us up. If we used our whole body in the pose it was very possible to keep holding, without fatigue, but in strength.

She reminded us that this opening posture was temporary and that it would soon end, promising it would be the hardest part of class. I thought about the body in relation to a problem. How when we focus on hurt or pain, we forget our strength or why we started something to begin with (insert your something, anything). But when we breathe and seek help within ourselves, or in others, we can make it thorough anything. We can keep holding on.

After 5 minutes we received the cue to drop our knees to the mat. We made it to release for 2.5 glorious minutes in child’s pose. I could hear my heart beating on top of my thigh. I could feel sweat dripping into my ear while my belly moved up and down. My breath funneled through the back of my throat and came out of my nose. Slightly labored, my breath was audible, but powerful. I did it. I made it through the worst part of class. The moment was temporary. A stepping stone to a well paced flow where my breath began to match my movements and I forgot about that downward dog completely. A thing of the past.

When class was over, Nicole told me that my practice was beautiful. We had never spoken before. She asked if I was ever a dancer because of my flexibility. I wanted to laugh, and I did, an inside chuckle, replying “No. I’ve been practicing yoga for 10 months and in my past I lost 160 lbs. on my own but I never quite knew what to do with my body. This practice has been a discovery in my abilities. I can understand what to do with her now.” Her eyes widened, full of expression, and she released a wide mouthed smile. Her words “Your practice and flexibility are really beautiful.” I thanked her and walked away. My practice, “beautiful?” I was brought to tears. I walked home thinking about the treasures that lie inside all of us. Untapped, unrecognized and, maybe even feared, because of our own narratives. Temporary stories of pain that we hold on to as truth. Temporary stories that may stop us from living the fullness of our present.

I ran a bath and sank into my skin. I felt my belly rise and fall. I placed my right hand on my stomach, while my left hand rested on my heart. I listened to the Yogaland podcast with Andrea Ferretti. The most poignant part, for me was unveiled in the first 5 minutes. Ferretti’s guest was Dara Kennedy, founder of Ayla Beauty, a natural beauty product store in San Francisco. When Kennedy was thinking of opening her own shop, she went ahead and did some research; asking a group of women “When do you feel most beautiful?” The majority of the women said “When someone else has commented on something they noticed about me.” The take away, we feel beautiful when we feel like we matter. And those moments may be temporary, but we can always come back to them, like our breath.

I went to class feeling moody, ugly, ovulating and in pain after a long week of work and other personal emotions I was working through. If we can all give to one another what my teacher gave me today. A reminder of strength. A reminder of grace. A reminder that pain, our bodies and emotions are all temporary. Well, imagine how seen and beautiful we’d all feel more often.

Our stories are just that, stories. Our pain is only as permanent as we ever allow it to be. I think you’re beautiful. I think you’re stronger than you know. I think holding downward dog for 5 plus minutes was everything I needed today and more. So was the reminder that when we’re seen, we do feel beautiful even if our own stories have told us otherwise.

Strike a pose.