Le Journal de +Louise

Found this on postsecret and absolutely could not resist!

Parents have come and gone. The house is quiet again, no more home cooked dinners and hectic weekends. Time to settle back into the familiar.

This wintery autumn is wreaking havoc on my yoga routine. Cold nights, warm couch, hearty soups, snugly bed…

Oh, if only I have sufficient willpower to ramp things up again. Perhaps another challenge is in order?

I initially created this blog to record my progress in yoga, in travels, in love and in life. And in yoga, in particular.

I set myself up for a mini challenge, I went to classes diligently at least 5 times a week. My body was limber, toned, and my mind crystal clear.

I blitzed towards the end of my challenge, and worked my way vigilantly to ensure that all the classes I took were peppered with kudos.

My favourite teacher is quite generous with his kudos, and of course, likewise with his hawk eye criticism. I used to starve and feed on these kudos; Because in the hot room it is just you against yourself in the mirror. Because in the hot room the temperature creeps all the way up to 42C and the heat singes your skin. Because in the hot room you feed on whatever support you can get, just to will your mind and keep on moving.

However, post 2 indulgent trips and a feverish week threw everything up in the air. My yoga sessions have dwindled down to 2 classes per week (if I could be bothered), have befriended the new starters and retreated all the way towards the second last row. And the kudos became far and in between, and as of a couple of weeks ago, they have completely dropped out of my vocabulary and I let my stripes stripped right off my Lululemon tops.

Last night, I decided that enough is enough. I put my blue mat down, in the skin singeing heat, amidst the other 35+ students.

I was focused. My muscles quivered and my mind screamed out at me in beads of sweat, “Take a break!”, “Kneel down and catch your breath!”. But I persisted. My eyes never strayed from the mirror.

And then it happened, the kudos rolled in. I rocked Standing Bow, Head to Knee, Floor Bow and Rabbit. And I felt GREAT.

I drove home with the biggest smile.

I am now determined to acquire my much loved stripes, one at a time, even if it kills me.

Photo credits: Jon Buch

Today, after work, after the rain, after yet another trashy segment of Today Tonight, I put my mat down for the first time in 3 weeks.

I returned to a full class of almost 50 along with trepidations of a new beginner. The past few weeks of late nights, glutton indulgences and irresponsible ignorance had me retreating all the way to the back rows. I looked to the front row and the tiny empty corner where I used to lay my mat, my heart ached. After all the punishment I had recently put my body through, I bore absolutely no expectations coming into this class and I know it will take a while, maybe even a long time, for me to have the confidence to practise in the front row again.

The first 55 minutes of the class went surprisingly well; I did fall out of Standing Bow, but I did not sit out on Triangle; Even though my heart was racing in all directions, I did not collapse in the heat.

Towards the end of the Standing Series, sweat was pouring into my eyes and I was distracted by the yogi next to me who, frantically rolled up her mat and trudged out of the room.The teacher brought everyone’s attention back to the room by saying, “Find your own eyes in the mirror, still your mind, still your heart.”

I eventually found my own eyes in a sea of heaving, distracted yogis, and smiled.  I thought I have lost it, I thought it, too, had abandoned me, along with my confidence and my fitness. But behind those dark brown eyes, I recognised that familiar flicker. The exact same flicker of determination that encouraged me to kick off my first yoga challenge, and accompanied me over and over again when I used to practise 5-6 times a week over the past few months; through Melbourne heat waves, winter rain storms, heartaches, anniversaries, birthdays, frigid mornings and bad days.

Hello old friend, I need you now more than ever….

My confidence might have depleted but my body….oh boy, my body remembered. Those long, lean muscles that I have worked so hard for in the past few months awoke from their long slumber and resurfaced, they stretched and pulled so beautifully in the heat it felt as if I had never left the hot room.

I rewarded myself with a long Savasanah before slowly peeling myself off my mat.

I looked to my old little corner in the front row, and thought to myself: “Soon enough, soon enough….”

The other day, a dear old friend asked me the most absurd question, “Are you happy?”

In which, oddly enough, I gave her an even more profound answer, “Yes, I think I am.”

Had she thrown me this question a few years, or even a few months ago, the answer might have been a very different one.

When I was young, the mere sight of dad’s car pulling up the driveway, birthday celebrations in class, fried chicken for lunch, marshmallows, the colour blue, the crisp paper smell of a new book…All made me squeal with joy. It was simple. I was happy.

But then, I started growing up. Suddenly, it was all about calorie counting, getting that dress, buying that bag, scoring the grades, strolling into a plushy job, landing that fat annual increment, chasing those dreams, cashing in those cheques, and working towards that corner office. It was exhausting. Somewhere, somehow, in the middle of it all, I gave up. High school, tertiary and early 20′s came and went in a swirling storm of angst, frustration and emptiness.

Thankfully, nowadays, happiness to me means something else.

Happiness is the feeling of my heart pounding out of my chest and subsequently splattering all over the pavement whenever I go for a jog.

Happiness is knowing that if I was ever to be awoken by the chills of a wintry night, a warm embrace is just mere inches away. Happiness is staying up late, talking and laughing into the night, and knowing that when tomorrow comes, we will still have just as much, if not even more, silly things to talk about.

Happiness is sitting in a stark classroom, learning new ways to twist and curl my tongue, in an attempt to master a foreign language. Happiness is being able to converse in whatever little French that I know whilst ordering breakfast in a quaint café in Paris.

Happiness is when the captain announces the descent of a flight, and vision of blinking lights of the city of destination below. Happiness is the lethal infection of the travel bug.

Happiness is the smell of freshly brewed coffee on the way to work.

Happiness is knowing that loved ones are just quick a phone call away, and even more so, a short 8 hour plane ride away.

Happiness is lying in a big heap of sweaty mess at the end of a yoga class, in complete awe of the mechanics of my body and more importantly, the determination of my mind.

Happiness is learning to accept and love the person staring right back at me in the mirror, bulges, rolls, dimples, wrinkles and all.

Happiness is a gentle peck on the forehead; the spiciness of ginger tea; the tanginess of dark chocolates; curling up in a tub infused with lavender and geranium oils; good food and wonderful camaraderie; autumn; Leo…..

My favourite teacher always prefaces the class by saying, “Set your intentions right now. This class is however you make it to be. It does not matter how well or how badly you did in your last class, this class is the one that matters. It can be the worst 90 minutes of your life, or it can change your life forever. It is your decision. Choose wisely.”

I hold this piece of advice close to my heart, throughout my entire practice, and out of the hot room. In the past few months, slowly, I have learnt to let go of some past shambles, after all, isn’t life full of choices and it is what you make it to be?

I have finally made up my mind. I chose Happiness.

This morning I found myself being unwillingly hurled under a mini celebrity spotlight in class. I was 1 day late, 3 weeks into my 5 days a week challenge, I was not about to give it all up. One more week and the challenge is over.

So I decided to do a double. First class at 7.30am and the second class at 9.30am. 180 minutes of yoga. I’ve done a double before, but not back to back, and I survived. So I thought to myself, “How hard can it be?”

As the class finally inched past more than the half way mark, I got out of Bow Pose disorientated. Suddenly a thin veil of fog clouded my vision, no matter how much I blinked or rubbed my eyes, the entire room remained blanketed under a layer of smoke.

Towards the end of the class, the teacher singled me out and commended me on my efforts. “Louise did a double session today, she was also here for the 7.30am class.”

As she adjusted my stretch and pushed me deeper into the posture, she said “Beautiful stretch, Louise. See? The second class is always so much easier than the first, well done!”

Every stretched and worked out iota in me wanted to scream out at her. I wanted to caution everyone within that hot, humid room that it is definitely not easier. In fact, it was hard as hell. Triangle nearly killed me and I could barely attempt half of Camel. I wanted to scream “NO, it is not easier! Didn’t you notice me struggling to work through all the postures in the class?” A concoction of sweat and tears trickled down my burning cheeks, all I managed was to feign a weak smile. In a mere distance, I could even hear muffled claps from a few regular yogis beside me.

As I lied down in Savasana, I forcefully focused my eyes at that dull grey speck on the ceiling, watching it slowly take shape over graduated shades of black.

Really? Does anything really ever get any easier?

No, nothing ever does.

But at this point in time, on this very day, all I could do is just keep breathing and keep working at it.

After a long and chaotic day behind the desk, last night I went to class anticipating a good relaxing stretch. As I proceeded deeper into Half Moon, a dull pain slowly crept up from my lower back towards my left side.

I tried to focus on my shallow breaths by fixating my gaze on my quivering obliques under the thinly soaked lycra. White knuckled, beads of sweat trickling down my forehead, some found its way into my eyes, clouding my already blurry vision; some found its way onto to the parched towel below. It felt like a lifetime before the next posture, a few yogis around me started to fidget and subtly shift their weight around, quiet grunts and heavy breathing became almost deafening in the room.

As the teacher shouted “Change!” and with a clap of her palms, the entire class let out a collective sigh of relief and moved simultaneously into the next posture. I curled my lips and broke a faint smile as I snapped my body back into the center and the pain went away instantly. Throughout the rest of the Standing Series, I struggled. With my breath, with my balance, with my mind. However, everytime I heard the word Change!, my mind willed itself away from the pain and I was able to pour my concentration into the next posture instantaneously.

As I walked towards the car into the cool autumn night, I recalled a conversation with A several days ago. She is extremely frustrated about her job, her boyfriend, and her life. That wasn’t the first conversation we’ve had on the same subject. I tried my best to listen intently and eventually asked her the inevitable.

Why hasn’t she done anything different about it?

After a pregnant pause, she eventually replied, “I’m afraid. What if things change for the worst instead?”

I sat quietly in the car, as the windows fogged up and the twinkling streetlights morphed slowly into dull yellow spots peppering the sides of the roads, I thought about my class.

About how I struggled and how much I wanted to just give it all up. I thought about how a simple clap and a simple word of ‘Change’ provided me with such a welcomed relief and transformed my entire perspective when I was in the worst state of mind.

Change. Such a simple, succinct word. So comforting, so profound.

I thought about A again. I thought about the hopelessness she’s feeling.

I wanted to say to her, “Change can be a good thing”.

Sometimes a good change is all you need.

+Post title is a quote from Henry David Thoreau

After yesterday’s lack lustre practice and a mere 4 hours of sleep, I slowly unrolled my mat, ignoring the dull muscle pain in my right calf, stared blankly into the mirror and wondered if it was worth putting my body through this. An extra 90 minutes of sleep could do me some good.

Almost every class that I have attended, there will be a handful of new beginners. This 9.30am class was no different. Having been coming to class for a while, I can almost smell and pick out the fresh blood.

You know the ones. They circle and gather together at the reception, apprehensively filling in the sign-up form. They waltz into the studio, “thud” as they plonk down their mats, sit cross legged and start to chat. Not just quiet whispers, but real chatty chat. Despite all the dirty stares from other yogis in the room, they continued the loud banter.

I prepared myself for a difficult class ahead.

As the class progressed along, albeit slowly, a new disgruntled yogi stood up while everyone was in a deep Triangle, carelessly rolled up her mat and headed straight out the door. The teacher had to halt the class and persuade her to stay in the room for the full 90 minutes. I wasn’t sure if it was the heat that finally got to her, or that she felt singled out numerous times for corrections of postures and holding off on water consumption.

Ahhh…. First-time dramas. I’ve seen a few of those. I nearly walked out during my 2^nd class. I have always wondered, do these new beginners who walked out of their first class ever come back for the second?

The teacher returned into the room and said, “This might as well be one of the hardest things you have ever had to do. Do not give up, everybody in here was a beginner once.”

I love that mantra. Everybody was a beginner once. No matter how good you are, no matter how long you have been practising, no matter how far you have come, the first time was always the hardest.

When the class finally moved along, it was time for one of the most challenging postures. Toe Stand. Having been practising for almost a year now, I am still finding it nearly impossible to balance on my toes, without collapsing to my sides or feeling the excruciating pain at the ball of my foot.

As with all other postures, the teacher always attempts to coax us to try our best, form over depth, yet all the while being gentle, and patient with the body.

Some people get it right away, some people may take months, some even years.

And with that phrase in mind, I let go of my frustration, aligned my shoulders and took the posture to wherever I was capable of.

All I have to do is be patient. I will get there. Surely. Eventually.

Within these mirror plastered walls, under these unforgiving and glaring fluorescent lights, I have waged countless battles against the person that is staring right back at me.

Mirrors, they’re funny things.

Only up till recently, I have started to accept and even to come to love each curve, each dimple, every bit of unsightly bulge, each wrinkle, each trembling muscle and each droplet of sweat.

This is what I love most about this type of yoga, no pretense, no makeup, no coverups. All 5 foot 4 of me, clothed in lycra and cotton, watching myself stretch, bend and contort. Grimacing during the last few seconds of a pose; breaking a subtle smile after a strong bow; collapsing into a sweaty pile during the floor series. Sometimes full of poise and confidence, but most of the time in a heap of heaving messiness.

I remember telling Leo over dinner last night about how I think I might have finally reached a milestone in my practice. How I could hold Standing Head to Knee pose for a full minute without buckling (not kicking out, yet). How I could reach out and stretch so far during Standing Bow Pose that the mirrors are mere millimeters away from the tips of my fingers. How tall and proud I stood when the teacher called out my name and gave a nod my way for my tremendous concentration. I went to bed excited about tomorrow’s practice.

This morning’s class threw everything into complete shambles. I could barely hold a pose for any longer than 10 seconds every time. My knees quivered incessantly and I toppled sideways numerous times, even causing the poor yogi next to me to lose focus and hop out of a few poses. And just like that, the mirrors killed the ego within. This morning I did not like the yogi in the mirror, I wanted to yell at her and say “I thought you have broken those barriers, I thought you were strong!!”.

As I lied down in savasana, drenched in my own frustration, the teacher said “Let it all go. It does not matter how well or how badly you did. Tomorrow is a new day”.

Yes, let it all go. Nothing matters.

I might have slowly and finally made peace with the mirrors and my self image. Mirrors and egos, however, they still have a long and painful way to go.