accessing your inner calm

Last night, the night before Isaac's birthday, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. I hadn't yet done the dishes, I still had to decorate the kitchen for breakfast, my husband was asking if I would take Sam to basketball practice the next day at 5pm (I also have rehearsal at 5pm) and the boys were asking me why their new sea turtle night light (which I bought at a bookfair in October, but saved for the first night of Hannukah) only stays lit for 30 seconds.

I had just changed the batteries on the nightlight and realized this was not the source of the problem, when a friend asked, on my facebook wall, if she would see me at yoga in the morning.

I replied "You know I WANT to go, but I'm afaid that if I wait until after lunch to return our Hannukah sea turtle nightlight (by the mall, without a receipt), I will regret it. I will have to see how I feel in the morning."

"Spoken like a yogi" she replied.

This made me smile. It reminded me that the overwhelm I was feeling was a choice. I could choose to stay with the feeling until the next morning, or I could decide to feel a different way, whenever I was ready.

Just then, Max walked in from rehearsal, and asked "can you do Latin vocab?"

Automatically, I said "Not right now, I have to decorate the kitchen."

His tone in response showed me that I had been unnecessarily sharp with mine.

That was the moment I decided my overwhelm was no longer welcome. I recognized that I could continue to let a mood rob me of the things I love to do (yoga, Latin flashcards) or I could subdue it and choose another way to be.

I put down the roll of tape, went to Max's room, picked up the stack of flash cards, and we had a great time making up goofy ways to remember new vocabulary.

Afterwards, I returned to the kitchen, festooned it with streamers and balloons, located the donuts, plates, candles and matches, set the table for breakfast and got ready for bed.

In the morning, we had a wonderfully joyful birthday breakfast with our eight year old, who was pleased as punch to have a day to get even more attention than he usually does, and to start it with a flaming Entenmann's chocolate crumb donut.

After dropping off the kids at school, and taking Suki for a brisk walk, I arrived at the yoga studio. When class time rolled around, there were only 6 of us there to practice, as compared with the usual 20 to 30 who ordinarily attend. As we marvelled at the small size of our group, I kept looking out for my facebook friend to appear.

The theme of today's practice was about our ability to locate the inner center of calm within ourselves and the particular importance of being able to do so consciously throughout this holiday season, when we are surrounded by crowds of frantic shoppers, faced with increased traffic and generally exposed to more stimuli than usual.

We were reminded of a variety of ways that this particular time of year can affect us. We even examined each other's neck, shoulders and trapezius muscles to see if and how we were letting stress affect our posture. We worked at being more conscious of how others' stress can impact upon us. We resolved to try to observe it, when possible, rather than react to it. To send a blessing to the driver who cuts us off, a wish that they too might find their inner calm. That sort of thing.

I left yoga feeling so happy and grateful that I had taken the time to check in with my favorite source of yogic wisdom. I raced home to grab Isaac's presents, the turtle nightlight, a birthday banner and a roll of tape, zoomed to the local cafe, claimed a table, decorated it, and dashed off again, to bounce Isaac out of school for an hour. Just as we arrived at the cafe, Paul was getting out of his car and approaching from the opposite direction. Isaac ran to him, and as they walked hand in hand toward the door, I went on in ahead. In the booth next to our table, I recognized four teenage girls who do theatre at the high school. I asked if they would sing "happy birthday" to Isaac when he appeared and then I went back outside. The three of us entered the restaurant together and Isaac deeply enjoyed the stereophonic musical escort to his seat.

After a very happy lunch, I returned Isaac to his classroom and whooshed off towards the mall, praying that I would not have to apply too much much of my new yogic strategy. I did not at all enjoy sitting, like a lame duck, in the right lane of the highway, waiting to get to the exit ramp while huge trucks swept past me in the center lane, but otherwise it wasn't so bad. The parking lot was full, but I went straight for a remote spot, reminding myself of the aerobic benefits of parking farther from the store, and cheerfully gathered up my turtle nightlight and began heading toward the entrance.

Just as I was crossing the red brick plaza dotted with dead shrubs and dry fountains, I heard someone call my name. I looked up and there was my facebook friend from last night.

"That's so funny!" I said "You knew I would be here after lunch, returning the turtle nightlight."

"Did you GO to yoga today?" she asked.

"Yes, and I looked for you!"

"Well, I didn't go because you made me feel guilty for taking all that time for msyelf when I had so many things to do."

"I didn't MAKE you feel guilty," I said, employing yogic wisdom, but this time, I'm afraid, it was lost on her. Which is a shame, because her comment the night before had really helped me get in touch with myself.

"It was strange - I kept looking for you and even telling the teacher I knew you were coming - because there were only 7 of us there, you see..."

"Well, that's because you made everyone feel too guilty to do anything but errands and shopping!"

As if.
I had.
That kind.
Of power.

But, thank goodness, I did have the wisdom to observe what stress was doing to my friend, rather than to react. Instead, I sent her a blessing. "Happy Hannukah!" I shouted, as I stepped onto the escalator on the way to return my broken turtle nightlight. And as I was lifted up, I heard her voice in response.

"Happy Hannukah, Nancy!"