9 posts tagged “argh”

Today was a hard day.  This is amusing, given that I had enjoyed last Saturday so much, I simply *expected* this Saturday to be absolutely fabulous too.  Ah, the perils of attachment!

I hate being late to anything, but especially to my classes.  The King streetcar, never terribly reliable, wasn't running on time and after just barely missing a streetcar (it was pulling away as I ascended from the subway) I waited for over a half-hour for the next one.  Fortunately, I allow extra time in case this happens, but it meant that instead of having a leisurely coffee at the club, I was sprinting down Sherbourne frantically trying to make it on time.

I was beset my a whole variety of other mishaps, but I have a favourite - it still makes me giggle (in retrospect) when I think about it:

I was at the market and feeling peckish so I decided to treat myself to a samosa from my favourite vendor in the North Market.  I lined up politely and was just about to ask for a vegetarian samosa when a couple cut in front of me.  They were very demanding, so in the interest of harmony, I let it slide.  I was in no hurry and besides, there was a whole bucket of samosas.  They proceeded to buy the entire lot - in fact, there was one vegetarian samosa left and the guy said “Oh, give me that one too.”  By the time it was my 'turn', the only remaining samosas were chicken.  Bah.

So I had a peanut butter cookie for lunch and was just a bit sulky about it. ;-)

Baddha Konasana

“Remember, Yoga practice is like an obstacle race; many obstructions are purposely put on the way for us to pass through. They are there to make us understand and express our own capacities. We all have that strength, but we don't seem to know it. We seem to need to be challenged and tested in order to understand our own capacities. In fact, that is the natural law. If a river just flows easily, the water in the river does not express its power. But once you put an obstacle to the flow by constructing a dam, then you can see its strength in the form of tremendous electrical power.”

- Swami Satchidananda (1:17)

I have a bit of a confession: I'm in a bad mood. February has been a rough month for me, as it often is. There's something about the combination of cold weather, lack of light and seasonal melancholy that really nails me this time of year. It seems oddly unjust that I'm struck with exhaustion and lethargy just as the days are starting to get longer, but each year the pattern repeats itself (one of my students suggested that it's the sheer accumulation of winter angst that makes February so difficult.) I've been simply enduring life recently, dragging myself through what seems like a series of gray, soggy, cold weeks.

It's official: I have the 'winter blues'.

When my sleep schedule starts to get wonky, I know what's coming. I've been staying up 'late' recently - late for me being past 10 p.m. or *gasp* 11:00. Of course, all of this not-sleeping leads to napping during the day, which leads to more not-sleeping at night...and you can see where this is going. This morning, I was so groggy and tired that my body just wanted to grind to a halt.

When I have 'the blues,' my usual high energy levels take a plunge and I lose motivation for the big stuff, then the little stuff and finally, the routine stuff. It becomes increasingly difficult to hold myself together. The thought of completing the smallest task fills me with dread. The other day, I had to give myself a big pep talk in order to walk into the kitchen to do the dishes. I sometimes 'don't 'feel like doing anything' and lay morosely on the futon feeling victimized by my to-do list. Laying in bed at night, I'm sometimes struck with a sense of melancholic despair because tomorrow, I'll have to wake up and DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN.

*sigh*

Of course, my yoga practice has suffered. I'm still making it to the mat six days a week, still doing my full yoga practice. But it feels like I'm just going through the motions these days. I'm not making any real progress - in fact, I'm backsliding. I've stopped binding in poses I know I can bind because it's just so much WORK and I don't have the energy for drama or challenge in my life. Reading back in my journal, it's difficult to believe that mere months ago, I was jumping out of bed eager to do my yoga practice and embrace the day.

But it's also a good reminder: this too shall pass. And we *are* on the brink of Spring.

As I was reading the Yoga Sutras this morning, this quote from the commentaries resonated with me. Obstacles in life - and yoga practice - challenge us and draw forth our true strength and abilities. With this in mind, I tried to reframe the entire month of February as simply a challenge to be overcome (instead of a long trial of slush and darkness). Seen in that light, it's easier to motivate myself to the mat, then outdoors into the sometimes-sunshine, and even out to my classes and through my daily rounds of meals, phone calls, class notes, errands.

I'm counting the days until March.

And somebody is sending me cookies.

There are some days when you can just be rolling along, happily doing your thing and then you slip and fall into a big pile of shit.

That's what happened to me this afternoon.  Literally.

I had something on my mind.  I decided to go for a long walk to think it through.  But the park was like a big sheet of ice.  I slipped on the ice and landed in the biggest, foulest pile of dog shit in the vicinity.

As I sat there, covered in shit, I checked in with myself.  For the first time in hours, I was totally present in the moment: the ice, the cold, the bruise on my hip, the stench of wet dog poo, my own deep sadness and frustration.  And I started crying...  No, actually I started *bawling*.

I managed to half-walk, half-crawl to a sidewalk and I cried all the way home.

My slippery fall into that dog shit is an apt metaphor for my entire day, actually.

Perspective comes in some pretty rotten packages sometimes.

Yesterday, while teaching one of my children's classes, I injured my foot.  This injury is not yoga-related, it's leaping-around-like-a-goof related.  During a game we were playing, I skipped back to the starting line, only to land awkwardly on my foot as I made my final, brazen leap.

Not exactly a 'leap to glory.'

The children were startled, then sweetly concerned.  I took a few deep breaths and carried on.  Nothing is broken, although I do have a *very* colourful bruise around my little toe.  When I'm barefoot, my foot feels fine.  It's only sore when I'm wearing shoes.

Putting on ice skates was out of the question, so I opted for a long walk instead.  The journey up to the park was very slippery with snow and ice and the park itself was practically a sheet of ice.  My dog slid around in her Muttluks and I struggled to keep myself upright.  Between my sore foot and the ice, it wasn't the most pleasant walk.

I'm having one of those weeks when all I want to do is work.  If I could teach yoga classes 24 hours a day, I might do it.  I love my job.  For lots of reasons, but here's one: my job distracts me.  Because when I'm talking, I can't think.

Thinking is so overrated.  So are a lot of things, actually.

Okay, here's the thing:

My blog is just a place to write.

I don't have an agenda.

And I don't go out of my way to be snarky or offensive or mean.  I'm basically a happy, easy-going person and when I'm not, my instinct is to turn inward, not to lash out at somebody else.

So I don't attack people, or join blog wars, or get pissy about very much of anything.  If I don't like something on your blog, I'm not going to comment about what an idiot you are.  Instead, I'll just nod to myself and respect the fact that it's your blog and you can be an idiot if you want to and isn't the world a more colourful place when we're all unique individuals and not clones.

But mostly my blog is about navel gazing, plain and simple. Happy - and occasionally angsty - navel gazing.

So when I say that I don't sacrifice goats on my altar, I'm not making a statement about the merits of goat sacrifice. Nor am I being pre-emptively defensive and defending my right to sacrifice goats - if, in fact, I wanted to (which I don't).  And I'm certainly not making any assumption whatsoever about what YOU think of goats, animal sacrifice, the Buddha, the smell of Nag Champa or land wars in Asia.

In fact, it's entirely possible that I'm really not talking about goats at all. Perhaps I'm just trying to lighten things up a bit.

And If I say that my altar is not creepy or cultish, I'm not accusing YOU of thinking it might be.  I'm just stating a fact.

This is an important point: my altar is a 'safe space' for me.  It's sentimental. That's what I was trying to convey in my post yesterday.

Right now, I hate the Internet.  And I *heart* all of you who left the positive comments.

And tomorrow, I'm going to write about what I ate for lunch because I'm feeling a bit bruised.

(a rare yoga-related cross-post)

Today's practice was a comedy errors, with the stresses of day-to-day life making a special, cameo appearance.

I started out strong.  Standing poses have really been very appealing to me lately, drawing me out of my fog.  I've been feeling seriously run down over the past week.  Yesterday, I was so exhausted in the afternoon that I decided to take a cat nap.   Three hours later, I was still napping!  I barely made it out to the Park to teach my yoga class.

Today, I worked steadily through the primary series,  but stalled at Navasana.  I took some time in child's pose and resolved to finish the practice, then I heard the 'clang' of my mail slot.  And a thump - certainly it was the latest issue of Yoga Journal, so I got up to look at it.

And I found a letter from my landlord, informing me that I was being evicted for non-payment of rent.

I'm very organised when it comes to these things, so I checked my records.  Sure enough, months before, I had given my super post-dated rent cheques through September.

I grabbed the phone and sat in half-lotus on my mat.  I first phoned the accounting department of the management company.  Mysteriously, they had received cheques only through August (or perhaps not so 'mysteriously' - I've had an ongoing dispute with the superintendents).  I spoke with a manager and he agreed that in the future, I could submit my cheques directly to accounting, bypassing the superintendents entirely.

A few minutes ago, I hand-delivered a replacement cheque along with three more post-dated cheques directly to the accounting office.  I photocopied the cheques for my records and included a carefully worded letter to the management company describing the problem and the proposed solution.

You may be wondering what all of this has to do with yoga.  Well, a few years ago I would have had an emotional meltdown if I had received an eviction notice.  I probably would have phoned one of my friends, sobbing hysterically and moaned “What do I do?  What do I do?”  I would have felt victimized.  It would have ruined my entire day, likely my entire week.

I dealt with this entire matter in under an hour, calmly and with a minimum of drama.  I think I even wrote those post-dated cheques while sitting in half-lotus on the floor.  Instead of feeling angry or overwhelmed, I felt calm, focused and vibrantly alive.   The eviction letter became my yoga.  When I finished, I did a couple of handstands, took Savasana and now I'm enjoying the rest of my day.

I often write about the physical benefits I've experienced from my hatha yoga practice (going on 12 years now!), but I seldom reflect on the maturity and strength I've developed from it.  I've never been good at being a 'grown up' but yoga has helped me become a better adult.  I'm not always level-headed (particularly if I'm overtired or overworked, I'm easily overwhelmed), but I'm constantly amazed at the impact yoga (and meditation) has made on every aspect of my life.

I'm shaken and upset. I'm still trying to get my wrapped around precisely what just happened to me. Put simply, I went to brunch on a sunny summer day and was suddenly and very unexpectedly verbally attacked by a complete stranger in a very direct and personal way. Perhaps it makes sense to write it all down, because right now, I just can't fathom this incident.

Let's set the scene: It's a gorgeous Sunday morning. I've just spent the early hours volunteering at a soup kitchen, serving a Canada Day meal to 250 people. I'm in a good mood. I'm meeting up with my friend Poppy and her almost-11-year-old daughter Daisy for brunch and to give Daisy my old iPod.

We order our meal. I mention to our waiter that I'm vegetarian and would like to substitute the smoked meat with homefries. It's not a problem. It's important to note that my penchant for avoiding meat is not mentioned again for the entire hour.

Poppy, Daisy and I then proceed to have a conversation that covers roughly the following:

- Daisy's new iPod, the cables that come with it, the fact that it's a hard drive so you shouldn't drop it, how to use it as a hard drive to transfer data, the possibilities for replacing the battery should that ever become an issue.

- Poppy's feedback about my recent blog entry regarding backups: I mention that in addition to backups on the external drive, I may also back up my data to DVD to store at an exgirlfriend's house. I think the topic of 'exgirlfriend' came up once or twice more in the conversation, but it wasn't a theme.

- We talked about the Dream in High Park (a free Shakespeare play in a big Toronto park): Poppy and Daisy just saw this year's play.

- Poppy and Daisy are going to Halifax: There was some general discussion of their plans, the 26 hour train ride, etc.

- Daisy is a mature, articulate girl and I like chatting with her. When I'm out with her and her mum, I make a special effort to include her in the conversation. We talked about Daisy's fluency in French, some anecdotes related to her fluency in French, her friends, school, the new math, cell phones and some mutual friends.

That's all I can remember. It was a normal conversation - neither of us were shouting. We were in a noisy café, so it's possible that we might have raised our volume in order to be heard a few times, but nothing over-the-top. To be honest, I wasn't feeling particularly chatty and I recall feeling relieved that Poppy was - she kept the conversation going. I very clearly remember sitting back in my chair and listening with pleasure as my friend talked. As a yoga teacher, I talk a lot, so it's nice to sit back and listen.

As we were finishing our coffee, a woman (dark-haired, early-30s) approached our table. She addressed me directly and said, “Could I speak to you alone please?” Her tone was accusatory and aggressive. You know those little hairs on the back of the neck? Mine were standing on end. Before I could even respond, she said “Oh, never mind, I'll just say it.”

She proceeded to inform me that I was loud and rude and that the 'whole world' didn't need to know about my 'personal business'. She had been sitting one table away and complained that she could hear our conversation and found it offensive. She felt that 'the whole restaurant' didn't need to know that I have 'girlfriends' and that I'm a vegetarian. I ruined her meal. According to her, when she spoke to someone at an adjacent table, that person also felt that her meal was ruined because I was loud. She just thought I should know.

It's like she felt she was doing a huge public service or something.

She made a point of mentioning my vegetarianism not once, but twice (discussing it later, Poppy and I agreed that vegetarianism only came up when I ordered my meal). No less than three times, my accuser mentioned that she heard me say that I 'like girls'. She implied that I shouldn't be talking about something like that in public and looked very pointedly at Daisy (Poppy's daughter) as she said this.

I'm really good about accepting constructive criticism (something that's held me in good stead during my years of playing ice hockey). But this wasn't kind, it wasn't helpful, it wasn't constructive: it was an attack. By the time this woman finished her diatribe, I was stunned and in tears, Daisy was wide-eyed and covering her mouth (she said later that it was to keep from saying something rude to the grownup) and Poppy was literally speechless.

As I sat there weeping, this woman then said “There, there...” and she did something so completely intrusive and unbelievably presumptuous that it was almost funny: she tried to hug me.

That's when I finally found my words. I said: “Don't touch me!” And then I asked her to leave. She did.

I'm really upset about this. I'm struggling to understand why it hurt me so much.

First, let's get this out of the way: I'm not embarrassingly loud. I can be loud like anyone else and I probably am at times, but this morning wasn't one of them. This incident was very clearly not about 'loud'. This incident emerged out of the *content* of my conversation, not the volume of it. If loud was the issue, she could have come over during the course of the meal and just asked us to 'keep it down a bit' (we would have been cool with that). She could have asked the waiter to be reseated somewhere else. She could have ignored us. We could certainly hear people at other tables and we were successfully filtering those conversations out.

I've had insults hurled at me on the street (I live in a big city with crazy people so I'm used to it), but this felt different. It was very targeted, it was mean-spirited, it felt personal. Her remarks were carefully cloaked in “You were loud” but the subtext screamed: “I'm offended by lesbians and vegetarians.” I'm familiar with homophobia, but I have to admit that 'veggiephobia' is a new one for me.

So I'm shaken and upset. I'm trying not to let this ruin my day, but to be honest, I feel raw and vulnerable and uncertain. Half of me wants to hide. The other half wants to rally the troops and go sit in restaurants in rainbow garb, having loud discussions about dykes and vegetables (and fruits! don't forget fruits!) in order to offend as many narrow-minded people as possible.

The middle ground? I'll probably go watch some fireworks.

(Oh, and by the way: Happy Canada Day)

I have an appointment with my doctor.

Here I am, sitting in the waiting room, right on time for my 10:30 appointment.  I've been waiting for 15 minutes and the receptionist just informed me that I can expect a wait of over an hour.  I'm finally beginning to understand why everyone complains about 'long waits at the doctor's office'.  For years, I didn't get it, because I was seeing a doctor in 10 minutes or less down the street.

For many years, I didn't have a primary care physician, what we call in a Canada 'a family doctor.'  Instead, I walked down the street to the neighbourhood walk-in clinic.  I knew the best times to go and most of the time, my wait was 15 minutes at most.  Each time, I saw a different doctor, but I got to know a few of them well and for follow-up on a specific issue, I could go back to the same doctor.

I was happy with the status quo, but all over the place I was hearing was how important it was to have a family doctor.   Finally, two years ago, I caved.  I did a search on the web and found a nice lady doctor in my neighbourhood.

She's nice, an older lady.  She's an immigrant and muslim - this was a big selling point for me because I'm big on supporting immigrant professionals.  I suspect I may be one of her few white patients.  I stick out like a sore thumb in the waiting area, with my MacBook.

It's a good thing I have the MacBook, because I'm going to be here for over an hour.

I'm not a happy camper.

After this particular issue is resolved, I'm going to ditch my family doctor and go back to the clinic.  Frankly, my time is valuable and this is really unacceptable.

Debrief: When I offered to cancel my appointment, the receptionist put me ahead of the queue and my wait was reduced to a half-hour.  Everyone else in the waiting room glared it me as I left.  After arriving on-time, I waited over a half-hour to see the doctor for exactly five minutes.