It's the Little Details in Life

I have been sleeping in the attic bedroom of my sister’s house. Rather than whistling like a tea kettle my radiator pathetically whispers. Sometimes as I’m falling asleep I feel like I’m eavesdropping on an important conversation just out of reach.

I just love little details like that.

Concerns of a Metro North Passenger

Is it weird that I worry about my train conductors getting carpel tunnel syndrome? I’ve yet to have the courage to ask one of them whether or not their job training involved a discussion of the potential for a repetitive stress injury from punching all those tickets. But I find myself wondering about it each time they walk by clicking their ticket puncher saying "Tickets. Tickets."

The Dirty Rumor

Let me dispel one dirty rumor about NYC. When I moved from overly polite Provo I thought this city would be full of pushy, rude, pissed-off New Yorkers. As I also found in Paris, the people in New York are surprisingly quite polite. I’d even go so far as saying they can be very nice and thoughtful to total strangers.

One evening on the subway I asked a man how to get to Union Square. The directions I had been given were a bit sketchy. I knew I had to transfer, but I wasn’t quite sure where and to what subway. I asked a man in the car and he explained where I should go. I must have looked concerned still because he stood and walked me over to a subway map to show me my route!

On Friday night I was sprinting to catch the train, but I ran up down onto the platform as the doors were closing (the next train wouldn’t be coming for quite some time so I was a bit frantic). A group of people on the platform got the attention of the conductor to open the doors.

In the mornings I have become a little overzealous in my new found freedom of jaywalking and occasionally will be crossing the middle of the street as the light turns to green. Rather than honking, the drivers wait patiently as I trot toward the sidewalk.

Today at lunch I watched a man hand a homeless guy a cup of soup and piece of bread bought from the shop he just left.

Tonight as I was going from one car to the next on the train a guy sitting by the door held the very heavy door for me as I went through.

Every door that people hold. Every moment of eye contact that ends in a smile. Every joke shared among a random stranger on the subway. Each beautiful interaction with the people of this city reminds me of the good of humanity. Yeah there are those eye-rolling people who are pushy and impatient. But all in all I have found that most people in New York are just doing their best to get along with everyone else. There are just a lot of everybody else-s to get a long with around here.

For the Sake of Self Transformation

“Come forward. Bring your shoulders over your wrists in plank pose*.”

Burn there is only burning. This is not the first plank pose of the morning. My arms, shoulders, abs, thighs, calves. It all burns.

Chrissy continues, “Lift through your shoulders. Be mindful that your hips points don’t drop. Roll your inner thighs toward the ceiling. Rake your buttocks flesh toward your heels.” On and on. She repeats herself again and again using different terminology each time.

As I carefully follow her instructions there is more burning. My abs begin shaking, but I refuse to let my hips sink anymore. I will do this right.

“Look forward. Face your sternum to the front room.”

I notice that as my eyes had fallen to looking at a piece of lint on the front of my mat and my chest had sunk into the pull of gravity. I push with all I got while trying to maintain the work in my legs.

“Good. Push your hips up and back into downward facing dog.”

Release. My breath slows and becomes less audible. Calm.

“Bring your shoulders back over wrists.”

I think to myself, “Bring it.” As I picture future Liann at the front of some yoga studio effortlessly demonstrating plank into chaturanga.

My body begins to shake immediately as my breath becomes labored. I tune out of Chrissy’s enduring voice drumming through all the alignment points. Instead I meditate on the alignment points myself—they become a mantra in my head. “Inner thighs up. Buttocks flesh back. Hip Points up. Chest forward. Lift in the arms. Inner thighs up. Buttocks flesh back. Hip points up. Chest forward. Lift in the arms…”

I do hear her say, “Lift your hips up and back into downward facing dog. Slowly drop your knees and come into child’s pose.”

With a smile in her voice she says to us, “You’ve got tapas. Tapas is the willingness to endure intensity for the sake of self transformation. This training is a process of self transformation and I see your genuine effort in trying to achieve that change”

Her words touch each tired muscle in my body, particularly the ones near my heart. I swallow hard and try to put back on my game face. I focus on my breath as Chrissy leads us out of child’s pose and into the rest of practice.

“Tapas.” I think to myself as I sit on the train home that night.

But what about the type of “self” I want to become outside of yoga? Employed for one thing but beyond that I want to become beautifully virtuous in thought and deed, kind, patient with self and others, honest (truly honest), lovely, adventurous (but not recklessly so)…the list goes on.

I think of the girl I used to be and the moments of intensity that lay between that girl and me. Things like struggle with school, moments of intense loneliness, and repeated failures. I think about how each intense moment contributed to this process of becoming a little more like the self I want to become.

My thoughts now turn to the many moments of intensity ahead of me. It’s a little overwhelming, but

Bring it.

I’ve got tapas.

*For those of you not familiar with yoga, plank pose is like holding yourself at the top of a push up.

Theme Song

If Rocky was a young woman in New York doing a yoga teacher training I think his theme song would be "Dreams" by the Cranberries instead of "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor.

Because after dragging myself out of my warm comfy bed at 6 am, eating, dressing, packing a lunch, walking/jogging to the Fleetwood station, barely catching the 7:03 train, and arriving to the Grand Central Station at 7:40, I often feel the need to blare "Dreams" on my iPod as I brave the cold weather and walk (with a New York pace) the 8 1/2 blocks to my yoga studio in time to change, place my mat down, and feel ready for our 2 hour yoga practice.

But that's just me.

New Year's Resolutions

As I approached this New Years I thought about what I wanted to accomplish in the next 12 months. Instead of overwhelming myself with a huge list I decided to whittle my list down to 5 manageable goals.

So, here they are Liann's Official New Years Resolutions for 2010:

1. Blog more than I did last year (a.k.a. write at least 5 posts in the next 12 months).

2. Survive my yoga teacher training in New York.

3. Lose weight while doing #2.

4. Find a job (preferably in DC)

5. Come to peace about gaining all my weight back while attempting to accomplish #4.