savagemama: Going to the mat

Thursday, February 25th, 2010 in Stories, savagemama

By Jennifer Savage

A few years ago when I was living in Eugene, Oregon, I was in a yoga class when a man named Gene couldn’t stand on one foot. He hopped up and down trying desperately to gain his balance while holding his other foot in front of him. Because it was Eugene, once the hippie center of the universe, we practiced in a circle (and often rubbed each other’s shoulders). And standing in a circle meant no one could take their eyes off Gene.

He looked to be in his late fifties. I pictured him as part of a quiet minority in a town known for hemp dog leashes and drum circles. I’m pretty sure he wore slacks in his daily work. Maybe even button downs. I thought he was probably a lawyer or a businessman who sat behind a desk most of the day. Maybe he took a walk at lunch but other than that he I didn’t imagine he got much exercise. In my little daydream about what his life must be like, he certainly didn’t do much yoga.

But, still, there he was, hopping.

Thud, thud, thud.

“You just keep trying Gene!” the wild-haired teacher said across the circle.

I was 23 when I took that class. I was mortified for Gene. I remember thinking if I was that bad at something I wouldn’t do it in public. Lost in the delusion of youth I thought I would never be in the place of willful ineptness he seemed to be occupying. I was young. I was flexible. I was wrong.

But since then, I’ve spent years and hour after hour running. I don’t think all that pavement pounding has done me any favors in the yoga studio. I still can’t consistently touch my toes. I can’t put my foot behind my head or balance on one foot for very long. But, every week, I go to yoga. I get in my down dog, I try to square my hips in warrior one, keep my arms the same level in warrior two.

I breathe.

And I am in such contrast to my teacher. She is elegant and graceful. She is the only yoga teacher I’ve ever had that seems to approach the practice with pure joy and absolutely no pretense. She reminds us to be where we are that day and know that we may be in a different place tomorrow. She tells us to be gentle with ourselves.

Twisting my body into a pitiful reverse triangle, reaching for my ever-elusive toes, attempting a headstand, I think about being gentle.

Yoga is humbling for me.

Every time.

I don’t go back each week because I think I’m necessarily getting better. I go back because, even though I’m as clumsy as my three-year-old daughter when she tries to stand in tree pose, I love the way yoga makes me feel.

For an hour and half I struggle to make my body bend it ways it used to, twist in ways I hope it will again. And somehow it’s meditative, it’s spiritual. Somewhere between cat and cow lies this place of intention that I don’t get to in my day-to-day life.

I often think of Gene, trying to find balance in a room of people who seemed to have found it. That day, he hopped and he wallowed a little in his ineptness. It scared me to death. It’s not easy to sit with the idea of not being very good at something, but every week at the end of another spine-twisting, back arching yoga class, I do.

And, then, I bring my palms together in front of my heart, bring my head to the floor and say thank you.

Jennifer Savage is a writer and mama of Eliza and Lucille. Lately, she’s learning to be a city girl. She writes from her home in Missoula, Montana. She is also one of Mamalode’s favorite writers and you can fall in love with her too at Savagemama.com Read more of Jennifer’s mamalode articles here