Doing yoga even days a week means certain areas get sore by the end of the week. It actually varies by what's going on in my body – which frontiers I'm pushing against. I have parts of my body that were stuff, sore, or simply could not flex two years ago which are no big deal today – and I usually forget how horrible certain postures felt back then – and I can finally answer my own questions about how the hell anyone could do [insert posture] with such ease. Nonetheless, for every barrier I've broken through, it turns out there's another waiting – one that just was too far down the line to have been aware of, or considered.
Since arriving on Patmos, I've increased from my former average of five days a week of yoga to seven – and I've made lots of progress. My back, neck and shoulders have undergone tremendous change and I can feel tight spots in my hips starting to loosen. For most adult men, hips and hamstrings are usually the tightest and that's very true of me. Six days a week I do various vinyasa yoga routines – the sweat stuff that works muscle groups and increases your heart rate – focusing on moving from one posture to another, ideally in a way that "flows" sensibly (although I've been part of some that are shockingly disjointed).
At least one day a week – usually on the weekend – I realize that it would help my body to have a lower key day to rest and regenerate. So, I do a yin yoga routine. Yin is the slow, stretchy stuff where use of bolsters, blankets and blocks is encouraged. A yin class involves lots of long hold stretches where you can ease into postures and where possible, go deep. The props can give you support to get into a posture that might be challenging or to allow you to tolerate it longer.
In the United States – and I think through most of the Western world now – the yoga sphere is dominated by white women. The language of instruction is very much that of educated white women in their 30's to 40's that has been formulated and propagated down to younger instructors and less traditional ones like men and people of color. Words and phrases like equanimity, modify, incorporate, modification, layers, transformative, equilibrium, take what you need, third eye center, heart center, elevate, sensations, engage, self care, the four corners of your mat, showing up, establish yourself, crack your heart open, "I see you [student name] and "yes you can!" are all part of the modern yoga scripting lexicon. This is one of the chief drivers of yoga's success – because it is the inclusive, insightful and well-honed language of yoga that can make the difference in a class. The better and more specific the description of what you should be doing and feeling, the more it's possible to learn. One of the best yoga instructors I know has ways of describing the micro-details of how to perform a pose including how it should feel and the challenges those sensations may create in one's mind. It's very effective.
Yin yoga instructors often add in a few descriptors like juicy, yummy, supported, release fascia and "we keep our issues in our tissues" (which I notice a lot of them think someone they know coined).
Every week I look forward to my yin day because I always associate it as easier and more relaxing. Until I'm in it. In some ways, yin is much harder than a vinyasa yoga flow. Getting deep into a posture and staying there can be one of the most intense things I do. Yoga has taught me – and I think most people – how many parts of our body we don't even know are there on a typical basis. Today's long hold in deer pose gave me that feeling that a part of my lower back was screaming. Not in a painful way, but in an "Oh My God you're stretching me and I'm stiff!" kind of way. It's an intensity that makes me want to back off, but I've learned to breathe through and it gets better. That's the entire idea of yin yoga. But what was that screaming thing? A muscle? Connective tissue? Why did I know it was there? What has it been doing all this time and if it's been so upset, why haven't I noticed?
Yin draws attention to all these little parts of us we don't get in touch with and where we often store tension and stress. The challenge of yin is that that moment when you think if it's challenging at first, how the hell am I going to do this for three to five minutes? The answer is to let go in your mind and let the sensation exist and then usually, the sensation changes because you're no longer resisting. The muscle or fascia begins to release and slowly, slowly that part of your body stretches out.
It may well be the tight area on my lower back or right hip that made me think I might die just for stretching it has been that way since the first time I faced the drop on Splash Mountain or that 16-hour bus ride in a tight, stiff seat from Istanbul to Alanya that felt like it would never end. Innumerable subsequent stressful moments have added on and made that part of my body a secret dumpster for tension – and there I am on a Sunday voluntarily disturbing a hazardous waste container.
Not surprisingly, afterward I feel great – although sometimes tender in spots I hadn't expected. In a very un-yogic fashion, I sometimes conclude yin with an ibuprofen chaser so that things don't become inflamed and stiff again. It seems to make a difference.
Anyone who has watched the Apple+ TV series Ted Lasso knows the character of soccer player/footballer Danny Rojas who excitedly runs around saying his own name like a mantra and frequently uses the phrase, "Football is life". There are people who get very spiritual and airy fairy about yoga. I'm not one of them. I don't find great revelations about who I am or the universe on my mat. For the most part, yoga is a fantastic system that connects mind and body and can allow them to support and better each other – while sweating, breathing through tension, wanting to die or all of the above. Still, for many of the same reasons Danny Rojas has for football/soccer, I think there's truth that "yoga is life".
Most of us spend our time doing vinyasa life – moving from posture to posture, thing to thing. We have complex routines with much to accomplish in a day and we work hard and sweat. From that hard work, we may get stronger and grow as people. Or, just as with yoga, some days the same routine and tasks we've done well so many times becomes harder for no clear reason except maybe fatigue or lack of presence. Sometimes it's hard to come to our mats. Sometimes we can do the sequence perfectly without thinking – or while thinking about something else entirely.
In vinyasa life and yoga there are certain markers we can use to gauge our progress because we visit those things often. In yoga I can see how my balance has improved or that my hip flexors have relaxed enough to allow me to do better in sleeping pigeon pose which I do at least five times a week. In life I can adjust my schedule and timing to get more errands done on a Friday afternoon – freeing up my time and mental space for my family during the weekend. I can see the positive results for my family and in my stress over the weekend. If I did nothing else, I can feel good in how I'm doing in yoga and life via my vinyasa-like approach.
While true, I may still be missing a lot. When I try a yin approach to yoga and life, suddenly it turns out there's a lot more going on with me than I've taken time or had the awareness to notice. If I try to get into a particular posture I don't do everyday, it might be really difficult – maybe intense or even painful. I might have months of work ahead of me to simply get my hands to my feet when I'm doing a seated twist – whereas when my legs are straight out, I do pretty well. It might also turn out that a posture I usually do for 10 to 30 seconds in a vinyasa routine becomes torturous for me over three to five minutes of long-hold. I may not be as flexible or strong as I think. As my favorite yoga instructor, Ross, often says during an intense posture or core work – "You can do anything for ten seconds". Maybe so. Sometimes you can ONLY do something for ten seconds and don't even realize it.
I would wager most people at my yoga studio do not take yin classes – maybe 10 to 15 percent of them. Those who don't – often myself included – can feel really good about their yoga practice and their progress. Yin might even feel like "weak" or "soft" yoga to many – or just a difficult investment of time on top of their commitment to get their sweat on. It's hard to break from the vinyasa of our lives.
Slowing down and focusing on one simple thing for an extended period can be shocking – even life changing. It can turn out there are parts of us from which we're completely disconnected. There may be intensity or pain when we spend time with them. They may be hard to accept or acknowledge. Of course, in life there's no erudite instructor to point to what we might need to stretch for an extended hold. Our lives and internal anatomies are not as consistent as our corporal physiology. I might be great at scheduling and getting through my day efficiently for a net gain – like a cleaner slated weekend where I can be more available and present for my family. But there may also be a cost I'm not acknowledging. What if turns out that I really hate the entire structure of my week? Maybe I hate my job? Maybe I'm resentful of all the chores? What if I free myself up for an over scheduled weekend I don't like making my Friday efficiency of little benefit to my greater happiness and well being? If this is my underlying truth, slowing down and looking at it might be scary or problematic. It might turn out that my vinyasa rocks and my yin is intense and challenging. What will I do then?
So many people I know are living their vinyasa. They impressively manage all the obligations and events of life. It's not easy trying to balance careers, marriage, kids and the myriad things that need to be tended including family relations, social lives, homework, sports games and work that spills over to after hours. Being able to do the vinyasa of life is a giant accomplishment. They may not have time for any yin even if they wanted it.
For others, I think the routines and being busy is a way to hide from the yin of life. I also know many people who hide behind being "busy" – almost as if being busy is a badge of honor. When you're interminably busy, you might be excused from checking up on friends and family – investing in relationships. There is an escape to your marriage that needs tending. You can avoid reckoning with your own maturity or personal development. You can avoid taking a turn volunteering or hosting - contributing to your community. Maybe it's even an excuse not to think about your career direction and start looking for that better job or next step.
Maybe it's easy for me to take a position on this. Besides my Sunday yin yoga, I'm living a yin life for ten weeks. I chose to put a pause on a crisis and spend two weeks living a yin life on a Greek island. I don't know if that means I walk the walk or I'm coming at this topic from an incredibly privileged position? Maybe both. I can own that.
At the same time, I'm not sure bringing yin into our lives requires quite the extreme I just took. Just like a Yin yoga class can be done from home in an hour using a streaming video, moments of yin life can happen through our own creation. A half hour to meditate. An unscheduled Sunday afternoon. Eating lunch by yourself in the park or at the beach. Taking a walk without listening to anything or talking to anyone. Anything where for 30-60 minutes you just sit with yourself. Just like with yin yoga, it can be harder than it seems. In the age of smartphones, how many of us sit anywhere alone for more than a minute without distracting ourselves? It's not easy.
For me, this yin time in life is helping me to see what might have been hard to look at or accept in the ongoing flow of my daily life. There are things I didn't want to change – that I still don't want to change – that are perhaps more truths than choices. For the past year and eight months, I have forcefully held back the tide, maybe even even succeeded in redirecting it at times. I'm not sure I can really do that ongoing. I can commit myself to always be willing to make my marriage work and offering that. At some point, whether that happens is not up to me. And even if Emily decides she wants to try, I have to know what I'm willing to accept and what I'm not. A marriage at any cost isn't a life. I should be able to expect something.
Perhaps it took some yin life to get there. As with a challenging yoga posture, maybe it's time to surrender to life. That feeling of "Oh My God you're stretching me and I'm stiff!" is one of the hardest to relax into. But I'm trying.
