Techniques for fortifying our heart and mind.

Change is like love.  It puts us on a rollercoaster ride of emotions.   From the pride of past changes and hard-won lessons, to the nervousness of changes to come. And that’s just thinking about change!  Being in the midst of it is even more emotion packed, challenging who we are and who we think we are. 

And yet, change is inevitable.  Valuable.  

We can’t prepare for change. (Ask anyone who's been through a new baby, moving away for the first time, the death of a loved one.)  But there are things we can do to frontload our hearts and minds.  

Yoga teaches that the most important frontload is to accept that change happens.  It’s so tempting to dip into the “why me’s” when change hits.  Yoga philosophers of old didn’t roll their eyes and label this as simple self-pity.  They understood!  When change happens, big or small, it shakes us off our core and makes us question who we are.  Are we undeserving? unworthy?  Less than?  No!  We are the same as every other human on earth because change is that one thing that happens to us all.  Why you?  Because you are a part of us. 

Being on the trail or on the mat is another way to frontload.  Those long hills and long pose holds create uncomfortable moments. We don’t grimice through or retreat, we calm ourselves and we stay. We stay in the uncomfortable moment. We hold space for the uncomfort. And every time we do, we are strengthening our hearts for the uncomfort that change will bring.

Every time we get lost on the trail or frustrated in a yoga flow, we are fortifying. When change hits, we are going to feel lost. It will be less scary if our mind-muscle-memory has experienced this feeling before. Every time we trip on the trail or wobble on the mat and giggle in embarrassment, we are fortifying. We are reminding our minds of our own messy humanness.  What a wonderful and valuable gift. And one that we will need when change hits.  

The awful awesomeness of change is inevitable.  Frontloading before it hits, is a choice. 

Until next time,

Laura