Slow Down Ricky Bobby

     Growing up in the house of a bipolar honed my bobbing and weaving skills as my mother's moods could swing from playful to scornful in a nanosecond. As an adult this has manifested itself in a myriad of ways, some negative and needy, still others have been immensly important to my self-preservation. As my dad says “you don't have to hit me on the head twice” and on Wednesday my heart plummeted as I read between the lines of an email I received. I was asked to create the curriculum for a new Eastern Religion course at the college where I teach with the understanding that when the funding came in I could teach it. However, the budget has changed and they have funding for a full-time position in the Humanities Department. So, why don't I just apply for the position you ask? Because I have no classroom experience and that's a prerequisite (which when I get out of my heart I understand), so the bottom line is whomever they hire will be teaching the class I designed if they choose to implement it. 
     Eight hours later as I walked out the door heading to the college I received a phone call from a friend about a yoga venture we are delving into together. I was in a hurry to get to class and thought the implication of the phone call was that I wasn't going to be as involved as I originally thought.....great, more income lost before it even arrives, and just as we take on college payments. As I drove down the highway to class I was pissed at the universe, pissed at myself for not choosing a more marketable degree, pissed at my friend for cutting me out, just PISSED! We poor Midwest kids pride ourselves on our Ricky Bobby-like reflexes and, full disclosure, I'm an aggressive driver. Driving down the road I took my anger and disappointment out on my fellow unsuspecting coachmen. Then a whack to the head...am I really driving to teach the mellow, zen inspiring practice of yoga in a rage? My foot eased off the pedal and I sent up an apology to the universe for my behavior.

     As I walked to my classroom I realized my short-lived road rage was a good teaching tool. You see, this particular day in class happened to be the day I planned to talk about Dharana. Quick yoga lesson: Dharana is the sixth yoga branch and tells us we must concentrate on what we find when we move inward through pratyahara. Pratyahara is the fifth branch and is to remove ones senses from the outside world and to look inward. How does this relate to my tantrum? Without my meditation practice, both on and off the mat, I probably wouldn't have recognized my motivation on the road, or at least I wouldn't have done anything about it. That's the beauty of a yoga practice. Once you begin to slow down on the mat all the numbing out we do begins to wear off and, like it or not, feelings arise. As these feelings are exposed to the light we begin to see what is at the root of our behaviors. All the monsters in the closet are revealed as you begin to make friends with the lonely little trolls living behind the door. Another bonus is you begin to see that not getting what you want, or think you want, is not always the tragedy we make it out to be. Life goes on and you can choose to be as happy or as miserable as you decide. 
    It's a powerful moment when you realize your destiny is not dependent on the perfect job, or the perfect partner, or the perfect (fill in the blank). We find this truth by climbing up the yoga tree one branch at a time, delving ever deeper into our own psyche. Patanjali said it best: “The student of yoga should be compelled not only to acquire a right knowledge of what is and what is not real......while results in the way of psychic development are not so immediately seen as in the case of the successful practitioner of Hatha Yoga.” Once more the practice of yoga has shown itself to be a wonderful gift. Eye-rolling after reading this would not insult me, my daughter told me just last week how corny I am, but I don't care. I happen to be madly in love with my yoga.