If you’re burning the midnight oil; burning the candle at both ends; or just burning yourself out with stress here’s a tip: chill the fuck out with some yoga.
I’m being totally serious.
If you’d seen me at 4pm this afternoon you would understand what I’m talking about. I was standing in the middle of a dust filled apartment in tree pose, drinking a diet coke and trying not to cry as I peered down at my laptop to view a quote from the only moving company that hadn’t laughed at me when I said I’d like to move on Friday. “Yes, this Friday.” That moving company was the 7th I called this morning. I’m serious.
Name me a yogi that isn’t a star at Wanderlust or an international sensation that just says “heck yeah” to a $3500 quote about anything and I’ll give you free yoga classes for life. I’m under the firm impression that the starving yogi is 2012′s starving artist. We love what we do, but we don’t typically do it for the money.
Tears were welling up in my very tired eyeballs. What the hell was I going to do?
I responded to the situation with insanity. I texted my father telling him I was going to drive myself to New York in a rented moving van. I didn’t need movers. I didn’t need carts, or dollies or bubble wrap. I would do this move on my own. Me against the world! Clearly he did not like the sounds of that (and looking back on it now, I can agree ).
When 5pm rolled around I was standing flabbergasted in the middle of my bedroom in a pair of jean shorts and a sports bra with sweat running down my back (did I forget to mention our air conditioner broke for the 40th time this morning?). Suddenly Friday seemed like tomorrow. The mess around me seemed to be a very animated monster that was for sure trying to crush me and there was no way that myself and the packing tape could tackle this mess alone. I had that tight feeling in my chest that I get just – before – I – flip – my – shit.
I knew that I wanted to go to my favorite 6pm yoga class, but in that moment I wanted a lot of things. Like to be able to afford Greek Gods to come move all my things in record time. Or to have a beer instead of a diet coke. Or to have planned this move a little better like I’d promised myself I would. There was a lot of grasping going on in my pretty petite bedroom.
I was just about to deny myself those 90 minutes of power yoga. I was about to make myself work through the panic attack. And then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked exhausted; my skin was sallow and I had a substantially large piece of cat hair stuck in my left eye lashes. This was not the appearance of a calm person ready to tackle her next big step in life. This was a desperate human being who was about to rent a moving van and attempt to move forty-five 100lb boxes on her own. I didn’t recognize her at all. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She needed to do yoga.
So I took her crazy ass to yoga. And you want to know what? Sitting here, writing this post, freshly showered I’m looking pretty good. Cool as a cucumber. Ready to conquer the world – and more importantly – mountains of boxes.
What happened to the crazy chick who set up shop in my body about 5 hours ago? As soon as she stepped in the studio she knew she’d done the right thing. By a third of the way through class she was zoned out and calm. By her seventh handstand attempt she was feeling delightfully exhausted physically, but recharged emotionally. And by savasana I was myself again.
What’s the moral of the story? Pretty much spelled it out for you in the title, but I’ll summarize: If you feel like you don’t have time for yoga, then that’s probably when you need it the most.
Just food for thought.
Now that I’m high on yoga (and working on a vodka tonic, yeah I said it) time to hit the packing tape! Get on your mat, yogis!
Heather C (not that crazy chick from earlier).