New Year. Real You.
At the beginning of every year there’s usually a lot of hype around trying to be the “new” you. While I totally understand the motivating power of New Year’s and support any path towards positive change, I have to be honest and admit that any attempt to chase after the “new” me has always left me feeling a little worse. It was around this time of year—deep in the trenches of February—when I would surrender to that invisible force working against me, pulling me under as I tried to swim in earnest towards the surface. Change, however clear or necessary, seemed impossible and I could never for the life of me understand why it was so difficult to manifest the results I so desperately craved. Everything—my happiness, my wholeness, my sense of self—was riding on my success, and so I would put a tremendous amount of pressure on myself to deliver results. But after years of “New Year. New You!” disappointment, I arrived at a place where I could no longer endure the overwhelming feelings of shame that washed over me as I proved to myself (yet again) that I, Chrissy Carter, was a huge failure.
Live Your Questions
Every year I spend five days at Heathen Hill in upstate New York to study with one of my teachers, Rodney Yee. It’s a very special week, not just because I get to enjoy time with my friends (the same group returns every year), or because I love the magic that is Heathen Hill, but because I get to be a student. My role as a teacher is to give, and this precious time with Rodney helps me refill my well.
Work It Own It
I’ve always loved wearing high heels, a confession you might not expect from a yogi, but there’s just something about slipping into a beautiful pair of shoes that makes me light up. Maybe it’s because high heels are such a refreshing change from the flip-flops and stretchy pants I wear everyday. When I strut down the street in a pair of killer heels, I feel feminine, sexy, and adventurous.
The Sacred Ritual of a Home Practice
I live for my morning cup of coffee. Sometimes I get excited about going to bed at night just because it means I can wake up and drink coffee. When my alarm goes off, I climb into my terrycloth robe and shuffle downstairs, my dog Ellie at my heels. I savor every part of my morning ritual, from the first whiff of the ground beans as I scoop them out of their tin, to the quiet sitting while I wait for my coffee to brew. I take my mug to the couch and prepare for the first sip, which feels like my own private moment with God. Ellie puts her head on my lap and we sit there in silence in our little church by the window.
Surya Namaskara
The repetitive nature of Surya Namaskara creates an interesting opportunity to observe where we place our attention. We begin by focusing the mind in order to wake up within a familiar context (dharana, or effortful concentration), which invites us to slip into a meditative connection with our practice (dhyana, effortless concentration). Surya Namaskara is often misunderstand as an opportunity to “check out,” but the temptation to merely repeat the sequence in the same way we always have can be a major obstacle to any kind of genuine union of mind, body, and breath.
Dig In
I recently planted flower boxes for my window sills, an annual tradition that brings me immense satisfaction. Forget the flowers; I like playing in the dirt. When I was a kid I would spend hours digging for lost treasure in the backyard. One time I remember finding pieces of broken pottery and some oyster shells. I was convinced that I had uncovered ancient Indian artifacts, but was later informed that the pottery was from clay pigeon shooting and the oyster shells were the remnants of our neighbors’ annual summer barbecue. Undeterred, I declared that I wanted to become an archeologist so I could spend my life digging in the dirt, unearthing hidden mysteries.
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Letting Go
Tension prevents us from letting go. Muscle tightness and the often chronic patterns of holding in our fascia make it almost impossible to feel a sense of release in our body. It’s the difference between swimming upstream and floating with the current. In our legs, especially, tension creates blockages that restrict our ability to relate to gravity. Instead of being able to exhale into the ground, tension keeps us holding on to the edge of the proverbial cliff.
Listening Eyes
It can be challenging to listen to someone openly, without an agenda. Rather than receiving them, we’re often searching for clues—picking up on words that fit into our storyline and then drafting our own version of what’s being said. Sometimes, I admit, I don’t fully listen to Billy when he’s talking. I’m not always present in our conversations because I’m either two steps behind, hung up on a word that has triggered some kind of reaction, or two steps ahead, strategizing my response. Or I stop listening because I think I already know what he’s going to say. I find that I do this with emails, too. Instead of focusing on what’s actually written, my eyes are skimming each line in search of meaning; my mind is eager to draw a conclusion. I’m reading what I want it to say. When I pay attention to my eyes in my yoga practice, I often catch them rummaging for familiar cues. My mind is looking for what it already assumes will be there.
