“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. When the student is truly ready, the teacher will disappear.” ― Lao Tzu (founder of Taoism)

I am an avid yogi who practices and teaches four to six times a week. Yoga is a true passion of mine, and I feel better when I practice regularly. This was not always the case. In fact, I should admit that there was a time when I thought yoga was not a real workout and a little too new age for my tastes. That assessment seems ridiculous to me now. After all, yoga is thousands of years old, and it can most definitely be a real workout. I am a late adopter of yoga’s power of connecting the mind and body. But as the saying goes, better late than never. And perhaps I was not ready to connect the lessons that yoga offers as I do now.  Sometimes life’s unexpected moments, disruptions, or stresses force us to pause and be open to new pathways of learning.

About twelve years ago, I had a bad ski crash. Thanks to my helmet and a quick-thinking paramedic who happened to be skiing nearby, I only sustained a severe concussion. Judging by the damage to my helmet, I think I got lucky. The first responders were sure I had fractured my neck, so I had an exciting ride taped to a backboard on a toboggan, followed by a quick ride to the hospital for CT scans, neither of which I recommend doing. It turns out healing from a concussion takes time and patience. The patience part was hard for me. You must slow down everything and allow the brain to heal. You must listen to what your physical body tells you as you heal. Even after the initial three weeks of doing almost nothing, my brain was still mending. I had trouble with balance, concentration, sleep, and bright lights. Also, my doctor was adamant that I needed to keep my heart rate down, so no cardio. Bad news for someone used to doing intense daily cardio workouts. But I wanted to get back to my life, so I listened to my body and my doctor. At a checkup about six weeks after the crash, my doctor suggested I try gentle yoga as a way to improve balance and move my body without pushing up my heart rate. To be honest, I did not love the idea, but it was better than doing nothing. And so began my journey into yoga.

I still recall my first class. I had to place my mat near the wall in case my balance felt off. I was judgmental of the movement and myself throughout the entire hour. The class felt painfully slow, and the poses were uncomfortable for me. I felt simultaneously bored and restless. I wondered what to do with my thoughts as we held poses. But at the end, when the teacher guided us into Shavasana, or corpse pose, typically the final and most restorative pose in a yoga practice, I noticed I felt somewhat better, more relaxed. Something had shifted, and I was more aware of my breath and my body than I had been in a long while. Slowing down seemed to allow space for me to calm my thoughts and connect my mind to my body through breathing. And so I continued to take gentle and restorative yoga classes. Over time, I learned to quiet my mind and remain in the moment of a pose, observing without judgment, how my body felt, and just breathing.

Fast forward to the present, where I am now a 200-hour certified yoga and social-emotional learning teacher and am almost done with my 500-hour yoga instructor training. I can’t imagine my life without yoga. I am still growing and learning through my yoga practice, and I still have impatient tendencies, but I am working on that. I love practicing all kinds of yoga, but my favorite is a hot vinyasa flow class. These classes are challenging because of the heat (typically around 96 degrees Fahrenheit) and the pace of the poses. To move through these types of flows, a person must stay present and breathe. I leave these classes feeling refreshed and calm. Last week, I took a slow flow class for a change of pace. We moved through the poses at a much slower pace and held each one for five to eight breaths, long enough to feel a bit uncomfortable, with muscles quivering and sweat dripping, resisting the urge to hold my breath. Halfway through the class, I wondered if perhaps that discomfort was sort of the point. To be clear, I am not advocating suffering endlessly in pain. Rather, I mean, perhaps we can embrace some discomfort because we know it’s only temporary and we know we will be ok. Working through some discomfort helps us get stronger, build confidence, and become more resilient. Maybe slowing down gives us space to really feel ourselves in a given moment. Maybe trying something new, disrupting our routines, offers a way to notice and feel in new ways. Yoga is always teaching us.

The idea of slowing down as a means to really experience the present moments showed up again in my life earlier this week, when I attended my sister’s amazingly creative art installation titled “A Slow Cinema Offering for the Forest on the Almost Soltice”. The installation was at a Bay Area studio called Confloptus. The name Confloptus, of course, caught my attention. It is a funny-sounding word. Confloption, it turns out, is a rarely used slang word to describe a state of disruption, discomfort, agitation, or confusion. The word can be used to describe a sudden or chaotic mix-up, not necessarily negative. I love the word. Again, it reminds me that disruptions, distortions, or unexpected turns in our lives can be a good thing. Disruptions or discomforts can open up amazing and beautiful opportunities for us. Seeing my sister’s “slow cinema” art was an opportunity to slow down and soak in the moments in the art, really see the small details in her drawings, and notice the shadows move on the screen as the sun moved past the window. All of it was an invitation to slow down and be present to witness time’s movement. 

Both the slow yoga class and my sister’s art exhibit left me wanting to build more slow moments into my life. I want to savor the moments as I experience them. So, for the month of July, I am challenging myself to slow down a little bit, quiet my thoughts, and simply witness what is happening around me. I want to notice the clouds, smell the rain, observe my racing thoughts, and be more aware of my breath. I am certain, as I look at my calendar, that this will be difficult. I will be tempted to rush through my life as I check off tasks. But the discomfort, or confloption, of trying to slow down might offer new ideas and new awareness. July will be my slow-flow month, a chance to be present and just see what happens.