About nine years ago, I was going through a devastating breakup and my friend and I got into the habit of attending a hot yoga class together a few times per week. The trendy workout had just reached the middle of Missouri, where I was living at the time, and I both relished and resented the 100+ degree heat as I tried to twist my decidedly inflexible limbs into Eagle pose every other day. But the part of the class that always put me in my feels (as in actual tears streaming down my face) was the final Savasana, or resting post. For the uninitiated, you’re essentially lying prone on your mat, breathing, while listening to your instructor coach you through the last few (moderately bearable) minutes of class.
Was I simply grateful to exit the sweltering studio and return to the A/C in the locker room? Sure, but that wasn’t the only reason that tears regularly streamed down my cheeks. My teacher at the time always went back to a line (the exact wording escapes me now), but essentially, she asked us to not only focus on our breathing but open ourselves up to being held — by the floor. In her view, the earth beneath every tired, sweaty body in that class was holding us up, supporting us so that we could, in that particular moment, just rest. After 90 minutes of intense physical activity, the concept felt exceedingly welcome, novel even, and as a 23-year-old with a broken heart, I utilized the time to give into my sadness and weep openly into the dark, oppressive heat.
Nearly a decade later, I find myself wistful for these steady reminders to allow something, even the ground, to provide me with support, especially since these days I feel tired in ways I could only begin to imagine in my early twenties, when the trials of the world and my place in it were just a passing daydream.
While I’m no longer dealing with the fallout of a relationship, I don’t feel alone in saying that life, with all its intricacies and disappointments, feels very much like I’m back in that aggressively hot studio, struggling to follow the approved routine when all I can think about is escaping to the nearest cool, quiet room. It feels hard, more so than usual (I do live in New York City after all), and despite the many, many people in my life who claim to feel the same, we’re all left standing with our arms raised to the sky asking some version of “anything else?!”
The media loves to dissect the grand lessons we’re supposed to be learning from Covid’s global disruption over the last 2+ years but for every think piece I read and share among friends, the more acute my sense of deja vu feels. And given that we’re on the precipice of repealing a court ruling that gives people access to safe and legal abortion care, I’d say that the horrors of the past are still very much entwined with our lives for the future.
But with this latest installment of (what I predict will be many) 21st century culture brawls, I’m desperately trying to remember those lessons of stillness, when I could allow everything else to fall away and be held, unequivocally, just for a moment. That’s not to say I’m not ready, willing, and able to stand and fight — for this cause or anything else in life that takes persistence and effort — but the world so rarely reminds us to take a beat and recharge.
If productivity is the ultimate indicator of worth (by all modern benchmarks at least), then what good is it for the powers that be to remind us to rest?
We’re all being pulled in so many different directions, regardless of what the Supreme Court is ruling on during a given day, that it behooves us all to prioritize time in which to (metaphorically at least) lie still and remember that we are very much not alone — even if the deadline is looming, even if the house is a mess, even if you feel forgotten while everyone else plows ahead seemingly A-OK.
So, on this very heavy day, I hope you’ll consider this a reminder to pause and step back from the chaos that will continue to whirl around you (trust me it’s not going anywhere). We’ve all earned the right to feel supported — by the earth, by each other, and by the time we get done fighting, legislators.
And if there was ever a day to indulge in an #AnxietyBeer, holy shit, this would be it.
retail<therapy
7eventh Sun Brewery Control Freak: I spent last weekend in Florida with my sister to celebrate my dad’s 70th birthday, and we appropriately decided to embark on a brewery tour (there are a lot of them around Tampa ICYMI). I was partial to this 5.2% ABV hoppy citrus pale ale, which I drank as a part of a beer flight — the ultimate way to find your new favorite brew. If you have the time, I highly recommend spending the better part of three hours drinking beer and eating nachos. It’s good the soul (if not your gut).
This is how you feel after devouring a beer flight tower 2. Chanel Rouge Coco Bloom in 116 Dream: I woke up this morning looking puffy and feeling like the underside of a sanitation worker’s shoe, so my solution is always to GTFO, brush my teeth, and throw on my favorite lipstick. This rich burnished rose color is slowly becoming my signature shade, and the creamy formula feels like a lip balm with benefits (namely fabulous color payoff). I’m nearly finished with the bullet, which never happens, and I can confidently say I will keep it in my regular makeup rotation from now until forever.
3. Herbs For Relaxation Shroom Jeans: The fabulous Sue Williamson launched her upcycled clothing brand just a few weeks ago, and I was lucky enough to snag a pair of white jeans that she hand-painted and embroidered with patches and teeny little mushrooms. I’m obsessed beyond measure, and while you can’t buy the exact style I have, she does have a few more for sale on her site. Shop small, support a female-founded business, and most of all, hug your cat while you take a million mirror selfies in your apartment.
Cheers,
xxHB
Love this. I too found the last yoga pose so powerful!!!