Please Happy

Took a hot warm yoga class today out at Teton Yoga Shala. ‘Twas a glorious way to begin a Saturday.

During a particularly brutal pose, when I thought my hip flexor would snap, crackle, pop or just collapse in defeat, our instructor, A, gave us a little pep talk. A little lesson on intensity. And stress.

Paraphrasing Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth, A. told us that we need to recognize the difference between stress and intensity. She said that many people often avoid intense interactions – like a difficult conversation that needs to happen, intense physical challenges – like a difficult ski line, and intense situations – like applying for a dream job.

But, unlike Stress, which is unsatisfying, hard work, these Intense situations make us better people, make us stronger and actually benefit us. Once you have that hard conversation or ski that challenging line or make yourself vulnerable to a potential employer, you are better for it.

While we grunted trying to hold the twist, A. told us that in holding these poses, which she had gently helped us get into, we were not stressed, but rather experiencing the necessary Intensity that comes with using muscles that haven’t been used before, breathing in and out more deeply than we had before, challenging ourselves to be better.

With Stress, she relayed, there is a deadline, a pressure, a resistance to the Work. There is ego there, fighting you the whole way. With Intensity, it’s often something that we don’t want to face, but in the letting go, we emerge stronger. We smile at ourselves, we let go. We feel the intensity of the moment.

And we start where we are.

And we do it.

A Realtor friend of mine has a rule that if it snows more than 10 inches, he keeps the kids home from school and they ski as a family. I love that rule. Just one of the bazillion reasons that Jackson Hole is the coolest.

Yesterday, a PR friend of mine left work at 12:05 to ski.

So today, with advice from professionals and ski bums alike, I’m finishing my work at 8:30 a.m. and going skiing. For the day. And Teton Pass, while crowded, looks beautifully clear and beautifully powdery.

The avalanche center reports about 7 inches of snow in the last 24 hours. If I were still in school, I would argue that seven, with wind and drifting, easily feels like 10.

The Joe Goode Performance Group from San Francisco is in Jackson Hole for a week-long residency. They’ll perform Wonderboy at 7:30 p.m. Saturday at the Center Theater.

I was fortunate enough to attend a free, open rehearsal the other day with E and J. We were in plastic chairs in Dance Studio 1 this close to the dancers. We saw them dive on the floor, jump from tumble to tumble, lift, spin, hang on each other. And work out the kinks for Saturday’s performance.

Not only was it breathtaking to see the muscles and veins in the dancers’ feet, their backs, their arms, necks and fingers, but watching them interact with their choreographer was an experience I’ve never had.

What a treat it must be for him to work with these high caliber dancers, I whispered to E. He gives them one move to tweak, one suggestion of less bend, or more intonation, and they incorporate it.

What a treat it must be for them to work with someone of his caliber, E whispered back.

True.

And what a treat it was for us to see the group rehearse for about an hour and a half. It was a small window into the world my modern dancer sister inhabits. The world of sideline foot massages, bodies stampeding and crashing to the floor, heaves and jumps and serious, serious memorization. How do they remember all the moves for all the dances all the time?

The singing, spoken word, silent and traditional soundtrack conveyed a new-age, progressive tone. But, without Basil Twist’s star puppet (the dress rehearsal excluded this main character), I got less a sense for the Wonderboy story and more a sense of the dancers’ strong, sticky, fluid, flowery interactions with each other, with the floor, with the space, with their choreographer and with the few people who showed up for the intimate show.

And, while I brought a notebook and a flowy pen for jotting down impressions, I wrote nothing. Too mesmerized by the moment. I have only one scribble on the whole page and that’s from J, who leaned over mid-dance and scribbled something the choreographer had said:

“This part is tender,” Joe Goode says. “Deliberate, but tender.”

Last night at E and T’s house, we watched a rough cut of a documentary T is making on kayaker Brad Ludden’s first descents and First Descents. The former takes him to far flung places, such as Madagascar. The latter is an instructional kayak camp for adults with cancer.

Ludden and his team empower participants to “regain control of their lives by experiencing whitewater kayaking and other challenging adventure sports in a safe, fun and supportive environment.”And Ludden would say there is no difference between his personal first descents and those of the participants. Same rush, same challenge, same testing of personal limits. Same plunge.

The first day, the first moment, out of the van at the lake, participants are taught how to flip their kayak, pull their spray skirt and swim out of their boat. With no assistance.

First, you must flip yourself over.

Then, you’re under water. You cannot breathe. You cannot move your legs. You are trapped. But, there is a string that you pull to escape, to save yourself. And in less than five seconds, you are swimming out of your boat and up to the surface to air. So scary to anticipate. So scary to force yourself to roll over, to put yourself in that situation. And yet, so doable once you’re there. To rescue yourself.

Everyone did it. Successfully. Many surprised themselves.

This is a rather long preface to my own personal plunge story from this evening’s mindfulness group. Since beginning the group about two months ago, I’ve always wanted to lead guided meditation. To be the leader, you invite the bell, you say a small mantra for the sitters to incorporate into their breathing and you keep the time.

But, I’ve been scared.

Scared of sounding dumb, scared of ringing the bell incorrectly, scared of being too boring, too fast, too slow, scared of being too … blank. I felt like I was in Mrs T’s first grade class again when I remember never raising my hand unless I had practiced the correct answer several times over in my head.

So, when S asked me if I wanted to lead, I hesitated. His mantras are better. His voice is stronger. His bell ringing is clearer.

You said you wanted to, he said.

I know, I said.

OK. We’re ready, he said.

And so, I did it. I invited the bell three times with a wooden chopstick. I invited it tentatively. Faintly. It sounded like a chime. My voice shook during the first mantra. I found it hard to release my breath. I look at the clock constantly. I thought about how I was ruining everyone’s meditation.

Then, I said the second mantra:

Breathing in, I know I am right here in this moment.

Breathing out, I see it is so wonderful.

Present Moment. Wonderful Moment.

That’s when I started smiling and laughing to myself. That’s when I started noticing how anxious I was about the mantras. How unforgiving I was being toward myself, how unloving, how unmindful. That’s when I relaxed my shoulders, smiled, took deep breaths and got into my own rhythm.

And my little bell rings sounded like tiny little coin drops most of the time, like toy bells or a coin on a stove top. Until the very last one, which rang true and clear and made me breathe in deep and exhale happily.

Bringing myself back to my body through guided meditation makes me smile (albeit eventually), makes me release tension in my body, makes me relax. It helps me see my fears churning churning and it helps me take that plunge into the fear, into the unknown, into the possibility of failing. And, always emerge at the other end of it. Maybe I failed to perform gracefully, smoothly, flawlessly. But, I got myself to smile. And I help guide my friends in their practice. And they allowed me to try.

The mantras I read every 5-7 minutes for the 25 minute meditation (derived from Thich Nhat Hanh’s The Blooming of a Lotus):

1.Breathing in, I calm my body.
Breathing out, I smile.
Calm. Smile.

2. Breathing in, I know I am right here in this moment.
Breathing out, I see it is so wonderful.
Present Moment. Wonderful Moment.

3. Aware of my stable posture, I breathe in.
Enjoying my mountain-like stability, I breathe out.
Stable Posture. Enjoying.

4. Aware of my smile, I breathe in.
Smiling to my smile, I breathe out.
Smile. Smiling.

Just so you know, I’m double posting today on business and pleasure blogs.

Toughen Up Camp from Lauren M. Whaley on Vimeo.

When his Brown University football buddies visit each year, Stefan Fodor gives them the full western treatment. They shoot guns, shotgun beers, race snowmobiles, ski and compete in physical challenges. These guys – one from New York, one from Massachusetts – had just walked off the plane when Stefan made them compete in what he calls Uncle Fodor’s Toughen Up Camp. (UFTUC is modeled after Rob Shaul’s Mountain Athlete.)

They never declared the Toughest or Strongest Man, just talked shit, cheered each other on and wheezed, grunted and laughed their way through the sandbag get-ups and carries, leg blasters, tire drags and the finale goal line jump-roll-tackle.

The following is a monologue by a six-year-old.

I tried to take it down as fast as she spat it out over macaroni and cheese and ketchup and broccoli and apple juice. She finished the story over chocolate ice cream Dots. There was no breath in between parts I and II. I just separated them for my own understanding of the story.

I.
Why do they say ‘Til Death Do Us Part?
They should say ‘Til Forever Do They Part.

If someone goes to heaven then the other person isn’t there. But, then when the other one gets to heaven, they can be together again. And they have to be married still because no one gets married in heaven.

II.
It’s like when Romeo sees Juliet dead. It’s after they got married and they should have said ‘Til Forever Do We Part.
Shakespeare made up that play. He’s a guy. He wrote tons of plays.

He’s not violent, though, he’s very nice. The plays are just pretend.

So, can I tell you the story? It’s a tragic love story.

Two families are fighting, then Romeo fells in love with a girl, then saw Juliet right away. Then he realized he didn’t like Rosa. Rosa was the first girl’s name.

Juliet’s family was on one side.

Let me explain it this way: It’s like having a bunch of moons all around and there are two craters. And the two craters want to be on the same moon, but they can’t ’cause all the moons are going all over the place.

So, Romeo killed someone on Juliet’s side. And that guy killed someone. Then, the prince declared that Romeo go away. But, they were married. Then, Romeo came back.

Then Juliet took potion from a priest that made her look dead. She was trying to trick her mother who wanted her to marry Paris. Romeo killed Paris.

Then, Romeo said, “For My Love,” then held up the potion. Then, he goes dead. Then Juliet sees him dead and she takes a dagger and puts it in her heart. And is still dead.

Then, they made two statues: Romeo and Juliet.

Some people actually do that in real life. But the families I’m talking about were sword fighting.

And that is a tragic love story.