constriction

We sat cross-legged in a comfortable living room, spilling onto floors, sofas and pillows. Along with snacks and wine, we brought a jumble of words, laughter and enthusiasm that lept off computer screens and into real life. An odd mix of new and familiar. It felt like I knew them so well, yet, they constantly surprised me with their insight and lack of fear when it came to facing difficult things. How do these women know so much? What made these women so brave? Where did they come from?

I sat back, alot, probably too much, and allowed myself to drink them in. There was an intimacy that was palpable in and amongst the sharing of prose and opinion. At some point in the middle of an exchange about pre-conceived notions, Kate said something that resonated with me and has stayed with me ever since. She told us that she learnt in yoga that the most important poses to do, were the ones that were the hardest. The poses that make you catch your breath and shudder in pain, are the same poses that will let you evolve in your practice. Constriction was as important as flow.

I wondered about that, every time someone shared a story, a jab or a joke for the rest of the night. I wondered about that as we sat, huddled under duvets, by candlelight during the planned power shortage, all slowly drifting towards sleep. I wondered about that at the breakfast table where we sat in full sunlight, still engaged and still unflinching. I wondered about that on the drive home, as I held by aching head in my hands and cursed myself for drinking so much. I still wonder.


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I gravitate towards fixing things. When I see a child with a bloodied knee or someone holding back tears at the back of the room, an instinct takes over and tends to the broken, as if on auto-pilot. It is not hard for me to hear about your broken heart, your mother's battle with cancer or your crumbling marriage. It is harder for me to sit and listen, without trying to fix you.

The past couple of months have been a whirlwind of crazy in my own house. A mix of family dynamics, relationship issues, overflowing professional responsibilities, and the list goes on. I sit, as the world spins around me, and grasp at what I can fix, who I can help, what bandages might be applied. But in these types of situations, stopping the bleeding is never enough. There is a reason why bone fractures require weeks to set and heal.


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If fixing is what comes easy to me, what is my constriction? What pose is the hardest for me to hold while not letting my life unravel around me? How do you chose the people and things you can't fix? How do you listen and trust that things will unfold as they should?

I wonder, so I read, and I think, and I play music as loud as I can, in hopes of having that magic moment where I figure it all out. But in the end, I wonder if it comes down to constriction and what I'm willing to endure. Every time I see broken pieces on the floor, I still fight the urge to reach down and pick them up, even if I know that I'll cut myself in the process.