Just practice

People often tell me, "I would never be able to do yoga. I can't even touch my toes."
But yoga is more than touching your toes.

I got married in August and was out of my apartment by September first. Since then I have been living with my husband in his house -- the house where he's been for over a decade, where he lived with his late wife -- and we are getting ready to sell it. At the same time we are preparing another house -- new to both of us -- to live in. And I'd thought planning a wedding was a lot of work.
To give you some notes on my current yoga practice: I am still practicing my asanas (postures) for 15-30 minutes every morning, five mornings a week.  But I have also been working on santosha (contentment) and svadhaya (self study) all day, every day.  And let me tell you, I need the practice.

There are eight limbs of yoga in the classical yoga texts. One of the eight limbs is asana practice (touching your toes and the like). Another of the eight limbs is niyama practice, or observances toward oneself.  And what does that mean?

Okay, so to translate the Sanskrit a little more: svadhaya is noticing one's own mind, thinking, and one's body, how it's feeling, and to notice it all in a very detached manner, without judgment. Imagine an animal behavior scientist observing a rhinoceros in the tall grasses.

Here is what I've been noticing lately: I notice that my back and hips hurt almost every morning when I get up. I notice I am driven to create order in the kitchen, one cabinet at a time.  I notice all the thoughts and arguments I have with the current order. I notice my husband's late wife was fond of things that are painted gold and covered with roses. I notice I still cannot figure out how the television works. It's one of these fancy deals that has a million channels so you can record stuff that you don't have time to sit and watch because you are busy reorganizing the kitchen and the basement and the laundry room.

One of the things I notice myself thinking is, Darnit, I am tired of the disorder of everything. Everything is so messy! This is not me, this is not who I am! That is a good example of how not to practice santosha. It is not an example of contentment. My friends and coworkers know me as someone who likes things to be organized. But lately I feel I am living in a wind tunnel. I can relate to Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, caught up in a tornado, all of her belongings flying everywhere, and feeling a little lost.  Longing for home. What does it mean to practice contentment in this kind of whirlwind?

Does it mean you just have to live with a messy house and stop crying about it? No. Santosha doesn't mean you don't want to improve things, not that you don't work on them. All santosha means is that you open yourself to loving and accepting your life exactly the way it is right now.  My house is disorderly, OK, I notice that and I love and accept my self and my life exactly the way it is right now.

People say they can't practice yoga because they can't touch their toes. News Flash: that doesn't mean you can't practice yoga, it just means you have tight hamstrings. For myself, lately my hamstrings are OK but I have tight santosha. I'm just no darn good at it. But that's not a reason not to practice. It's all the more reason to practice.  So I'm practicing, I just keep practicing.

- Carrie Pedersen Hudak