What are you expecting?

Barry Schwartz gave a TED talk in 2005 that, at the time, really resonated with me (view his talk here). In this talk, psychologist Schwartz talks about the relationship between choice and satisfaction. More specifically, his conclusion is that too little choice leads to suffering AS DOES too much choice. Why? Because having a lot of options raises our expectations of the outcome. The more choices we have, the more information at our fingertips, the more we expect these choices to lead us where we want to eventually be.

I first started thinking about expectations when I trained for a running event. I'd been a runner for much of my life, starting as a mid-fielder in soccer. I loved soccer. Loved chasing down the ball, loved chasing down the player with the ball. There wasn't a stopwatch, but rather an immediate goal right in front of me: get to the ball! As my brief soccer career came to a close (as many high school sports stories do upon graduation), I continued running and eventually decided to enter a race. I embarked on a training regimen that included running for time, so each run began by strapping a stopwatch onto my wrist before tying on my shoes and running out the door (don't you just love the convenience of running?!). I found the stopwatch difficult and distracting. My previous running experience involved no expectations about time versus distance covered; I just put my shoes on my feet and ran. Now, with the clock ticking seconds away, I was pressed to run a specific distance within a specific time. I felt a lot of pressure to perform, to meet my time limit, to improve. I expected myself to run fast. And then, to run faster. However, quite the opposite happened - each run became more of a struggle than the previous one. The joy was sucked out of running as the pavement sucked the life out of my legs with each step. In the end I raced my race, I achieved my goals, and then I quit. I took the watch off and never put it on again. Ahhh, the relief. Running was free once again.

This little life experience seemed to corroborate Schwartz's theory that "the key to happiness is low expectations." Or, in my case, no expectations. This approach leaves more room to be pleasantly surprised. It leaves us open to possible outcomes that are limitless and acceptable. And I agree...but lately I've been thinking that there is a bit more to this theory.

Let's begin with the very definition of "expectation", which is a belief that something will happen or that someone will do something in the future. Right off the bat we can see that our mind is in the future. We've mentally left our physical body for an idea of some action that may or may not happen; for something that simply does not exist. In fact, many times we've pinned a large part of our happiness on the fulfillment of our expectations. It is like putting all of the proverbial eggs in the place where you expect that some basket will appear at some future point. In the meantime, those eggs are left to wallow in their fragility, ready to be cracked or crushed at any given moment. And this is precisely what happens to the body when we vacate it mentally. We begin to feel the stress of trying to hold on to something that does not exist and experience higher and higher levels of stress. At some point we might even begin doubting the fulfillment of said expectations and become anxiety-ridden or depressed or both. So what is a person to do? Erase all expectations in life? What about our goals? What about working towards our vision of the foreseeable future? What about our DREAMS?!

Keep them. Keep all of them. Keep your goals. Keep your visions. Keep your dreams. But don't live in them. Be present in what you are doing right now. If the present moment serves the future, we need not worry about the future. It will materialize in our lives like a gift. It is what we are doing right now that will determine what the future holds. Then, be open to being wrong. Be open to change. Be open to the idea that you are limitless and, as Whitman said, you contain multitudes. There is no guarantee that the future will be what we envision, even if we are working presently towards it. But there is a guarantee that what you are doing at this very moment is going to determine it. So be present. Be here, right now. Be engaged in each moment because each moment actually exists.

The mind will wander. It will travel to tomorrow, next week, next year. The mind will plan and worry. The mind will fear that what we want will not materialize. This is normal. This is part of what it is to be human. When this happens, inhale and say to yourself "here in this body"; exhale and say to yourself "now in this moment." Recognize the action you are taking right now. Trust in what you are doing at this very moment. Bring the mind back to what is actually happening. This is the practice. Breath by glorious breath.

Pose BIG

I started practicing yoga in the midst of big energy and big life plans. I had just completed my Master of Arts degrees at the University of North Dakota, got hitched and took the first road out of dodge. We headed west - south west, that is - to the land of eternal sunshine: San Diego, California. We were rock climbers, (rock stars in our own minds), and were pilgrims on the path to the climbing mecca that is Joshua Tree National Park. I'd be taking my first academic position as a lecturer at a local community college and my partner would be settling into a teaching gig. On the bucket list was learning to surf and competing in triathlons. Life was good.

I'd been an athlete for most of my life - I'd been captain of the soccer team and captain of the swimming team. I'd been academically accomplished, as well, making the President's Honor Role each semester of my final two years at university. I received the outstanding graduate student of the year award in my second year as a Masters student. I was published in an academic journal. Twice. The world was my oyster. So it was no surprise when I launched myself head first into yoga practice with the same vigor and vitality - dare I say ego - with which I approached everything else. Each time I rolled out my mat I expected nothing but the biggest poses from myself.

I was fortunate to have both strength and flexibility. I could muscle my way through almost any arm balance. I could pretzel my way into almost any hip opener. In combination, this made for some pretty gnarly-looking postures! Headstand? No problem. Crow? No problem. Galavasana? Got it. And so the tick-list of postures coincided with the tick-list of classic rock climbs. My field of vision narrowed as my eyes set on the prize with laser-beam focus. I was striving towards my goals. I was, in many senses, posturing.

Even as I type this post I can feel the old pattern of striving in my body. It feels hard. Closed. Cold. It feels competitive. Calculating. Incomplete. Lonely. Thinking back, it is almost humorous to recall all of the energy and effort spent on making these shapes. After all, I did not compete in rock climbing. And there were no yoga competitions that I knew of...other than my own, internal competition. But who loses when the competition is within?

Throughout the following years I struggled with big poses - not to practice them, but rather to find meaning in them. I realized my tendency to posture; to make an asana out of myself. I quickly became disenchanted with big poses. I quit teaching them and quit practicing them, opting instead to go back to the basics with todasana, triangle, tree and the like. These postures became a consistent part of my home practice, teaching me the humility and grace found by cultivating a "less is more" attitude. Because sometimes less IS more. I found that these more basic postures better complimented my already busy and athletic lifestyle.

Fast forward several years - okay, a decade. My life included two children, a dog, a house, a job, and a supporting role in the development of two non-profit organizations. We needed a break and decided to return to New Zealand for a four-month family holiday.

A month after landing in New Zealand and planting our feet in Te Anau we decided to permanently relocate to this beautiful country - leaving behind the house, the non-profits, the job, the dog (we kept the kids!). And I found myself once again, posing big...on my mat and in my life.

As I write this post I am sitting in a cosy lounge, next to a large window, in a cottage on a hill. Out that window I can see the township of Te Anau, the lake bending to the north towards the fiords, and across to the Murchison Mountains. It was in this room where I practiced astavakrasana for the first time in a decade and I came to my purpose for practicing big poses.



Practicing big poses - like arm balances - allows me to develop the strength to take a chance; to take a risk. Big poses like urdvha dhanurasana require the flexibility and openness to take a big chance and falter. Focusing on my breath in these poses offers a sense of abiding calm in the midst of a big, energetic output. And when I falter in these poses it is an opportunity to practice grace, humility and a lot of laughter.

There have been some challenges with our choice to move across the world - sometimes we've felt unsteady and hesitant. And other moments are filled with the strength and joy that come from the reward of a successful risk. It's a big pose! Fortunately, I've brought my mat!

Making Shapes

As much as I hate to admit it, I have injured myself while practicing yoga. In fact, I've injured myself in yoga a few times. My most recent injury happened during an Iyengar workshop. For a few weeks I'd been anticipating this workshop. You see, I recently increased the physical distance from my teacher-of-four-years by about 3000 miles and I was anxious to see if this "new" teacher might fill part of the void I was experiencing. I was an eager student - eager to learn and eager to practice. I'd directed the energy of many yoga practices towards finding a New Zealand teacher. And I did! - but then again, you have to be careful what you wish for (see Left Wanting).

Towards the end of the workshop the teacher called everyone to my mat in order to show an example of the upcoming posture. Hooray! I love being an example in a class, receiving personal attention and personalized adjustments (yes, I am the student at the front of any class wildly waving a hand with an answer). Laying in a supine position (on my back) with my feet firmly planted into the wall, I was asked to push into the wall and lift my pelvis. At the height of this lift a block was placed under my sacral plate. Now, here is where it gets personal: my sacral plate is loose and moveable. It shifts out of alignment very, very easily. Placing a hard surface under my sacral plate moves this joint out of alignment. I know this, but still allowed the block to be placed and the pose to happen. This is posing at its very best (or worst!). And today I await my appointment with the physio...no running, no walking, no sitting comfortably, no asana practice. 

So why did I do it? This is the $64,000 question. 

I recently read an excellent blog post by Frank Forencich of Exuberant Animal that held this quote:
"The unexamined race is not worth running, the unexamined discipline is not worth practicing." 

At the beginning of each practice I sit down, align with my breath, and close my eyes. I center myself on my breath. I take an inventory of the thoughts in my mind, observing when they come and when they go, paying attention to the tone of each thought. Then, I scan my body, again as an observer, taking note of how each part of the body feels. Opening my practice in this way allows me to acknowledge my state of being and soften into a state of grace and compassion. Then, I set an intention. I ask myself, "Towards what would I like to move my energy today?" I try to be very specific because if I don't know where I'm going, any road will get me there.

So I begin each practice with direction and intention. Throughout the practice I hold this intention in my mind's eye, returning to it throughout the session. When I notice my attention wavering, I ask myself if this focus is in service to my intention. When I notice that I am over-efforting I ask if this effort is in service to my intention. When I am dreading the next pose I ask myself if this attitude is in service to my intention. And breath by breath I direct energy towards a specific purpose. 

When my intention is honest and true my practice is fulfilling. I feel rejuvenated, light, happy, and peacefully optimistic. I am doing yoga. When my intention is misplaced my brow furrows, my mind evaluates and my body aches. Sometimes, I injure myself. I am simply posing. If I don't have  intention for my practice I often feel confused and muddled on my mat. I lose track of which sun salutation I am on or forget to practice on the left side. My mind is scattered. My thoughts go wild. My body follows suit and I am left wondering, "What is the point?" 

The point is, without examination, growth does not happen. Without examination, my practice is pointless. If I notice an ill-suited intention for practice or recognize my willy-nilly nature I can feel for what is underneath, I can search for what is hidden. And then, again, I come into the practice of yoga, learning about myself, growing larger within.

I've examined and re-examined my mistake with the bridge and the block. I seized the opportunity to examine my practice and its purpose. I've mulled over my quest for a teacher. The pose was my teacher. With grace and humility, I've learned and I've grown. With grace and humility, I was reminded what I already know about ME and my practice. Breath by breath, I find the teacher within.

And this is why I practice.

Snap Shots of Emotion Motion

I recently learned that the lifespan of an emotion is approximately 90 seconds (see Jill Bolte Taylor's "A Stroke of Insight). In other words, it takes an emotion about one and a half minutes to run throughout the nervous system. After this time, it is only the mind and its emotional thoughts that continue the emotional response. Sometimes we even resurrect emotions long after they've disappeared, giving them renewed life and energy. Often emotions are experienced and acted upon habitually and without consideration. We spend time merely reacting to our emotional thoughts; living within these emotions without recognizing that they "died" long ago. We treat them as if they are a reality in and of themselves - and a factual reality, at that! Many times we even become our emotions; embodying them. It only takes a brief analysis of our language to realize how much life - our life - we give to emotional thought.

How many times have the words "I am happy" or "I am mad" parted from the lips? This type of language identifies the whole person with and as an emotion. In a sense, as the emotion travels throughout the body our language depicts us as that emotion. Think about it:

Sitting at the department of motor vehicles to renew my drivers license. I take a number, take a seat and wait...and wait...and wait for my number to be called. As I sit, I watch the clock, minutes ticking by. I have things to do. I have places to go. Why does this process always take so long? Who is holding up the line? Or perhaps the people working don't realize that I have a schedule to keep today. I become annoyed. Irritated. Then my number is called and I march up to the desk, frown on my face, license in hand.

"Name?" asks the depleted employee from behind thick glasses without looking up.
"Angry," comes my reply. After all, I am now angry.

Does this scenario seem unlikely? Although we may not outwardly identify ourselves with the name "angry" we may, in fact, be inwardly telling ourselves "I am angry". We effectively become our emotions through our thoughts; thoughts that our language then reinforces.

Now, here is some good news. There is some space between what Tara Brach calls impulse and action. Discussing the research of Benjamin Libet, Brach notes there is about a quarter of a second between the unconscious neurological activation of an action and the conscious realization that we are going to act. Prior to outwardly acting on an emotion the body is inwardly responding to it. There is another quarter of a second between the conscious realization and the outward action. This means that the body unconsciously prepares to act 1/2 a second before the action AND there is 1/4 of a second during which we are conscious of our intent to act before acting. A quarter of a second seems like a minuscule amount of time to realize the external trajectory of our thoughts and decide to proceed or not. In such a short time the opportunity for change seems bleak. The opportunity presents itself and passes, quite literally, in the blink of an eye. But in this 1/4 second there is the potential for magical transformation.

I'll use photography as an analogy. We can think about this 1/4 second opportunity for choice and change similarly to taking and viewing a picture. Consider the shutter speed of a camera (the length of time the camera's shutter is open to light when taking a picture). The standard shutter speed for a 35mm camera on auto focus will create a still picture of a moving subject without blur. Even though the subject is in motion at the time the camera is clicked, in the subsequent photo the subject will appear still - frozen in time (provided the camera is held still). Take the picture of the pinwheels on this post. The image furthest to the left shows a pinwheel frozen in time. There is no motion associated with it. However, if the shutter speed is adjusted to remain open for 1/4 of a second the picture may appear blurred as it reflects the motion of the moment, shown in the other two images. Now consider a nighttime picture of a freeway - you will see the car lights trailing in the direction of movement when the shutter speed is slower. You can see the movement. And when we are able to consciously see our movements - when we begin understanding what is actually happening - we can choose to change. This is the 1/4 second opportunity. The choice is to be on auto-focus or to adjust the shutter speed to see our thoughts as objects in motion.

Why does the faster shutter speed produce a picture frozen in time versus the motion shown in the slower speed? Light. When the shutter is open for less time, less light enters the lens, solidifying that moment in time without movement, without motion. It is a version of an event, a fraction of a second, an emotional thought. A longer shutter speed means more light and more movement in the resulting picture - a version of the event as is happening. Granted, the slower shutter speed may produce a blurry picture...at first. But proficient photographers learn how to use this light to more clearly show the motion of the subject. We can then use these images to understand the transition of our thoughts into action and, ultimately, begin recognizing the connection between thought and action. We can then use that 1/4 second to change the emotional trajectory.

So there you have it. Let the light in. Take this 1/4 of a second to shine a light onto the motion of your mind. With this picture in your minds eye, choose to maintain the trajectory of your thought or emotion into physical action or choose to change. The body's emotional response will last up to 90 seconds. The opportunity to change the physical reaction lasts about 1/4 second. And the repercussions of this action? The emotional thoughts prolonging this response? Their lifespan is a choice. Your choice.

Left Wanting

A couple of questions for you:  Did you get everything you wanted for Christmas? What do you want for yourself or for others in 2015? Are those New Year's resolutions going how you want them to go? Do you find yourself often "wanting?"

I try to give a lot of attention to language; the language I use outwardly with others, the words I use inwardly with myself, as well as the word choices others use towards me. I love words. I love how words roll off the tip of my pen, how they appear on the screen from the tips of my fingers and how they roll off the tip of my tongue. In the yoga studio, the language we choose sets a tone for the class. It gives students a clear (or unclear) direction. (Lets face it - some of the language used in yoga class is much too vague and defies specific meaning). Being mindful of language is being mindful of the thoughts in your head and how they can affect yourself and others. For example, a couple of years ago during a yoga workshop the class needed yoga blocks. I told the yogis on either side of me that I would be happy to grab one for them while I grabbed one for myself. The instructor noticed my language choice and was quick to (gently) bring awareness to my use of the word 'grab', stating that "We try not to grab things in the studio. Rather, we find or locate or get what we need." Hmmm...I'd never thought about this. The word 'grab' carries with it a feeling of aggression or grasping. It is somewhat desperate; less considerate or mindful. It is not a desirable tone for the yoga studio. I'll give myself a pat on the back here for working hard over the past two years to remove this word from my "yoga lexicon."

More recently, my awareness surrounding language and word choice was piqued during a holiday stay with friends in New Zealand. The constant monologue spewing from my youthful offspring centered around what they wanted for Christmas. "I want this. I want that." It was constant and desperate. The idea of Santa misunderstanding their location had the boys on the edge of anxiety. Kirsten - one of our hosts - asked my oldest if he understood the idea of "wanting." My ears perked up. She continued with the caution of being careful what you wish for using "wanting" as synonymous with "wishing." You see, often the things we think we want never quite turn out how we expect. We tend to feel disappointed rather than elated; deflated rather than fulfilled. As so we are left with wanting something more or something different. The moral is that when there is a "want," it is the feeling of wanting that is granted, rather than the thing, itself. Her advise? Rather than "I want", try "I would like" or "I would prefer."  'Like' carries a connotation of being suitable or agreeable; what is suitable or agreeable for you. 'Prefer' carries a similar tone. When we "would like" we are simply stating what is agreeable to us. 'Want', on the other hand, denotes a deficiency, a lack or a desire and carries a slightly negative tone. 'Want' concentrates us on what we do not have (and likely do not need!) rather than simply stating a fondness or proclivity.

Change the language. change the thought, change the expectation, change the outcome. And, as a cherished friend of mine says, "If nothing changes, nothing changes."

So begin paying attention to your language. What are you really saying? It will give you an idea of what you are thinking or, more importantly, how you are thinking.