On Seasons
A hill, drishti, and poor lighting
Seasons of life.
They come. They go. They often point out where we need to grow or sometimes let go. But like all seasons, they change.
During this season of life, let's say the last six months, I have been practicing yoga less consistently and recording my practice even less.
When I do practice, it is often late at night, with a quick session right before bed. In theory, I could practice in the day before I go to my 9-5, but that doesn't address why I don't like to record – poor lighting. Do you want to know where didn't have poor natural lighting?
The Harlem apartment, Philly house, or Pittsburgh residence we've inhabited the past year and a half.
As medical travel techs, my husband Phillip and I often bounce around for work and have been in Massachusetts since the beginning of the year.
It's a lovely, comfortable residence. Your traditional mother–in–law suite attached to a primary residence with its own secluded entrance, driveway, and yard space. If it wasn't for the fact that we could hear the footsteps of the family above, our perfectly private basement apartment would have no outside human contact.
And while the above-ground windows do just enough to let the outside in, most north-west facing windows do little to draw extra sunlight in to serve my documentary purposes.
What this locale does afford is a super convenient commute to work. A 15-minute walk or a four-minute drive to be exact. Unlike our previous accommodations, I can leave my house 30 minutes before my start time, make it to work, and still have a moment to collect myself before beginning my shift.
Phil and I made the walk the day before my start date in January. Although it was the middle of winter and New England, the weather was seasonally inoffensive. Combining a leisurely pace, friendly conversation, and taking in the sights and scenery (we saw a bunch of wild turkeys!), the trek appeared to be a piece of cake.
That dry run is similar to when you decide to take your car to the mechanic. On every occasion prior, it makes a weird noise, and then when you finally show up for your appointment, the noise just goes away, and everything seems fine.
I was not prepared for the first solo walk.
The route was different from the walk I took the day prior.
Yes, we defined our own pace and occasionally stopped to stare at houses, but somehow, I completely missed that the walk to my new workplace was uphill. And not one of those inclines where it offers quick steepness, and then you summit. It's a long runway that increases in altitude covertly, has a false summit, and continues to climb after the initial plateau.
On top of that, the mildness of the weather from the day prior disappeared. While dressed appropriately, my sole focus was to make it up the incline and to my awaiting shelter. It was a simple enough task, but my calves weren't ready. They took the brunt of the workout and grew tight from the increasing angle. To give them a break, I increased my knee drive to decrease the roll from heel to toe. Sweat met the lining of my trapper hat just as I made it to the top and the intersecting main road.
I pulled off my glove, grabbed my phone, and texted Phil. "Did you know the walk is completely uphill?"
Not waiting for a reply, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and adjusted my winter wear for the stretch onto the hospital campus and into the building.
Each weekday, this would be my crucible.
After the first week, my calves were as tight as rocks, and the walk left me winded. But as time passed, I grew to know every element of the elevation. Which parts to lean into to keep my momentum, where the sidewalk was cracked and posed a threat of black ice, and where the evergreens provided a morale boost that life can survive even the harshest conditions.
Passing the greenery was a highlight of my journey, and one day it all clicked.
I couldn't control the path, but I can control what I focus on.
In yoga, it's called drishti. A concept that says by focusing on one thing, all else falls away, and we are actually focusing on ourselves.
In poses that require balance, drishti or a focused gaze is used to develop concentration by reducing outside distractions and drawing the senses inward, where true control lies.
Day by day, week after week, I made my way and chose what to focus on. Sometimes I'd use the hill as resistance to square and balance my hips. During others, I'd broaden my clavicle and level my shoulders. Each time focusing on something within myself to make the time pass. And it did.
One early spring day, I reached the main road, and my calves didn't burn. I wasn't out of breath. I'd instinctually made the adjustments needed to make it up the incline. The daily routine brought about second nature.
Trust that if you do something long enough, repetition will be a guide and show you the way through.
My daily walk is still the highlight of my day. I see turkeys mostly but also chipmunks, bunnies, deer (!), and a rogue skunk once.
And you know what's funny? After all I've learned from my walk, my season of going uphill is ending. I've switched my shift to end earlier and will now be dropped to work in the morning and walk the return route home in the evening.
And mostly, after all the strength I've built, I'll get to enjoy the downhill.
Life is like that. When mastery is built, things switch, and the next challenge appears. Nothing lasts forever, but sometimes, one season is more than enough.