Altitude*
So, it’s that time of year again…where we do recaps of the year gone by and make declarations about the one to come.
Most importantly we reach deep down in our Mary-Poppins’ like carpet bag and search for the silver-linings, some meaning to explain or reframe the hurt, the confusion or frustration we have experienced.
And so, maybe on Christmas Eve or Christmas day or whatever when I was lounging around in my onesie and robe staring mesmerized at the simple white lights on my tree I thought to myself:
I am way too tired to work that hard trying to find the silver linings, or some motivational theme to sum up 2019.
I thought, I want a year where the positive takeaway is glaringly obvious. I want a year where I don’t have to peel back layer after layer of messy emotion to get to the message in the mess.
So I gave myself a pass from social media posts, which has been scarce in its frequency. Gave myself permission to go to bed earlier, sleep in later. I released the propensity I have to “finish strong” and push myself like Hidalgo through the finish line of New Year’s Eve to feel better about myself and where I am in my life.
Nope. Not doing any of that. No best photos of the year, or decade. No, top five lists…no countdowns.
I’ll face the New Year exactly like I faced the last one. As myself.
No pretense and no fake smile like being in the same room with a person you don’t like and the feeling is mutual.
Like that.
At the same time life moves on..it’s basically January now and I’ve missed a month of training to address a real-life-or-death health issue.
The calendar crawls by so slowly when you’re in training and so rapidly when you’re not. It’s like the perception of time at the singularity of a black hole or something.
But I am actively, physically trying to get back. So I decided I would start with yoga…
after all it was from an-hour long yoga class, dripping sweat at a Y7 yoga studio in East Village in NYC that I really knew something was wrong. My heart beat had become erratic, I experienced dizziness in my vinyasas, and stayed in child’s pose for most of the class. And after? After I felt “fall-training dead.” Not- “wow that was a tough yoga class taxed” I felt lifeless. Literally like I had less life in me than I did an hour ago. Which, we’d learn in hindsight was true.
So I decided to go back to yoga only this time at my home studio Love Story Yoga in San Francisco. The same studio I spent 200 hours getting certified in and learning more than I could have imagined about a practice I love almost more than anything. So it made sense to me to start there. I was scared of my “what ifs” though so Chuck took one for the team and came along.
I was worried about what would happen if my body couldn’t go, and questioned what would happen if I passed out. This class is 90 minutes long, heated, with probably 100 other students nearly touching each other ready to flow with Stephanie Snyder.
We set up in the back corner close to one of the doors in case I needed to make a quick exit. I smiled at familiar faces and hugged yogi friends I hadn’t seen in a while and with great apprehension I set up my towel, water bottle, blanket, blocks, and mala.
I was surprised. I rested when I needed to rest but NONE of the symptoms that I experienced before were present now. And I was exhaling with the knowledge that my body was actually healing when it happened.
Stephanie Snyder told us a story while we were resting between poses that summed up my entire year: 2019.
Here’s the story:
A group of climber-hikers made it to the top of a mountain where they were met with the welcoming site of a cabin.
What they found Inside the cabin was even more welcome, so much food that they could make a feast.
The party of travelers were cheered by all they saw before them. All the promise of delicious food that they’ll enjoy just as soon as it’s all cooked and the table prepared.
Someone puts on water to boil.
Another pops something into the oven to bake.
Maybe they toast each other and their good fortune while they wait.
But then after a while someone notices that the water is taking FOREVER to boil.
And whatever was put in the oven isn’t exactly baking.
And they are flustered and frustrated because WTF all the elements are here, all the components of a beautiful, substantial, and satisfying feast are here and yet…
that’s all they will remain if something doesn’t start cooking.
Just then a passerby, or maybe a neighbor (I’m not sure remember, I’m listening as hard as I can while breathing and doing the yoga poses)
anyway, a neighbor drops by and sees the body language of cabin’s occupants.
“What’s the matter?" He asks. Looking from one dejected face to another a stark contrast I’m sure with all the goodies lying around.
“We have all of these good things here in front of us and yet can make nothing of it,” Someone from the group replies.
“What do you mean?” He asks.
“NoThInG Is CoOkiNg” Someone probably shouted (because if they are anything like me being hangry plus being questioned is not a good combination for anybody)
“Oh, dear friends….” he chuckles.
And the group probably gets pissed because they feel like they are being laughed at but he continues…
“It’s cooking. But you’re cooking at altitude.”
And he goes on to explain the effects that altitude has on cooking.
The party gains some knowledge and some patience, and is able to eventually cook and enjoy their feast: it just took a really long time.
Because they were at a really high altitude.
That’s where the story ends.
I’m on my back now on my yoga mat practically masticating this story in my mind and the seemingly randomness of Steph sharing this story while we’re dying in class.
When it hit me: it’s me.
I’m the party.
Well no, not in that way. I’m the party of travelers. I’ve arrived to 2019 with a table spread before me with the makings of a bunch of good things.
After literally climbing-sometimes crawling up and out of the valleys and depths I’ve been in I can actually see the makings of the life I wish to create.
So I got to cooking.
And I’ve been in my metaphorical kitchen slicing, dicing, chopping, blending, cleaning, trimming doing whatever I need to do to prepare these things, to prepare myself, to start cooking. And so I start but…
there’s no meal coming together.
No feast to partake of.
Just a bunch of good looking items with the potential to be something amazing but just isn’t quite- not just yet.
And here I am (you all have no idea) completely beside myself about it all as the year comes to a close.
This last quarter (October/November/December) alone felt like I’d be better off trashing everything and Door Dashing it, if you know what I mean.
But then, Stephanie, my actual teacher and the passerby/good neighbor in this story, just chuckles while we sit in chair pose, well lower, and well beyond what any of us are comfortable with (Chuck was cursing at this point) and basically speaks straight to me. The message is clear…
things don’t cook the same at this elevation.
because you’re not DOWN THERE anymore.
It will cook.
But it will take longer.
There’s nothing wrong with the water, there’s nothing wrong with the food, there’s nothing wrong with you…
but as you climbed, as you reached for new levels and higher elevations. Things changed.
Things around you have changed.
And so your understanding must also change.
Things will take a bit longer, the feast will still come together, and it will still be everything you hoped for.
I heard her, through the yogic breathing I was focused on to distract from my rapidly fatiguing thighs, and racing heart.
I heard her.
And so, 2019 will come to an end with me metaphorically still staring at the pot of water waiting for it to boil and checking my oven to see if my food is finally baking.
The only difference is that I now understand that it will eventually boil, it will eventually bake, I will eventually be able to smell the fragrant smell of warm culinary delights, I’ll be able to get off my feet, rest, relax, enjoy, eat…
but not yet.
Because I’ve come so far from where I’ve started, climbed so far, and so high…
it’ll take longer.
2019 in summation was like cooking at altitude.
Blogger’s Note: Chuck did great in that class. It was 90minutes in basically 90 degrees and was his first class ever. And it was difficult. He was able to hold Baddha Utthita Parsvakonasana for what I felt was an insanely long time and he didn’t walk out of class at any point like he thought he might. We left class exhausted but proud of our efforts.
Also, the featured picture associated with this post I took. At Garden of The Gods in Colorado Springs in August…that was when I first tried to alert the medical staff something was wrong. I visited this beautiful location a day after my first iron infusion. I had energy I hadn’t felt before and was able to do a bit of hiking, and visit the tourist center where they had a vista point and I took this photo.