Even when I'm moving.
Last night, unable to sleep, I found myself pacing my small Barcelona studio. I stepped out on the tiny balcony, but it wouldn't award me the space I suddenly craved. The fresh air my lungs were calling for.
I contemplated going for a walk, but the deserted foreign streets and it being 1 AM was off-putting. I was worried, stepping out, but losing my mind stepping in. It was becoming clearer with every second that I could not breathe.
Then I remembered.
Salvador Dali. A portrait of his wife, Gala.
A few days before, ambling towards nothing in particular, I'd tracked down a sports store. Looking for a yoga mat, as I'd found nothing in my humble abode that could feasibly double as one. All the while, I was berating myself. I don't need a mat for a month. And an activity-packed month at that. Walking ~14 km each day and swimming should've given me plenty of movement.
Still, I found a narrow, bare foam mattress for just 3 Euro and thought to Hell with it, that's a good deal even if I end up using it 2 or 3 times.
Dutifully though largely unconvinced, I unfurled the mat and picked a small guided practice. I'm no good directing my own practice while traveling. Still, even with my video ready to go and my mat before me, I couldn't sit myself down.
It seems each time I come to practice, I'm assailed by the same thoughts. It's pointless. Silly. What could a few straddles and downward-facing dogs solve?
What that thinking obviates is that in times when breathing becomes difficult, you don't need a full-fledged escape route. You only need to follow through with the immediate next step. Gradually, a path unfurls.
My 15 minutes of yoga not only provided physical relief (I know but frequently forget how stiff our muscles become, even with regular physical exercise), but mental clarity. I held on to the poses like a man fumbling through dark caves.
I became my own flickering candle.
My inhales grew deeper, my exhales slowed down. Without me focusing on those outcomes.
I think that's what mindfulness is supposed to be. We keep hoping there's a trick somewhere, an easy way out. That if you Zen it hard enough, next time something gets on your nerves, you'll flip an invisible switch and be miraculously chill again.
I haven't found that, so far. I have, however, found a couple of guiding rails.
I found the ability to recognize when I'm running out of breath before I actually do.
And while I'm still tempted to act on impulse, I see in myself more patience to hold out. To breathe until I can reinstate clarity, and figure out the right course of action.
I'm a deeply emotional person. Not everyone is. But me, I'm very prone to emotional outbursts, a very feeling type. Which means I get blind-sided by what I'm feeling in the moment to objective truths or more long-term moods.
Learning to balance those two out is an ongoing, one-step-forward-two-steps-back process. But slowly, I'm learning to listen not just to what might appease my present emotional riptide, but also to what future me and past me would feel about a certain course of action.
Movement helps. Yoga helps. This morning, I went swimming in the sea. That also helps. And for me, that's what mindfulness is really. It's paying attention to what's going on. It's letting your eyes adjust to the dark instead of running around, frantic like a headless chicken.
It's learning to be your own flickering candle.
