My dog, Alfie, hates transitions. While he loves being on a walk, getting out the door involves running under the bed first. He loves playing at doggie daycare but shakes in my arms between the car and its entrance. Sometimes I wonder if he picked up this dislike from me. Because I too, find transitions difficult. I want to skip to the end rather than sit in the in-between; I want to arrive in Summer and breeze right through the messy parts of Spring.
Knowing this, I found myself wondering how (or if) my discomfort with transitions shows up on my yoga mat and how I could learn to work with that discomfort.
What I noticed is that I’m always interested in getting to the next pose, not in all the little movements that get me there. Half the time, they’re so habitual, I don’t even see them. I simply arrive in the forward bend from downward dog with no idea how my feet went from one to the other. Like the autopilot of driving the same route every day, portions of my yoga practice were missing my attention.
As we journey from one season to the next with the Spring Equinox, it seems the right time to slow down and notice the in-between. Instead of letting Spring be a blur, I want to bring it back into focus.
A Lesson from Winnie the Pooh
I recently read A Walk in the Wood: Meditations on Mindfulness with a Bear Named Pooh by Dr. Joseph Parent and Nancy Parent and found myself struck particularly by a story of Pooh walking in the woods with no destination.
In the book, the authors explore mindfulness using stories of Winnie and his friends. In this one, the idea of “aimless wandering” is introduced. Pooh goes on a walk in the woods for no reason other than to “just notice.” He’s not trying to get somewhere; he’s firmly planting himself in the transition between places. He has no other goal aside from being aware of what’s around him. Being present as he takes each step and embracing the moments between each one with openness and a sense of joy.
It seemed deceptively simple when I read it. Until I tried to do a mindfulness walk and got caught up in how to be both mindful and aimless. As a result, I did neither. So, I came to my mat to explore these ideas and practice them.
“Aimlessly wandering” on the mat
Mindfully moving between poses and aimlessly wandering through my practice seemed to be in conflict at first. Isn’t mindfulness about presence and intention? How can that come together with aimlessness?
That, I realized, is the practice.
When I dig below the surface of my dislike of transitions, it is partly about a lack of control. Springtime can be chaotic: the weather can be unruly, green bursts out wherever it can, melting snow means messy streets. Transitions in life can be the same. Each day can become unpredictable and it’s difficult to avoid making a mess before the roots of something new take hold.
When I move from downward dog to uttanasana, it might not be fluid or smooth. It might take a few steps, maybe my knees need to stay bent, or maybe I stepped with my left foot first instead of my right and now I’m off kilter.
Instead of closing my eyes and rushing through these moments, I can slow down and embrace them instead.
Making friends with transitions
I can intentionally notice the steps from downward dog to uttanasana, the turning of the toes from 5-pointed star to Warrior II, or the step back into a lunge. I can “aimlessly wander” by trusting that I will move into the next pose and focus instead on all the moments and actions that get me there.
The sensations in the feet, the coolness of breath, the changes in my body as it rearranges itself. The practice will unfold and I can be fully present as it does, allowing myself to wander to its end by noticing all the spaces in between.
Off my mat, I can practice taking mindful walks like Pooh and engage with the changing season around me. I can notice my breath as I sit at a stop sign or red light, perhaps relaxing my fingers if they’re gripping the wheel. I can stop before I answer a text and feel the weight of the phone in my hands and its smooth glass surface.
By bringing these mindfully aimless moments into my life, maybe – just maybe – I can begin to make friends with transitions. Perhaps Alfie will too.
How do you embrace transitions?
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