It’s the blind leading the blonde
It’s the cops collecting for the cons
So where is the hope and
Where is the faith and the love?
What’s that you say to me
Does love light up your Christmas tree?
This morning I went to a free yoga class held at the Royal Opera House. Every year that I have lived in London, I come and see The Nutcracker—a personal ritual that I conduct no matter where I happen to be living. I will be returning here again this weekend, and in doing so, I believe this will be my last time at this Opera House. It’s bittersweet, but such is the flux of life; come twelve months from now, I will once again be on the move. But I’m not thinking about that eventuality just yet. Today I was simply looking forward to partaking in a bit of a forced pause, set in a beautiful space.
The class was not held in the actual performance hall. Instead, tables were cleared in an adjoining dining area that was, in itself, a work of art. In a city that is arguably lacking in immediate aesthetics, the atrium resembled a white-coated birdcage that we were all eager to occupy. Mats were laid across the floor and I found my usual spot in the back row. It was 7:15 and a string quartet was positioned up front next to a Christmas tree. They were playing Christmas carols as if this was the most natural thing for us all to be doing on a Wednesday morning. It wasn’t long before our teacher commenced with aligning our collective breath.
Breathe in and out. Inhale and exhale. Easy.
In the opening of a yoga class, a teacher will often suggest that students settle on a point of focus. It can be a person or an animal (the animal, I figure, is offered as a suggestion that won’t alienate anyone). It can be a purpose, or it can be something within yourself that needs attention. This morning, we were asked to focus on someone that needed help. In saying this, my mind didn’t click on a single point of focus. Rather, I thought about the trip I just took to America and of course I dialed up the faces of the people I saw. Then I scrolled back further to the preceding weekend. To the dear friend I saw while in York. And then my mind leapt forward and I thought about the loved ones back home for whom I will soon see. And I thought of others, too.
We continued to breathe. And breathing, while an obvious act of living, now had a structure that helped to support my focus. Here, I was able to keep hold of the rhythm in my chest while simultaneously keeping sight of all of the people in my mind. I thought about breathing, settling my body, and the idea help. I continued this even as the quartet inexplicably moved into a rendition of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas”. Yoga is about focus.
And yes, it’s the holidays—complete with dusty but unboxed rituals, traditions, and stressful expectations. In the Opera House we moved through the flow and got lost in the poses that help a person to stop thinking about these holiday signposts. The thing I like about yoga is that it not only helps me to touch my toes, but it also furnishes a low intensity focus on body basics that still seem challenging in their simplicity. That focus wipes everything else away, at least for a few moments. And we all moved through the cues of our teacher, tilting and steadying as best we could while gazing up through the bars in the ceiling before looking down again onto mats that provided a central reference point. It was therapeutic in an unassuming sort of way.
Savasana was upon us before we knew it, and here in this British wintertime, the sky was finally white with sunlight. As we transitioned into an easy sitting pose, our teacher reminded us again about our initial focus. All of the people from the start danced again to the forefront of my mind. I gave them each an internal smile, and regardless of whether it was effective or not, I sent them all of the good cosmic energy that I could muster. It might sound opposite to the teacher’s instruction, but these people, in their simple being, do a lot to help me. More than this yoga class with a big omega icon posted at the front of a royal atrium. I couldn’t say for sure if any of them needed my help right then, but I knew that they have always done so much for me. Like it or not, life is much easier if it comes served with a healthy dose of quid pro quo. I’d like to think that I give back to them just as much as—if not more than—than what they give to me every day.
As I rolled up my mat and smooshed down my matted hair, I was reminded of the reality that my day and life would resume its hectic pace. I’d have to hear the real version of the Mariah Carey song soon enough. Around this time of the year, business and Mariah Carey are of course to be expected. For all of us. But I recognize that life is messy, and in this way, we can exist just fine while in its clutches so long as we’ve got a decent support structure hanging around. No matter if it’s a three-year-old who stands in my suitcase to “help” me to pack up and return to London—or if I’m unpacking and repacking that suitcase again so that I am ready for a Cape Cod Christmas…or perhaps to embark on a new, undiscovered adventure on the Mediterranean Sea. No matter where I go, no matter if it’s ballet, yoga, or just being—I am grateful for these people and these brief moments in life.