It’s back to school season and the student and educator in me are craving getting back into a routine. I’ve always been one for structure. Living with a chronic condition has reinforced that. When I stray from my routine, I feel it. After years of close attention, I know more or less what my body and mind need to maintain equilibrium, and I do my best to meet those needs. I work in wellness, afterall, this should be easy right? However, even as we are all creatures of habit, we know that life, in all its messiness and beauty, isn’t always conducive to structure and consistency.
We’re coming out of a season that presents plenty of opportunities for spontaneity and indulgence. The sun goes down later, and so I let my children soak up these summer nights and catch fireflies. One last Sunday afternoon before school starts…should we go out for ice-cream…again? Yes please! Next week you won’t be able to stay in your jammies for that extra hour, so let’s cuddle up for one more morning of cartoons. I know that at the end of this busy summer we’re all ready for a little rest, but friends are in town so let’s pack in another day trip to the zoo! Rest can wait.
I’ve learned, out of necessity, to practice mindfulness in movement. But recently that hasn’t seemed like enough. My late summer nights, long car rides between back to back adventures, and balancing a busy work and social calendar are catching up with me. I have lived and loved well this summer. But right now, I don’t feel well.
We sent the children off to school last week. I watched them board the school bus and took a deep breath in. My mind full of worries just like my inbox. I decide, instead of facing work right away, to spend the morning taking a long walk on the battlefield. This is the routine I’ve been needing. I walk and breathe. My heart rate mirroring the pace of my racing thought patterns. Walking feels good. Fresh, cool, morning air is healing for my soul. I get home and my feet hurt. My body is fatigued. My forehead throbs. I’m utterly exhausted. My mind still unable to focus. I respond to only what is necessary, grateful for a flexible work schedule, and redirect my energy toward lovingly preparing to greet my children as they arrive home. I remind myself that this is enough. I am enough. In the back of my mind, also reciting my Scarlett O’Hara “tomorrow is another day” mantra.
I wake up the next day feeling moderately rested, kiss my babies goodbye and put on my walking shoes. I’m getting back into the rhythm of my routine, I tell myself. My shins are splitting with each step. My headache pulses. Walking has always brought me steadiness. Clarity. Joy. And I know it will again. But today, walking hurts.
I center my work as an instructional coach in the importance of consistent self-care practices and I teach tools to my yoga students that support balance, resilience and equanimity. I invite students to “listen to their bodies” but naturally, I’m not always good at listening to my own advice. Dr. Daya Grant, a neuroscientist, yoga teacher and mental performance coach I deeply admire, reminded me in a recent podcast that “having the tools” is one thing, but the truly skilled practitioner has “enough flexibility and mental agility to know which tools to use at which time. The tool that you use one day isn’t necessarily the tool that will serve you another day.”
Day three. My children wake with excitement for another day to learn and grow. I wake with gratitude for their curiosity and enthusiasm, a little envious I’ll admit, of their boundless energy. I gaze at my walking shoes. Yes, tomorrow is another day, and those shoes will be there waiting for me. Instead, I roll out my yoga mat and meditation cushion. I have been drawn toward moving meditation, especially since becoming a parent, because movement is what aligns most naturally with the rhythm of my life… and my body. I have also always preferred a more active yoga practice, but recently slowing down feels necessary. Coming to stillness, however, has not ever been easy for me. It has taken effort and practice. The routine I know and love is to be in motion, but today, I can feel it in my bones, that stillness is what I need. I find a comfortable supported posture. I lengthen my spine. I let my eyelids and shoulders get heavy. I drop in, coming home to myself. And I feel at ease. The corners of my mouth spontaneously rise.
Routine has an undeniable power to support us in feeling well. But only if it is shaped by listening attentively to the wisdom of our bodies and minds, with a response that is rooted in care and compassion. Knowing what has worked for us previously, it takes great strength and intuition to have the flexibility to respond differently to what is present now. As you greet this seasonal transition, rather than coming back to your regular routine, perhaps take the time first to come home to yourself, and notice what is present. And if the right choice isn’t immediately obvious, Dr. Grant suggests, it can be helpful to come back to your “Why,” your purpose, your intention…“It will carry you through every single time.”
