The Art of Resting

Last night during one of my sporadic stints of yoga going, my inner voice was being particularly snarky with me about having to go to positions like "crescent pose" and "warrior 1, 3, 2, and reverse." I silently cursed all of the stretching and reaching and breathing as I stood there with shaking muscles, wondering if I would have been better off riding my bike instead. But then the instructor said the blessed words, "Go to child's pose," and I remembered why I started to believe that there really is something to all this. With my body whispering a thank you, I knelt down on my mat and rested my forehead flat on the ground, my arms limp beside me. In that moment, every pressure and expectation that had been perfectly perched on my back and shoulders throughout the week had no choice but to roll forward and away from me. And my forehead, which so rarely makes contact with anything, slowly melted into the ground along with my thoughts.

As I drove home after the class, I thought more and more about stretching, breathing, and meditating. We so often praise the person who runs the longest or the fastest and less the person who can bear to sit still for an hour and stretch. Even with my own exercising, I stick a bigger gold star on my long bike rides and hard lifting sessions than I ever do on my yoga classes. Yet, when I think about it, it is a bigger accomplishment for me to sit silently for an hour and just "be" than it is for me to stay in constant motion. And it is often while sitting still, my forehead to the floor, that I receive much needed emotional refueling and a quietness of spirit that I can then carry with me for the rest of the week.

Maybe there is something to the art of reaching instead of running, stretching instead of sprinting. And maybe, despite our mad dashing to different goals and destinations, the rest really is as important as the race.