santosha – Alexandra Langstaff

The night before flying out to an 8 day writer’s retreat in California, I fell and hurt my arm. I knew it wasn’t your normal get-run-into-by-the-dog fall, nor was it like fighting with weeds and falling over backward. This really fucking hurt.

It hurt so much that I didn’t think about any kind of pain killer, not even the 5 year old, travel size container of Advil in my beauty bag.

(I did look up whether or not one should fly with a hematoma. However, I don’t recommend doing that until you are about to board.)

Because of my arm, I had no choice but to pull out clothes, to lighten my carry on, in the airport parking garage before flying out. Not only was I unable to lift the bag into an overhead bin, I could barely wheel it with my good arm that was already saddled by my 20 pound personal item.

That really stung because I spent 3 weeks trying on outfits. I’m a master packer. Fortunately, to tie all my outfits together, I had a stretchy scarf in different shades of blue. I fashioned it into a sling and it blended well with the lengthening bruise on my arm.

I was physically uncomfortable most of the time away, but mentally, I loved every second.

I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time using my right hand and pretty much nothing else. It just wrote and wrote and wrote.

The rest of my body was in a conundrum, “Shouldn’t we be hiking, breathing in that red wood air, practicing yoga, helping to stack chairs, or drinking box wine? What’s going on?”

“Take this opportunity to take a break” my heart and mind said, as they flexed and posed for each other.

And it did.

Back home, after losing my luggage due to a tight red eye connection and seeing mom, I went to the Urgent Care Center in town. X rays showed a fracture on the humeral tuberosity.

They set me up with an orthopedist appointment and gave me a shot in my good arm.

That shot was the mother of all injections. It took two hours before it stopped throbbing. But man did it work. My hurt arm was so painless that I wondered if I had been faking all along.

The next day, the orthopedist concurred with the reading.

“Considering it’s had almost 2 weeks healing time, we will x ray again in 2 more weeks and then start rehab. I can’t believe all you had was 10 advil, the first weeks can be really painful.”

“Are you saying I’m really tough because I didn’t have much pain medication? I want to tell my mom.”

“Yes, you are really tough.” She flashed me a no-nonsense grin.

I knew it.

Banana Slug-slowest animal on the planet next to me.

My friend Andi is a part time yogi and a full time mom. In addition she’s a writer, a horsewoman, a dancer and a speed-walker- slow-jogger. She also asks the best questions like, “Where are the short cuts in yoga? How long does it take to feel better, calmer, able to let things go?” I explained that unlike vacuuming, yoga is a steady, committed practice.

In college I was a master at shortcuts. I used the same three part, Mad Libs style, template for every paper I wrote. Each one started with the title,
“(Insert Chimpanzees, Sexism, Sign Language, Self Defense, Public Speaking or Ethan Frome here) of the Newer World”. This brilliant idea came after reading “Explorers of the Newer World” in an Encyclopedia Brittanica back in 7th grade. Some things just stick.

The second part was the content and I use the word loosely.

The third was the summary, one line, “Thank you for your kind attention”.

I thought I was quite clever and I was also content with mediocre grades.

There are five Niyamas in the eight-limbed path of yoga. It’s basically a list of things to do. Santosha asks us to be at ease, appreciate and be content with what is. Sometimes however, as in my case, it leads to complacency.

It was easy to come up with a term paper topic at the last minute. I appreciated that editing was for English majors not me. I was also quite content with a passing grade until after I took an independent study self defense course in town. In order to satisfy the physical education requirement I wrote a quick paper. All my part-time sensei required was the class fee.
I received a grade much better than I deserved or expected. Of course I boasted about my “B+” to my instructor. Of course he wanted to see the paper. I couldn’t do it. I knew it was lame but I sure didn’t want anyone else to think I didn’t know it. Time to stop practicing fake Santosha.

Incidentally, all I have to do is remind Dee of my academic history and her concerns about my nieces’ schoolwork goes out the window. “Don’t worry so much; look at my pathetic papers; I turned out fine!”
Considering one of her college works was titled “My Life as a Black Man”, I’m not sure why she’s concerned about anything.

Santosha requires a little effort on our part. It requires a commitment to be our own true selves, our own best selves, by appreciating and accepting what is now. Looking back with regret or forward with anxiety isn’t part of the deal. This is the practice of yoga.

Sometimes our physical yoga practice is frustrating. One day we feel like tired old farmers and other days as nimble as monkeys. One month I may have to vacuum the kitchen twice instead of once. It comes down to being content with what is and what is not.
There are no short cuts, it is a continuous way of living and thinking. It’s enjoying the long haul.

Perhaps we could practice yoga, on or off the mat, the same way we write a thoughtful paper.

Start with an introduction by taking inventory of ourselves, thoughts and circumstances.

“This is how I feel and what I’m thinking.”

Then get into the important message, the content.

“The only thing that matters is that I pay attention to this moment.”

Wrap it up.

“I’m content because I’m me and only me. I appreciate all experiences.”

Namaste- will this template ending ever go away?

Tag: santosha

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