Our species seems to be constantly looking for things to correct the things that make us feel inadequate when it comes to things. Like: if we have brown hair, we want to be blonde – because as we’re told blondes have more fun. They do not have fewer brown roots than the rest of us brunettes, however.
Like: if our lips are too thin, we want, nay need, them to be plumped up and perfect. But if our thighs are too plump, we want, nay need, to lipo them into submission.
Like: our eyes are a certain shade of green, but a tinted contact will give them the dazzle of the Emerald City. We may not, however, truly need the contacts to see properly.
Like: if our breasts are too flat, they too need a plumping. And if they are too large, whoa mama, something’s gotta give.
Like: if we’re from the Bronx, we might want to talk like we’re from The Valley. OK, New Yorkers are a proud bunch, and that might just be a stretch.
Don’t even get me started on Botox.
But you get my point, and it’s undeniable.
A wise woman, Dr. Christiane Northrup, once said the ultimate act of personal acceptance is to look at one’s self in the mirror…naked. And after the shock and awe wears off, utter the phrase, “I accept myself just as I am today.” This wouldn't have been such a stretch when I was in my 20s. But today, it's an act of bravery beyond comprehension. Trust me, it isn't as easy as it sounds.
I feel lucky my hair is still brown, although a few silvery threads are working their way in. And yes, there are some pounds (in fact, a whole gaggle of ‘em) that require extermination. I am avoiding the mirror like the plague because it’s just… well… the path of least resistance. My mind is still sharp as a tack, however.
But I have discovered that even I harbor a deep desire to correct a personal deficiency. Wanted: one set of go-go-gadget arms.
About a year and half ago, I started going to yoga. And I have to say my teacher, Debbie, is simply the best instructor in the galaxy. I guess most yoga students say this about their teachers, but I’m serious here (and so is every other aspiring yogi!). The practice of yoga has been such a good way to meld body and mind, to calm outer turmoil with inner mental discipline. I do not ever expect to advance beyond a beginner’s level, but that’s alright by me. Yoga is powerful even when it’s not power yoga. Walking through the door of the studio just makes my worries melt away, and by the time I exit the same portal I am transformed, relaxed, and limp as overcooked pasta.
So we sit on our mats in class, oblivious to the world as we are bending, twisting, stretching. And there are also those times when we reach and drive ourselves toward what is known as a yogic toe lock. Never been to a yoga class? Well, here’s the Cliff Notes on The Lock. Sit on the floor in the straddle position, lean to your right, gaze upon that largest of digits at the end of your foot and snug the index finger of your right hand around it.
That might not seem like any big deal when you’re in that straddle position. BUT, now lay on your back, raise your straightened right leg 90 degrees – AKA, perpendicular -- to the plane of the floor and engage The Lock. Ouch!
I’m not a particularly tall person, but my arm falls a good five inches shy of the mark. This is the reason practitioners of yoga invented straps, and I am really thankful they did.
This has been a good source of humor for those of us in the class, as I am about to be awarded an Oscar for The Shortest Arms in a Starring Role. But as Debbie pointed out one day, my situation would be remedied immediately with a set of go-go-gadget arms. She’s got grand kids, and I don’t. But I knew exactly what she was saying. Funny how people tell you things that stick with you.
Back in my younger days, which included 12 years in ballet and another 6 in jazz, I was the height of flexibility. Nimble on my toes, joyous in my dance expression. But even with the hours of ballet practice – the constant stretching and extension – I was never able to do that quintessential movement: extending my leg near my head even as the arch of my pink toe shoed foot was caressed in my hand. There was always that crink in my knee, something that is verboden in yoga.
It reminded me of the days when, as a young adult, when I used to make all my clothes. They were beautiful and finely tailored. And, predictably, I always had to shorten the arms of my coats, suit jackets, and blouses by at least a couple inches. But that was OK, too, because in the end the fabric flowed as it was destined to, and no one was the wiser.
Sometimes one’s reach certainly will exceed one’s grasp. But one shouldn’t stop trying. I guess the go-go-gadget arms will just have to wait.
