Yoga Failed Me…Or So I Thought

Preparing all morning to leave on a Tuesday afternoon in August, I was startled to receive a text that my flight had been canceled. My destination was Asheville, where my mother is in assisted living, and I was flying there via Newark until that flight was canceled and I was re routed through Chicago, leaving about an hour later and arriving about an hour later than originally planned. I adjusted, got a few more things done, and easily got to the airport on time. I had to check my suitcase because I was going to be gone for five days and needed some things that couldn’t go through security.

Then the delays began. First, several delays before we boarded. Then we sat on the airplane for over an hour, waiting for the lightening to stop. By the time we landed in Chicago, I had missed my connection and there was no flight to Asheville until the next day at 4 p.m. I already had a hotel booked in Asheville but it was too late to cancel that. I scrambled and got a room at the airport hotel in Chicago. I got lost twice trying to find it but both times kind strangers who identified themselves as locals, noticed my disorientation, asked if I needed help, and pointed me in the right direction. I tried to feel fortunate and thank my lucky stars but I wasn’t really feeling that fortunate or lucky that I was now spending hundreds of extra dollars, not just on a hotel room but on toiletries, underwear, and a soft, teal green t shirt that said Chicago on it. But there was a little store right there in the hotel and the guy who sold me the necessities was friendly and understanding. He thinks that everything is messed up since Covid and we will never recover. Not in our lifetime.

The woman at the Hilton Check In desk was of movie star proportions. Tall and olive skinned, with long black hair and large, expressive dark eyes, rimmed by impressively thick and long lashes, she was calm and mildly sympathetic towards my predicament. She gave me an account number, encouraged me to take advantage of my benefits, and handed me some bottled water as if it was the most generous act. Which it was. All of her was an absolute embodiment of generosity. Lakshmi in the flesh.

I did feel so grateful to the folks working to serve me dinner in the hotel restaurant. I could see it was a well oiled machine run by a staff that coordinated effortlessly and the food was comforting and delicious. The server who took care of me was also friendly, kind, and an immigrant from Guatamala. He arrived here 38 years ago and is content with his life, working at a hotel restaurant, happily married (you can just tell,) and proud of his daughter, who went to college and is living the dream for which he sacrificed and risked everything.

The next day was a lot of waiting, punctuated by watching the French win the gold for the woman’s triathlon and talking to a baggage claim worker about where my suitcase might be. He explained the whole system to me, (which made no sense at all and he admitted it,) and advised me to look for it when I arrived in Asheville, assuring me that “although we don’t know where the bag is right now, it is definitely not lost.” Therefore, he refused to make a report of any kind. Then more waiting but only a slight delay and finally I was heading to Asheville… where my bag was waiting for me! The reunion with my suitcase was followed by a long walk to wait in a long line outside in the hot sun to get a rental car because the whole airport is under construction. I finally got the key to my car but then wandered around the parking garage, slightly delirious and unable to find it. After a meltdown that involved swearing out loud and cursing the long list of all responsible parties for my predicament (which probably included me), I did find my car. That was the first moment that I felt all of my yoga practice seemed to be elusive. I had kept a certain equanimity until then but it vanished.

The next four days were a blur of caregiving and emotional stress, including a deep dive into feeling completely misunderstood, unappreciated, and taken for granted. I did also take three amazing yoga classes at Iyengar Asheville Yoga, saw my niece who warmed my heart and cheered my soul, and met two close friends for dinner: Jeff and Sheila. This sweet couple have supported me over many years and often remind me of past events that help me accept and understand what is happening in the present moment. Good friends help us to clear away confusion. And everywhere I was met and buoyed up by the kindness of strangers.

Yet, I floundered and flailed, especially on the day I packed, checked out, and went to spend the last few hours with my mother, only to receive the text that my flight had been canceled and I had been rebooked for the following day. I spent the rest of the day with my mother, becoming frustrated with the lack of responsiveness from the staff at her assisted living facility, and reserved yet another hotel room. As I was leaving the hotel the following morning to go back and see my mother one more time, I had a conversation with a long haired musician who had overheard a bit of my story. He said the same thing was happening to him. He blamed it on climate change and said “but we can’t stop it because the corporations who control everything are too damn greedy to stop raping Mother Earth.” I totally agree, brother musician.

Between visiting my mother and heading to the airport, my flight was canceled and rebooked for the the following morning, then canceled and rebooked for the following, following morning. I gave up on that airline and found another airline that was leaving that day. When I got to the airport, that flight was delayed. I spend some time in the restaurant conversing with a libertarian from outside of Asheville who is worried about the “nefarious things that immigrants do” and is going to base her vote on that one concern and, fortunately, we were joined by a life long resident of Chicago. He was pro immigration, openly liberal, and bluntly informed the libertarian that she is the victim of lies. After she departed, we exchanged glances, shook our heads, rolled our eyes, and laughed. I told him how my unwanted Chicago experience had turned out to be very heartening. He assured me that mid westerners are the salt of the earth and the soul of this country.

Finally, my flight was boarding. With the help of my older daughter (who had helped me with the tech each challenge and misstep along the way), I prepared to book a third unplanned hotel night in Atlanta where I was bound to miss my flight. Both daughters, my partner, Steve, and friend, Kate, offered continuous support via text and phone. When I arrived in Atlanta, I was surprised to learn that there was a chance I might make my flight as the flight from Atlanta to Burlington had also been delayed. If only all these people were not in my way! The people on the escalator were especially frustrating, blocking the route with all their luggage, not moving, completely oblivious to my need to make my flight. When I got off the escalator, I rushed to the train doors but they were closing. I found myself frowning at some of the people who had been on the escalator in front of me. I was becoming completely irrational. I heard a piece on the radio the other day about airport food prices but the sentence that struck me was: “There is something about the airport that warps your logic.” That is sadly and dangerously true! Fortunately, the next train came less than a minute later and it only took another minute to get to the next terminal, where I ran like that French woman in the triathlon towards my gate. However, not being an Olympic athlete, I was afraid that my heart was going to explode. Just as I felt I was going to collapse, my gate came into view and I saw that it was still open. The flight crew seemed glad to see me and assured me that “You made it!”. I was the very last person to board the plane. Somehow, making the flight was as stressful as missing it. I arrived in Burlington at 1 a.m. but my bag did not. I got home at 2:30, slept in, and powered through the week.

Some of you have already heard of my travails and I am grateful and moved by your compassion and support. That you accept me as a flawed yoga teacher who fails in certain moments to be zen is truly touching. And what I realized at the end of this adventure is that Yoga never fails us. We fail and yoga makes that okay. We are hard wired to fail, to be messy, to contain, explode, or implode with intense and conflicting emotions. Yoga is always there, waiting, patient, forgiving, and understanding. Offering us the possibility of containing rather than exploding. I contained and contained until I imploded. Yoga helps me to accept that I was overwhelmed, my energy was drained and depleted, and now I need to recover and restore my prana. Although I wasn’t able to stay cool and calm through all the stress and uncertainty and exhaustion, I do believe that my inner yogini kept attracting kind strangers to encourage and guide me. And because of all the practice of the past decades, I have deep and loving connections with so many supports who give me the emotional acceptance and validation that I need in my most vulnerable times. What is most powerful and healing is someone accepting your emotional experience just as it is without trying to fix it.

With so much gratitude for you all,

Regina