In our studio

It’s Summer Reading season, one of my favorites. I ventured to the beach for the week armed with a bag full of pages only to find that I had once again underpacked. I travelled with poetry (Kingdom of Ordinary Time, Marie Howe), non-fiction (Dear Writer, Maggie Smith), continuing ed (The Pocket Guide to Polyvagel Theory, Stephen Porges), fiction (Liars, Sarah Manguso and The Reckoning, John Grisham), the Bible and two notebooks.

It’s Wednesday and I need to go to Target to pick up a few more.

Don’t get me wrong, I won’t read just anything. If I don’t fall into the writing within the first few chapters, I will abandon it. If the narrator annoys me or the plot seems to wane without giving me a character to love, I’ll move on. I’ll read a little of anything but I won’t finish everything. There are simply too many delightful books out there to continue to give my time to the mediocre.

And how do I decide which books to carry on with? It really depends what I’m looking for from the read. Which is why it was so helpful to hear Maggie Smith’s perspective in Dear Writer:

I don’t go to literature for comfort… I read and write to be changed.

Because it’s summer, I will say that a fluffy beach read can often be tolerated. Tom Lake by Ann Patchett was light and easy; City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert was fun and bubbly. But even in my most relaxed states, I trend toward pieces that ask me to think or to feel deeply. On my honeymoon I read The Pianist by Władysław Szpilman, a holocaust survivor’s account; on my last vacation I read Taylor Jenkins Reid’s Forever, Interrupted which was riddled with grief work.

My friend Amy once asked me of my podcast library, “do you ever just listen to something easy?” and the answer is a similar no. I come to my listening library the same as I do my reading: to be challenged and to be changed. I want to turn off my airpods or close the covers feeling that, in some way, I’ve grown.

It struck me, as I read this perspective, that I arrive on my mat much the same way. There are certainly times when the comfort of a gentle, restorative practice is exactly what I need. It’s great to feel good. I’m not a masochist.

I simply realize that, for me, it feels good to be changed. And actually, as one of my Tuesday morning classes heard at length, that’s the definition of flexibility: the ability to change or be changed. It’s influenced by our mobility – the ability to move freely – which is as much connected with our minds and hearts as it is our hamstrings and connective tissue.

I don’t think she’s talking about the type of thinking you do at work for 8 hours a day – about how to keep the boss happy, how to rearrange for 5 more minutes of reading to be ready for an assessment, or which calculation will determine the exact amount of concrete needed for a project. I think Maggie is talking about thinking that comes from a different part of the brain – the part that is connected to the Deep Self, the Who I Am not just What I Do.

When I arise from my savasana, I want to have been reminded of my truest nature, my authentic self, not just the many hats I wear in a given day. I want to have challenged another idea of who I believed myself to be without my own consent.

If you’re looking for a simple comfort, you can bring that intention to your practice and find what you need. There’s no judgment on the days when you just need a “beach read” kind of flow – something that helps remove you from the monotony but doesn’t ask much of you. But if you’ve stayed with the practice over time, I’m guessing it’s precisely because the practice asks you to look, to feel, to notice and examine that you keep returning. And I’m here for that.

When I was in seminary, a professor led a discussion on the whether-or-nots of highlighting in your Bible. Her rationale was simple: of course, the text never changes. But every time I return to the text, I’ve been changed.

I love that. Whether it’s scripture or savasana, we come to our practice – and leave it – as a different person. Sometimes it’s simply a more relaxed and comforted person, and other times it’s with a profound sense of truth.

Here’s to it, my friends. May we Show up. Work (think, and feel) hard. Shine bright. and Love all.