On discovering strength, ease and pause.

An email from my son's school crossed my inbox a few weeks ago. It was an invitation to my youngest son, Brooks' winter kindergarten concert scheduled for Wednesday, February 5th. I instinctively forwarded it to my husband and wrote, "This is on a Wednesday morning. Can you be there?" I didn't give it another thought. On to the next. One more email out of my inbox. Declutter. Check, done. You see, I know how to get things done. I'm so good at getting things done that it's annoying. Wake up at 5am to run 20 miles directly to the yoga studio in July heat and then teach a hot, power vinyasa class. Yup. Done it. 3 times.  And had client meetings to follow each one of those long runs. Like I said, it's annoying. And it's also satisfying, that zip of productivity. The question of how does this all fit in one single day, and the thrill of figuring out the solution. The drive for efficiency and alignment so that everything fits together, a skyscraper of intricate timing and dependencies to make it all work. It's demanding as hell, but hey, that's what endurance athletes do best. That quest for growth, hunger for challenge and deep appreciation of hard work. 

Which on most days, results in me falling asleep within 10 minutes of laying down. There's not a lot of quiet between my kids going to bed and my own 8:30PM bedtime (okay, okay, it’s 8:00PM). Quiet I had pushed off into an unattainable bucket, something for other people, or for me one day but definitely not today. Loud and fast paced seemed to be the only frequency my family and I could tune into. But more recently, I could feel myself craving some quiet. And I had gotten really used to living without.

—

Back in November, I realigned my schedule so that I could get on my mat every week for a 90 minute practice. It was serendipitous. I just wanted to go to a yoga class on my birthday. I wanted to sweat and breathe and be reminded of all the different layers of who I am - not the job titles or responsibilities or the roles or the genuflection of adulthood. And lucky me, the teacher was phenomenal, which I honestly don't think I've ever said that about a yoga teacher. It was the gift of space. Of not being rushed. There were definitely planks. It was the gift of practicing what I so adamantly believe and share when I myself am teaching about strength and ease. Words that stayed with me after that birthday class included the phrase, Zoom in and obsess or zoom out and observe.

 So I kept going back each week, just wanting to zoom out and observe. To feel my veins coursing with courage, just wanting to hear my breath and how it's an exchange of vitality that is undeniable. That along with the gold star knowing that this 90 minute class fit perfectly into the arc of my marathon training schedule, dovetailed with Sunday football and aligned with weekly takeout from our favorite Chinese restaurant so that I didn't have to cook or worse eat what my husband might try to make when I got home. In other words, so satisfyingly strategic. And I was coming home centered and at ease, instead of rushed and angry no one had set the table yet.

—

A few weeks later, I unrolled my mat in my favorite spot. It was cold from having been left in the cold car overnight and I put a block at the curly side to hold it down. A few sun salutations in, I grabbed for my block at the back of my mat. It had been obstructing the view of a fellow student's belongings which included a book. A book that was positioned upside-down so that I could read the spine of the book, while also upside-down, in down dog. 

—

The title was "My Year of Rest and Relaxation," which come to find out has mixed reviews on Goodreads and mentions of sadomasochism in the plot line. In other words, I'm good thanks. BUT, the words rest and relaxation stuck out. I'm at yoga trying to do just that I thought to myself. In fact just two days prior, I attended a restorative yoga class, which with bolsters and blankets and 108 minutes long was definitely the hardest class I've ever taken. What do you mean we just lay here and there are maybe 8 poses? I was floored. I finally got it. It was quiet and calm and in the stillness was an eruption of music within, the same way spring peepers come to life in the quiet of the night. A symphony I hadn't heard in a really long time. Wading through the imbalance of doing, doing, doing all the time and now allowing for myself to just be. To just be quiet. You see it's always in the quiet, in the stillness, in the moments in between where we can create space and step back and observe. 

—

In the quiet I've been cultivating, I observed a woman who was giving so so intensely and passionately to everyone around her. Wanting to create the best damn memories for her kids, the most beautiful and thoughtful homes for her clients, still want to date her ridiculously good looking husband weekly, run all the miles, and teach both the hardest and funniest yoga class in Boston all at the same time. What I observed was that same woman needs some space. And breathing room. To perhaps she should stop playing tetris with each minute of the day and instead allow for the elegance of a pause. 

—

When I stopped teaching on Fridays, my boys and I adopted the weekly ritual of going out to breakfast at the same restaurant my grandfather and my great uncle joe used to go to in the late 1950s. This place hasn't changed at all since then, not the upholstery, not the pancakes. Intention and heritage matter a lot to me, and focusing my newly freed up Friday mornings on spending time with my kids in a place that spoke to roots felt really right. Last March my grandfather was in town for one of our Friday breakfasts. We all sat up at the counter stools, him flanked by his great grandkids. And I can say without any hesitation that this will forever be one of our favorite memories ever. 

—

I think about legacy a lot. Often under the verbiage of understanding your wake. The waves or stillness you leave along and behind your path. An understanding of your impact, awareness to look for it, to take responsibility for the waves of your action or inaction. To put it bluntly, it's the difference between those who return their shopping carts to the corral and those who don't. It's part of the reason I've been teaching for what I believe is now my 15th year. To think that each one of you leaves class and brings kindness into your home and thoughtfulness into your community is so deeply fulfilling. Your studentship has been an absolutely privilege to observe. And right about now the vibe just got a little, are you breaking up with me?, but it's just a chapter change in a really good book.

Where maybe a nap is actually allowed and encouraged between chapters. Or the sweetest minute soaking up the sunshine outside. I'm craving those spaces in between. The moments of quiet where I can hear the peepers and the giggles of my children instead of rushing on to the next thing. Where I can say yes to impromptu breakfasts with people I love that won't be here forever. I don't want to look back and think why wasn't I at his kindergarten concert he was so excited about? I'll be there Brooks. I'll be there cutie.

— Samantha Arak, January 2025