Carla Jean Whitley | Ink-stained Life

Yoga and I are still in the early blush of our relationship. It’s like dating a new, wonderful man: I can’t stop talking about how great this is, how it’s different than anything I’ve experienced before, how hopeful I am for the future. I’ve been practicing for several months now, and regularly attending classes for two. We’re deep enough in this relationship to give me the confidence that it will last a while.

The instructor whose class I attended last night often asks us to set an intention for our practice. She said the word strength had come up several times in her day, and so she focused on that throughout the class.

As I hung in down dog, I ruminated on her words. Yoga is a place of strength. I’ve fallen in love with yoga for its mental benefits; because there’s such emphasis on the breath and focusing on the present moment, practicing yoga helps me slow down, eases tension and allows anything I need to deal with to bubble to the surface. It’s often a physical manifestation of mental strength, as we breathe into difficult postures and endure discomfort because we know it will lead to a greater good. And the physical results are a manifestation of that: Though it generally isn’t why I practice, I can’t deny that I love the muscle I’ve developed.

As we moved into half-pigeon, the instructor began talking about vulnerability as the opposite of strength. I’ve learned a lot about vulnerability in the past year, about letting people into my life and admitting when times are hard and I don’t have it all together. I’m an independent person, but I don’t believe people are meant to face life on their own. I’ve learned to soften and to listen to the encouragement others offer (and I think that’s shown me how strong I can be). I’m not one to quote scripture in every situation, but a portion of 2 Corinthians 12:9 came to mind: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

I’m in the middle of a rough patch, where I’m being shown both how strong I am and how many people are willing to be strong for me when I’m not capable. (I even talked to the yoga teacher before class, and she paid me special attention throughout, showing grace to a near-perfect stranger.) I’m grateful for these quiet moments when I can seek peace.

I’ve spent most of my life on intellectual pursuits. I learned to read early and have had my nose in a book until bedtime on most nights since I was 4. I sobbed when I brought home my first B. As an adult, I’ve supplemented driving and chores with podcasts. Part of the reason I love journalism is because I’m constantly learning. Yes, I spent several years as a cheerleader and dancer. But as much as I loved my increased flexibility and the adrenaline rush of performance, I was enamored by my philosophy of supporting the school and the intellectual challenge of perfecting a series of movements.

This all occurred to me tonight as I rested on my living room floor in child’s pose. I’ve never loved exercise, and I’m fortunate that my high metabolism has yet to make it an obviously pressing need. But I’m drawn to yoga because it helps me slow my mind and relax–a lesson I’ve never managed to glean from books.

This year has been filled with changes that have taught me so much. I’m still trying to develop a regular yoga habit, yes. But I’ve also branched out in other ways. It’s been a year when I’ve dated more (and found someone who I care about deeply). I’ve always had a handful of close friends, but in my teens and 20s I thought I needed to be friends with everyone. In 2011, I’ve seen my social circle shrink as I’ve begun to accept that some people are acquaintances, and I’ve seen it expand as other acquaintances become friends. I am facing exciting professional challenges as the magazine where I work approaches its 50th anniversary. I’ve seen friends struggle with too many less-thrilling challenges of their own, and I’ve tried to be supportive and apologize when I fall short.

I’ve read far fewer books in 2011 than is my norm, but I hope the lessons I’m learning make as great an impact as the knowledge I’ve always sought in more academic outlets.

Today’s subject line is a lyric from “Give Out” by Sharon Van Etten, whose music I’m currently obsessed with.

I was still comfortably ensconced in my mid-20s when I was first told the distinction between the second and third decades of life. A man I was dating turned 29 and began contemplating what 30 would have in store for him. “I’ve loved my 20s,” he said, “but I’m really looking forward to my 30s. The 20s are when you’re figuring out who you are and what you’re doing in life. I think my 30s will be when I settle into that.”

I’ve heard that theory repeated many times since, and so my enthusiastic countdown to 30 began during my 29th birthday party (which took place more than a week before my 29th birthday–the joy being born near a holiday!). Maybe I’ve placed unreasonable expectations on my 30s, but the past two-and-a-half months have been a strong start.

And I’m trying to make some concerted changes that will benefit the rest of my life. I’ve always been slim, but with the exception of five years of high school cheerleading and dance, I’ve never been much for an exercise routine. But I want to enjoy every year I’ve got, and even now, when I’m young and healthy, I feel much better about myself when I exercise. So I’m trying to develop a habit.

Yoga’s my activity of choice because it slows my otherwise-active mind, forcing me to focus on how my body feels in the present. Tonight I practiced outside at the Alys Stephens Center, my mat pointed at a towering sculpture and my breath often in sync with my friend Laura Kate. Halfway through the hour-long class, rain gently began to gently fall on us. I was skeptical at first as my mat became slick (always cautious!), but we quickly moved to ground work, where I didn’t have to worry about slipping. As cars drove through UAB’s campus and rain fell on my face, I thought to myself, “Yes. I need to make this a habit. I need to take better care of myself. I need to be in the moment, even as I plan for tomorrow.”

I hope that’s a significant part of what my 30s–and beyond–will prove to be about.