It all started with breathing.
For the past few months, Mike had been attending a crazy-sounding Effiji breathing class. He would rave about it, how they laid down on their backs and breathed in a special way just in and out through their mouths for an hour, basically hyperventilating. He would come home high as a kite and tell me how much he learned about himself each time. How he saw visions. How he loved it.
So eventually, one Monday night last month, I tagged along. "Do I need to bring a mat? A blanket?" I asked, "A pillow?"
I like to be prepared. Ready for whichever one of the dozen bizarre situations might arise. Like what if I freeze to death while breathing. "What about socks? A hoodie? I should bring a hoodie."
"Jesus, come on, you'll be fine." Mike said, "Just come."
We hopped on the scooter and rolled up to the class, which took place in a a very zen community room inside of a beautiful condo building that I hadn't been to before. People were rolling around on yoga mats and a stack of blankets were piled high in a basket for people to use. I mentally checked freezing to death off the list. I was instructed to read and sign a waiver... a waiver to breathe.
I went with it.
The nice instructor Nathalie had us all set up mats in a long row and lay on our backs. She led us through a few practice rounds of Effiji breath for those of us first-timers. We opened our mouths wide - much wider than normal and took some super deep inhales and exhales. It was not a walk in the park. "I'm supposed to do this for an hour straight?" I asked myself. And myself responded, "You're a fucking yoga instructor, Amy, I think you can breathe for an hour."
I went with it some more.
Nathalie turned the lights down, put some soothing music on and we began. The first few minutes were fine, just getting into the rhythm of breathing... and then things started to get more interesting.
The way this breath works, Nathalie explained, is that it's like a river flowing into a dry river bed. All of the water comes in and stirs up and sweeps out the debris, so channels get cleared and old feelings get awakened. About fifteen minutes in, I started to feel a tingly sensation in my hands and feet, which she said is common. Then things in my body started to unravel. I started having spontaneous movements. Something in my belly got really stirred up and it felt like that scene from Space Balls where the alien is bursting out of the dude's stomach. I was uncomfortable. Then all of a sudden, I was laughing, hard. Things released. And then it felt like I wanted to cry and curl up in a little ball and then, in a moment, it was done.
An hour had passed.
We were quietly instructed to go back to normal breathing and rest for a while, to let our bodies reintegrate. I rolled over on to my side and went into a state somewhere between sleep and wake. As I rested in that sleep, a message came to me...
It doesn't need to be so complicated, Amy.
In that moment, it was so perfectly clear. It doesn't need to be so complicated. This belief is the crux of many of my life choices. My motto might as well be why do simple when I can do complicated. Why wear the same outfit again when I can spend an hour creating a new one? Why teach the same yoga class again when I can stress myself out always trying to keep it fresh? Why simply drive when I can ride my bike?
Why take the easy route when I can make it super duper complicated?
The message hung in the air over my head, floating, until we were told we could slowly sit up and rejoin reality. As I opened my eyes in the dim light, it felt like I was somewhere other than Miami. Things felt different. I felt lighter. There was a piping hot cup of mint tea waiting for me at the top of my mat. I curled up with it and let the truth of that message sink into my body.
It can be simple, and that can be perfect.