I've never spoken to her. I've never even heard her speak, actually. But she walks her son to school everyday along the same route that I drive my kids. Her chin length curly brunette bob is always perfectly coiffed and, though she is at least 15 years my senior, her cheeks have a youthful glow. Her outfits are appropriately casual, but expertly paired and flatter her fit physique perfectly. Her excellent posture and brisk but unhurried gait exude confidence and intention.
As I watch her and her son chat pleasantly on their daily commute, my mind often wanders from the noisy minivan and wrinkled mismatched pajamas I typically find myself sitting in.
I imagine she retired to bed early the night before after putting everything in its place and curled up with a book in her silk pj's and then awoke early to meditate and sip a green smoothie while watching the sun rise. My guess is her son, who knows he can depend on her consistency is met with a smile each morning when he comes down for breakfast. Though I've never heard her voice, I'm pretty sure she has a French accent.
Might be the hair. Anyway...
Last week I stumbled on the quote "It's never too late to start being the person you want to be." This morning I thought, I am going to be this woman. Visions of my happy children and bouncy puppy trotting alongside me got me out of bed. I didn't have time to shower so I created a mostly cute ensemble of workout clothes and donned a hat in place of a tamed mane, a significant improvement from my typical greasy slept-in hair wad. Then I proceeded to cheerfully wake my children and make lunches.
45 minutes later, I desperately tried rousing the children for the 6th time and started to get seriously concerned that we might not have the 15 minutes it would take to walk from our house to school. Nevermind, I thought, we will walk quickly. As one child moaned on the couch about not being able to find socks and another shoved multiple papers and permission slips in my hands to fill out and sign, my concern increased and my blood pressure started rising. No! I thought to myself, I want to be like this Mom, calm collected and happily enjoying the sunshine with her happy children. I will make this work! I signed the papers, finished the lunches, shoved little feet into mismatched socks and yelled chirped to the kids to meet me outside. At this point it was almost the time we usually start driving, but I refused to admit defeat. The last of the 4 emerged sluggishly from the garage with his bulky instrument and groaned mightily when I informed him in sing-song voice we are walking today. I denied that we would be late, lied that we had plenty of time, grabbed his instrument and marched forward.
Instead of the pleasant stroll I had envisioned, the next 20 minutes included bickering, whining, tripping over the dog leash, skinning knees, whining some more, signing tardy passes, and sheepishly saying "have a great day!" to justifiable annoyed kids.
On the walk home I pondered on this ironic experience.
In yoga we encourage our students to stay "present" in their own body. This means paying close attention to your breath and how you feel, physically and physiologically. In a public yoga class it's tempting to want to recreate the elegant poses you've seen on your latest Athleta catalogue cover or demonstrate impressive flexibility or better balance than the yogi practicing next to you. The higher goal of yoga however is to draw your attention inward and really feel each stretch, feel the strength in your own muscles joints and work towards your own personal growth, even if it looks completely different than the practice of those around you.
As with most things in yoga, this practice of internal focus is a practice for every day life. On my walk I thought about all the visible differences between my role model and me. She lives right around the corner from the school, probably a 5 minute walk. Her son is about 10, and there is only one of him. And these are only the things I can see. Our personal life experiences are most likely drastically different and therefore our strengths and edges are potentially just as disparate.
I thought about so many mornings that I have loaded up my kids in my minivan, kids who really struggle to get out of bed, and how proud they are when we arrive before the tardy bell rings. How they love to take turns blasting favorite songs on the radio and letting their puppy sit on their lap so he can stick his head out the window. How they skip happily from the van to the school gate after giving their frumpy-pajama-wearing-mom a kiss and their puppy a scratch through the open window. Often they skip right past the woman I want to be like when I grow up as she is walking back home. And I wondered, has she ever -- for just a second -- glanced over at me with my music-blasting minivan overflowing with kids and my carefree hair wad and smiled and thought to herself,
I want to be more like her.
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