Stop the Car

Taking the foot off the gas when life says so, and a yoga practice for the solar plexus

Last May, on a Thursday, my cousin called to tell me that my uncle, her dad, had passed away after a long struggle with Parkinson’s, and that the memorial would be the very next day, on Friday. Uncle John had been a quiet, steady presence, a collector of historical mementos and pieces of chocolate, a wry observer of life but never one to take center-stage. My aunt and uncle live about halfway in between my cousin and me, about four hours away for each of us, making the trip inconvenient but not impossible on short notice. I told her I’d do my best to be there.

Then I checked my calendar. An evening yoga class on Friday, another class Saturday morning, a long-anticipated concert in DC on Saturday evening. No problem - nothing hyper-capable me couldn’t handle. I sent a note to my Friday class letting them know that I’d be out briefly - but I’ll be back in time for Saturday’s class - and set out my dress for the next day. No need to pack a bag - just a day trip. Tick the “family obligation” box and head on home. (A little self-forgiveness here: grief is very weird.)

I headed out Friday morning and was about an hour and a half up the road when I got another phone call. Change of plans - the memorial would be on Saturday, but I was still welcome to come up to the house and spend some time with family. What happened next was not my best moment. I told my cousin that I’d have to make some calls and think about it: “I have a lot I needed to get done this weekend, but I think I can shuffle some things.”

I sat in the parking lot of a convenience store somewhere just off the Pennsylvania Turnpike and had an unflattering little internal meltdown. I couldn’t just cancel on my students. I wanted to go to that concert. Maybe I could go to the service in the morning and still make it to DC by mid-afternoon Saturday? And then I called my husband, who didn’t exactly tell me I was being a self-centered little twerp, but something in the tone of his voice as he slowly asked, “are you sure you don’t want to spend a little more time with your family?” stopped me in my tracks.

I called the studio owner, told her I wouldn’t make it for class Saturday. I texted the friend we’d been planning the concert with. I called my husband back to tell him I’d be a day or two, found the nearest Dollar General and bought a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to change into, and got back on the highway.

I spent the next two days with my aunt and cousins - crying, reminiscing, getting too little sleep, and ultimately saying goodbye to my uncle. It seems obvious now, but - my yoga students somehow forgave me for missing a class and my friends gladly took a raincheck for another concert. The world did not come to an end just because my plans changed.

Here’s the thing about death:

It is not about us.

Most of the time, people don’t select a convenient time take their final breath. The rest of us have only two choices: Press “pause” on our busy, important lives - or don’t. That’s just the deal.

An overactive ego insists that the world revolve around me, that the stars and moon align themselves nicely to my plans, my schedule. Impossible, of course, leading easily and frequently to anger and frustration.

An under-active ego is subservient to everyone else’s needs, changing course frequently, and often painfully, to accommodate others.

In contemporary yoga philosophy, the solar plexus chakra is identified as the center of our confidence, willpower, identity, and motivation. In balance, a healthy ego allows us to know exactly who we are, express boundaries, take action - and to have enough self-assurance to know that when life inevitably presents unexpected events, that’s not an assault on our identity - that’s just life. Our healthy “I” is confident, patient, and generous enough to know that other people’s needs are not a threat - that we can absolutely survive not being the main character of everyone else’s life.

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And still, after all this time,
The sun never says to the earth,
“You owe Me.”

Look what happens with
A love like that,
It lights the Whole Sky

-Hafiz

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Below: audio version of this post, and a yoga practice for the solar plexus.

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