Someone asked me what I do when I don’t have a lot of time to practice.

(Brief sidebar: getting asked questions, as if I know THE answers, is funny. A friend told me I receive questions because I’m accessible. Oh, I guess that’s why in New York City people often asked me for subway directions, even though I only knew how to get to my yoga studio, my job and my apartment — nothing else. Oh, and I have no sense of direction. I’m sure I led many non-English/French speaking people astray. I tried. I smiled (well sometimes. I was pretty set on an angry bitch face when I wandered about NYC). I did my best, as I try to do here. I should be done with this sidebar but instead I’m going to beat this idea dead, kind of the way peanut butter-based restaurants post signs about nut allergies. So let me add this–

Disclaimer: I am not an expert in anything except my own experience, i.e., my own lack of expertise.)

Now, where were we?

I’ve struggled with ashtanga practice because for a long time I couldn’t figure out how to fit this idea I had of ashtanga into my life. Now, I’ve emerged from beginner overwhelm  and summer doubt better than ever. Better, because I practice six days a week (ok, sometimes five), even when school is canceled over rain– yes, RAIN– and I practice during school hours. I’ve almost given up on there being any preschool for all of January. Does this make me worried about my practice? Not much. Sure, I try to plan the week perfectly– it’s worth the attempt to carve out a practice tunnel– but something invariably spills all over my perfect plans.

I’ve found that dealing with these interruptions is one of the most enriching aspects of practice.

When I used to be harder on myself, when I used to be all or nothing, when I used to jettison practice at the slightest roadblock or time crunch– I tended to have a few days of long practice and a few days of none. So “try another approach.” Making the time crunches, roadblocks and interruptions part of practice instead of at odds with it has made my practice better, more consistent, more meaningful– and get this, the results show up not just in my ability to maintain my asana repertoire (hey look at that — my leg still goes behind my head!), but in my ability to attain peace with life.

I’ve discovered that it makes a HUGE difference to “do what I can do” on an unexpected “snow day” — Surya A &B and some closing, or through the essential standing postures (Parsvottanasana) and then some closing, as opposed to saying “f&%k it”

Yes, I have a moment of annoyance upon hearing of the school closure…A moment of “I don’t have time for this sh*t. I don’t have time for this ridiculous snow day, this appointment on Wednesday, this travel next week, all this stuff interrupting my stream of practice. And you know what? I’m right. I don’t have time for this sh*t, that is, these wasteful mental babblings. So I’ve adopted all this unexpected sh*t into the rhythm of life and practice and you know what? The unexpected sh*t isn’t an obstacle anymore. I can practice in my living room while Dora the Explorer sings. I can practice A &B. I can listen to my breath for a few minutes. I have time for that. And if I still need more juice (I am, after all, part crazy, like one of those dogs who needs to run bonkers around the dog park so he doesn’t chew up everything in the house), I’ll take my daughter to the climbing gym with me. I no longer force the yoga to be everything — fitness, psychologist, doctor, etc) in my life. I let it enhance what’s there.

Samyama is interrupted concentration, uninterrupted concentration, and absorption. It’s all happening at the same time. The interruptions in meditation are part of the meditation. We can continue and nothing is ruined.

The interruptions in life are life.

~Lady Ruth Lauer-Manenti, “Life’s Interruptions,” from her book, Sweeping the Dust.

It’s not that I don’t have time to practice. It’s not that I don’t have time for a snow day. It’s that I don’t have time to forget that the interruptions to my desired practice are practice.