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My best friend of 16 years recently sat at my kitchen table alongside my toddler as I used to be making dinner. Sooner or later while we were sipping wine and catching up, she mentioned how calmly I used to be moving throughout the kitchen.

Her comment stopped me in my tracks. I’ve at all times felt somewhat frantic once I cook. Actually, I’ve at all times felt somewhat hasty in almost all the pieces I do. Every day, I juggle working part-time as a yoga and meditation teacher, caring for our toddler and baby, and cooking dinner every evening. Like most individuals today, I’m rushed. After I chop broccoli, flecks of green florets fly like confetti.

Just a few weeks after my friend shared that statement, my mother got here to stick with us. As I used to be prepping dinner one evening, she made a surprisingly similar remark about my pace.

They were right. I used to be moving with a way of ease that felt vaguely familiar yet altogether recent to me while cooking. As an alternative of my usual clanging of pots and pans and mess piling up within the sink, there was something almost rhythmic and graceful in the way in which I used to be moving. I slowed my cadence while chopping vegetables so I could soak up the colourful colours. I stirred ingredients with steadiness and surety slightly than quickly dumping all of them together. There was even a sort of calm in the way in which I plucked cilantro leaves from their stems, a task that I used to dislike.

Something had definitely shifted.

Moving With Haste

After I began practicing yoga, I craved fast-paced movement. I remember feeling so frustrated when teachers would ask us to stay in postures for even five breaths. I desired to rush through each posture so I could get on with my day, as if I used to be checking things off an inventory. Savasana was especially agonizing for me. As I lay there, attempting to not fidget, I’d impatiently count the seconds until the teacher would end class. I used to be almost at all times the primary person to roll up my mat and slip out of the studio. Then I might race to the showers so I could make it back to work on time.

Similarly, when 5:30 pm got here around, my kitchen could be mayhem with me swiftly throwing dinner together within the shortest period of time possible. This often resulted in some a part of the meal being burnt and pots needing to soak overnight just so I could scrape the residue of my haste off of them.

I’ve at all times had a hustle kind of nature to my personality. And since I’ve at all times been praised for a way much I could quickly and efficiently accomplish, I made getting things done my personal metric for achievement.

But I don’t think I ever realized how much I used to be rushing in all places in my life.

Finding My Pace

Sooner or later in my yoga practice, I started to truly let myself be within the postures without anticipating what got here next. I began to listen to what my body was doing. I observed the way in which the periphery of my back foot connected strongly to the bottom underneath me. I noticed how far more ease I felt in balancing poses once I breathed evenly and gazed steadily.

With practice, commitment, and patience, I discovered that I could cultivate an experience of steadiness and ease in my yoga practice. That is the sthira-sukham asanam that Patanjali describes in Yoga Sutra 2.46, a phrase that’s typically translated as “postures needs to be stable and cozy.”

As I learned to let myself find presence and even pleasure in the method, I ended rushing to depart after class. I let other students shower before me. I even began to feel less frustrated once I missed the train.

What we learn in our practice inevitably extends into the remainder of our lives. For me, meaning experiencing more pleasure within the kitchen than I ever would have expected. As an alternative of rushing the method, I slow it down by chopping and measuring ingredients hours before dinner. I also include my family in deciding what to make and even destemming herbs, which shifts something that used to feel like a secular task into time spent together.

Don’t get me improper, I still rush occasionally. But I now not wish to do anything with haste. After we move fast—on our mats, within the kitchen, or in life—we miss the method, the moments of grace. And there’s as much to be gained in the method, if no more, as there’s in what results.

About Our Contributor

Neeti Narula is a yoga and meditation teacher and the Director of Mindful Movement at THE WELL in Latest York City. Her classes are inspired by various schools of yoga. She is thought for teaching alignment-based classes infused with thematic dharma and yoga philosophy. Neeti believes that the way in which you progress and breathe in your mat shapes the way in which you progress and breathe in your life. You possibly can practice along with her in person at THE WELL or at Modo Yoga NYC. To learn more about Neeti, take a look at her Instagram @neeti.narula.