In the middle of Sun B this morning at my yoga class, and I see a text message come through on my phone. However fully present class I try to be, I have to remain aware of my phone; if one or both of my children need something during class, then the women who run the daycare at the gym have to call me, and I have to answer and respond. So I leave my phone close enough to my yoga mat so I can see if someone calls, or, in this case, texts.
I get a text, and I read the text, and I’m in plank and then I’m not in plank and I am thinking of how to best respond to the text and I am not fully present — in fact, I am not focusing on what my body is doing at all — and I realize that I have no idea where, in the flow, I am, and then I realize that my body is where it is supposed to be, keeping up with the rest of the class, and that I haven’t missed anything.
My body knew what to do, even when I wasn’t thinking about what to do, and if my body knows what to do, even when I’m not thinking about what to do, can the same be said for the heart?
Is how we love hard-wired into us?
And I realize that the heart is not where love lives. But I like thinking that the heart is where love lives.
And I think I like thinking that who we are when we are in relationships is the same regardless of the person with whom we’re in a relationship. If you’re a candy and flowers guy, then you are a candy and flowers guy, regardless if your lover actually enjoys candy and flowers. Or if you like surprises or don’t like surprises or can’t keep a secret to save your life, all of these things are true regardless of the situation.
And if our hearts — my heart — is hard-wired to love in a given way, regardless of the circumstances, does that mean that it never learns? Or does the learning become part its programming? Heart 2.0, and 3.0, and 4.0, etc.
All of these thoughts and questions while I am going through the poses, and the text message pops up again — twice my phone will show me a message — and then my phone goes dark and no one else tries to get me while I am in class.
After class, I responded to the text the way I responded to the text, and I picked up my kids, asked Avery what he wanted for lunch, reminded Aurora of the flaffel she has recently discovered and loves, and let Avery push the button on the elevator to take us to the level of the parking garage where I had parked my car . I didn’t have to tell Avery which button to push. I park on the same level every day. And he knows the level. It has become part of his daily routine, his muscle memory, so to speak.
And I wonder if Avery and Aurora are learning now how they will love someone some day.