Uncomfortable February Highlights: Week 2
This month, I’m doing a daily challenge to get out of my comfort zone.
The momentum from week one did not carry through — there were setbacks and takeaways. Here are a few highlights from the second week.
Do walking meditation in public
Last week I was in New York City — this felt like the right place to subject myself to this challenge.
Walking meditation involves paying complete attention to the experience of walking — noticing your feet making contact with the ground, your arms swinging side to side, and your body moving through space. It can be done at any speed, though traditionally it’s done very slowly. Like a zombie.
On meditation retreats I generally travel at a medium-slow pace during walking meditation periods. It’s just the right speed to keep my mind engaged. I came up with the idea to include walking meditation as a “challenge” on a day-long retreat I attended in January. It took place on Melrose in East Hollywood — a busy neighborhood. Many, myself included, opted to walk outside during the walking-meditation periods. It was uncomfortable. Several kids took out their phones and took videos of us — where we undoubtedly ended up on Instagram or Snapchat.
New York City has an energy that makes me want to walk quickly. My east coast upbringing comes back in full swing, as I dive around tourists, moving quickly to get to my destination. Slowing down was going to be difficult.
I started on 14th street between 9th and 10th avenues. It was Saturday night in the city. I had just landed and thrown my luggage in my hotel room. A walk outside — at any speed — felt like a good idea.
As I turned from Washington Street onto 14th and began to walk at a normal pace, I almost pulled out. This is dumb. You can do it tomorrow. I had also, in poor planning, chosen to do this challenge on my way to dinner with a friend — and I was running late. This almost became my excuse.
Just do it. You’re already late. Another couple of minutes won’t matter.
I started, dramatically slowing down my pace to what felt like a crawl. I felt like a tourist, obnoxiously dragging myself down the gum-stained sidewalk to admire the tall buildings and sights that the Big Apple has to offer.
It was going well. No was around me. Focus on your feet. Notice all of your thoughts. Do all of the mindfulness-related-things you’re supposed to do right now…you’ve done hours of this on retreats.
After a moment, I heard a group of loud teenagers behind me. I didn’t turn around, but it sounded like at least four of them, maybe five. They were shouting and teasing each other and joking around, the way teenagers do. Gradually I could hear them catching up to me.
Ahhhh shit, I thought. They’re going to say something. I’m going to get punked by a bunch of 19 year olds.
Just as I approached the corner of 10th Ave, they caught up and passed me as we both turned left, heading north. They didn’t say a thing.
At this point I had to stop and find my subway station (a mini-adventure, given line closures and rerouted trains). Once I found my train I traveled towards Washington Street Station, where I got off to transfer to the B line.
The wait was long. So I began meditating again, walking back and forth slowly along a 20-foot long space on the platform.
I got a few looks. But this is New York I reminded myself. People see weird things all the time. This thought comforted me, the way a good friend would.
The train arrived. I got on. Challenge complete.
The takeaway? Get over what people think of you.
Hand out at least one dozen compliments
I began the day with the intent to fully complete this challenge… if you could even call it a challenge. Piece of cake.
It was most definitely not.
While it seems like a simple task on the surface, it turns out that complimenting people does not come naturally to me. This was exacerbated by the fact that I defaulted to complimenting clothing. No idea why. That’s where my mind went.
When I remembered I was “supposed” to compliment someone, I’d quickly try to find something they were wearing to compliment them about. Sure, I could have made something up (I like your shirt!) but I wanted to be authentic.
A couple of times I found something to say and almost spoke up. Then I buckled. By mid-day, I kept forgetting this was the day’s challenge.
I ended up completing two additional challenges on this day, so I didn’t feel terrible about not finishing this one. I’s been moved to a future date.
I learned that going forward I should make opportunities, not wait for them.
Attend a hip hop dance class
My friend Lauren suggested this challenge and offered to go with me. I took her up on it.
About two hours before the class, I almost backed out. My back problems were flaring up. And I was in a Cinnamon Toast Crunch Coma.
I’ll explain. The cereal bar menu at work had just changed to include this fine, sugary whole grain “cereal.” I celebrated by consuming a bowl in the morning as a post-breakfast snack. In the afternoon, I decided another bowl was in order. This was a mistake.
I felt like a delirious bag of trash. Headache. Bloated. Sluggish. Attempting to dance to hip hop did not feel like the smartest move. But I decided to push through and do it anyway.
I arrived early. Lauren invited friends — a nice surprise. As familiar faces trickled in, I felt a sense of ease. This was going to be embarrassing and possibly fun — and having friends there would make it more palatable.
This sense of ease vanished when the instructor, Ben, introduced himself to me, told me to have fun, and “don’t be afraid to get sensual!” as he slowly thrusted his hips and slid his hands down the sides of his body.
Yes, the theme of tonight’s class was Let’s Get Sensual, as tonight was Valentine’s-Day-eve.
Fuck.
Suddenly, I noticed how cool everyone around me looked: Nike sneakers, baggy sweatpants, tank tops with funny imprints like rainbow unicorns, oversized T-shirts, brightly colored tights. My friend Jenna was wearing a pullover that said NEW YORK/LOS ANGELES. She looked like a badass.
I was wearing grey gym shorts, a black Disney Tri Team moisture-wicking T-shirt, and blue Newton running sneakers.
I felt anything-but cool. My self-consciousness kicked into high gear. I’m going to stand out like an asshole, I thought.
Then the music started.
Ben walked the 50 of us though eight-counts of dance moves at a time. It started out fine. I did not have the skills or swagger to follow along entirely, but I got the hang of the first routine.
This trend did not continue.
I was with my friends in the back of the room, watching Ben up front and others near him who seemed to know what they were doing. Oftentimes it was easier to see him by looking at his reflection in the mirror. Then, I noticed that — wait for it, because this is how mirrors work — I could see myself in the mirror too!
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
My inner critic took over from here, criticizing every move, step and turn I made. After about three seconds that felt like three minutes, I decided: no more. I will not look at myself in the mirror for the rest of the class. And miraculously I did not.
Everyone around me felt like professionals. Even if they didn’t have Ben’s swagger and smooth moves, they could at least remember the choreography.
There were several turns during the routine. Not something you want to be doing when you’re already lightheaded and recovering from a sugar/carb coma. After every turn, I felt a little worse. Dizzy. The Cinnamon Toast Crunch deep in my gut started to reverse course. I took deep breaths.
As we learned more of the choreography, I began to lose track of where we were in the routine. I was always a count behind, struggling to follow along.
I have never felt more like a white, Jewish male in my life. Stiff. Awkward. The way my old doctor, Dr. Steinberg, probably is on the dance floor of his nephew’s Bar Mitzvah.
Then, just when I thought the class was almost over, there was a reveal. The moves we had been learning were — surprise! — choreographed to Beyonce’s “Naughty Girl.” Suddenly, the moves made sense (lyrics like: “The way your body moves across the floor,” and “I see you look me up and down” were perfectly timed).
We did the routine what felt like another twenty three times before the music finally stopped, ears pulsing from the constant attack of sound waves. The room applauded. Look up the textbook definition of the word “relieved.” That’s how I felt.
She may have said it to make me feel better, but Lauren claimed this was one of the hardest classes she’s taken with this teacher (“all those turns!”). I’ll take it.
I learned that hip hop is a cool type of dance (as the name would suggest, I suppose). I see the appeal and have respect for those who can learn choreography that quickly. I wish I had the skills and moves to do so. Maybe with a LOT of practice I could. As my chiropractor would say, I’d need to “open up those hips” first. Like, a lot.
Lauren and Jenna took several videos of me throughout the evening. If there’s anything worse than subjecting yourself to a hip hop dance for the first time, it’s being filmed during the process. Particularly if you do not enjoy watching videos of yourself.
I’ve decided the follow up challenge to this one will be: watch videos of myself attempting a hip hop dance class.
Here we go.
