The worst, greatest yoga class

Have you ever attended a yoga session? Does bikram, ashtanga, up dog, lotus, tree, warrior, namaste, orujjayi mean anything to you? Or do you think yoga is a quack trend for health freaks? Or maybe something else entirely? Well whatever you answered know that this is not a story about the greatness of yoga practice (although I happen to think it is quite beneficial). More importantly, this is a story about how a 90-minute class transformed hate and loathing into gut-punching self realization.

For those not familiar with yoga, it is the practice of controlled breathing while holding and transitioning between poses, and isolating various areas of the body and the corresponding mental processes. All of which is considered physical and mental preparation for the end goal of meditation.

And here's another tidbit: Yoga is not only known throughout the world for its physical and mental benefits but is also a cash cow. In a 2009 Forbes  article the annual reported revenue of yoga in the US was 5.7 billion dollars in 2008. That's billion with a B! That includes studio memberships, teacher trainings, certifications, apparel, accessories, retreats, etc. And that's not even considering the health food tie-ins. There's even an inside joke among yogis--those that practice yoga--about meeting or running into each other at Whole Foods Market after a class. Haven't you seen the Youtube videos?

Now for my story: My latest yoga session came on a beautiful sunny day with 70 degree weather. Not that I was able to enjoy this weather during practice being that it was indoors, but it does fit into my story regarding why the following events took place.  Like every session I attend there is a level of expectation; not in the sense that I want to get something out of it, but more in the sense that like anything one does, elements of one's experience become commonplace, and thus predictable. Think I'm wrong? Ask yourself how much of your day is framed by routine, whether induced by yourself or an external factor such as your job. The way I see it, we begin to need predictability in order to understand our world. We're really all philosophers on some level. So predictably, I considered this session to be what other 90-minutes sessions had taught me: that a hot and sweaty experience would leave me temporarily purged of my most recent conflictions.

Ironically I came unprepared. There's 3 things I always bring to a hot yoga class: mat, "yogi toes" (a frictionless clothe overlay that help absorbs sweat), and water bottle. I forgot to dry my yogi toes the night before. So when getting ready to leave, I went to the laundry room only to find that it was still damp; left in the washer. So I had to make do. Instead I brought a hand towel thinking that I could wipe away the sweat on the mat as I practiced. This was a gross miscalculation.

When I entered the studio it was already quite hot; more than usual. I supposed that this was heat generated from the previous class. However as the session progressed, the instructor made no effort to reduce the temperature. Most classes' temperature sits around 93 degrees, today's was well over that. Thirty-minutes into the class it felt like 100.

Trying to focus on breathing and my poses, I noticed that my mat was quickly accumulating a pool of my own sweat. I began to diligently swab the areas where I placed my hands and feet but this became futile when I realized I was spending more time swabbing and less time yogiing. Distraction is the force that keeps one from the balance we seek on the mat. I was now entering that arena.

As the session continued anger began to build. Why was I so stupid to forget to dry my yogi toes! I thought. As my mat reached its sweat capacity my hands and feet squeaked with every move. How embarrassing. I began to curse the yoga instructor for allowing the temperature to rise to this point of exhaustion.

I looked at my water bottle. It was empty. Shit! I thought. Now I had to leave and get more water. I was ambivalent. To get water would mean I could release myself from this this self-ridicule for a moment but not without acknowledging to myself and everyone else that I giving in. This was ironic since at this point I was already taking child's pose--an inverted resting position--more than actually following along with the group. Pride. Vanity.

Water bottle refilled I made my way back to the studio only to find another student resting outside the door. We exchanged looks and commiserated. Yeah it was damn hot in there we both agreed. Was the instructor a sadist? I decided to man up and re-enter.

Five minutes later and re-synchronized with the class, I had drunk half of my water. The pool on my mat had now moved onto the floor, passed my mat and almost onto the yogi next to me.  Grrr! I thought, this is stupid why subject myself to this! And what the hell is wrong with this instructor!? Did she get joy out of the fact that half of her class was comatose already? I understand the logic of the yoga practice and the instructor to a certain degree--overcome adversity on your mat and you can overcome anything--but this is crazy! And then it hit me. SNAP!

Like a 2x4 to the head I realized (like most periods of self-realization) that I was only doing this to myself. That I was only experiencing this for myself. Not one single other yogi could claim to be experiencing the EXACT same thing I was. Nor could I do the same for them. I was projecting all of my inner destruction outward instead of letting it pass into the ephemeral abyss of relative thinking. Every emotion, every movement, every breath was a simulation of the real world. My mat was a microcosm of my life. Pushed to the limit I was susceptible to anger, loathing, self-ridicule, and isolation. Did my instructor know she was a genius? On some level she knew that we would need to be pushed much harder today.

On a beautiful spring day, when throngs of people escaped their artificial air-circulated cubicles; rubbing and readjusting their eyes from the tungsten-lighted catacombs they emerged onto to the day with hope that the world was inviting them out for a time of frolic. Yet yoga students found their way back inside for a period of self-discipline and evaluation. This act of our fortitude speaks volumes for the ways in which we live our lives. Not to say that those not yogiing are lesser in some way, but as yogis are concerned we need more from life. A sunny day is wonderful and will be appreciated, but our discipline grounds us in yoga practice come rain or shine. Or maybe we're just insane.

Insane or not. Our instructor knew the score: a beautiful day called for a beautiful practice. And a beautiful practice equated to the hottest yoga session in years. Can you push yourself to meet your own expectations? Well until the 2x4 I didn't. So the worst yoga class offered up enough wisdom to put in my back pocket for another day. Of course on the sunny ones I will remember to bring my yogi toes.

J.M.

The Squirrel

Note: I'm working on a few news things but until then here is a re-post of a note I wrote almost a year ago. I've also added a section that I thought was appropriate.


My local Starbucks is only two streets from me so I patron it quite often. With spring burgeoning I have the opportunity to actually enjoy my walks now. Although blustery, today's weather was fairly pleasant, and given my cooped-up weekly cubicle anytime outside has its advantages. Turning the bend I saw a squirrel marooned in the street, an ocean of asphalt between it and the safety of the grass.

At first I thought it already a sacrifice to the road gods; given the time of year this becomes commonplace in the Forest City. Unfortunately no squirrel sits in the middle of traffic unless it has been injured. As are distance decreased I was able to see that one of the squirrel’s hind legs was broken; bent at an awkward angle. Even so, it would scuttle a bit, make an attempt toward the safety of the trees only to be blocked by most recent oncoming death machine (could I even imagine what a car looked like from it’s perspective?). Given the afternoon traffic this was a perilous fete. Luckily each driver was aware of it’s predicament and swerved out the way. But tell this to the squirrel, it doesn't know that each car was making an effort, making its chances of reaching the curb slightly better (given the injuries). So with each oncoming car it froze or retreated it's hard fought advance. 

It hurt me to see it like that so I waited until the cars passed and stepped into the street shielding its way to the curb. Unfortunately it didn't move. I could see its little leg bent and its rapid breathing. I was anthropomorphizing the event: this experience was absolutely terrifying. I wasn't sure if I should touch it so I nudged it with my boot hoping it would scamper away. However, it pretended that it was dead (who knew squirrels played possum). I had no other choice but to pick it up and move it. I had to, I was committed. Psychologists call this the diffusion of responsibility--the number of people available to help someone in distress is inversely correlated with the likelihood of the person receiving some form of assistance. I guess in my mind I have applied this rule to animals as well.

I picked it up. The squirrel was light enough to be picked up with one hand; I could feel its ribs moving (it was much lighter than I always thought a squirrel would be). It gave a short defiant squawk but nothing more. Although the thought had crossed my mind that I could have been bitten I somehow justified my action as being worth it. I mean I couldn't just walk away knowing that I could increase this squirrel’s chance of survival.

I placed the squirrel down on the soft pine-needled covering of the nearest houses lawn, no more than 10 feet from the street. It just stayed there not moving. The rest was up to the squirrel, so I continued my journey to Starbucks...

...After 3 hours of work and 2 tall bolds with skim milk (gotta lay off the fat) I headed home. The sky was a perfect blue and the wind died down to periodic gusts. The sunshine was a remedy to all those days of gray. I love days like this I told myself, it jump starts the soul. The bend was up ahead. I was hoping that the squirrel was not back in the middle of the street. You can never tell what an animal’s intentions are. Maybe I put it on the wrong side of the road. What if it needed to go to the other side of the street and all I did was make it’s chances harder.

Coming up on the yard where we parted ways I saw no sign of the squirrel in the street. There was one happily consuming a nut nearby. It noticed me then scampered away. No broken leg, it wasn't the one. I stopped at the same tree and looked; nothing. I was exhilarated in that moment. Somehow it managed to survive and on 3 legs no less, I thought to myself. However, as my eyes followed the grass toward the house there it was dead. The squirrel was lying on its back, head to the side. It was a male. There was no sign of breathing. I stood there for some time trying to pick out any small movements as the wind would lift its tail to and fro, but nothing happened; no rising of the chest or squirms or sounds. He obviously had more dire injuries than were visible. 

I reflected on the prior moments: me finding him, trying to get him to safety, leaving him to continue on, and even the disconnect of three hours where my world of coffee house music, chatting people, espresso machines, and psychology papers diverged from the simplified survivalist experiences of suburban wildlife. All of this had some meaning to me and if I thought about it long and hard it would make sense (or at least I thought this, which is usually how my mind works things out anyways). Eventually the time to move on felt right so I silently acknowledged the experience and wished the animal off, hoping his life was not entirely in vain.

As I finished my walk home I thought some more about my actions. I wanted to believe he had an easier death on a plush green lawn than in the street. I had to think this or else my actions would have been futile. It occurred to me that at some point in deciding to move him that I was embodying some "savior archetype" that I had inside me; “if I move you, you will live." Retrospectively, I would have done it even if I'd have known his outcome. What this all seemed to point to was simply this: although we all die alone, we shouldn't have to do it in the middle of a road.

J.M.

New post, newer blog

When it comes to writing--that is weaving tales, ideas, and intelligent responses--I have always had a knack. What I haven't had a knack for is the transition from head to paper. Of course there are those that would snicker and say you're not a writer until it's penned but I also know that there are plenty of people on the flip-side nodding in agreement with me. At times ideas flow like water in my mind from some inspiring life event. They can be grandiose like some solution to a social problem or mundane like a smart quip about the interactions of two people in conversation. Whatever the topic though, it's not beneficial to the writer to not pen it. That's why this new post is also an introduction to the new direction of this blog.

Title still uncertain, this blog will encompass whatever I feel like contributing. Why constrict myself to one area of interest when my interests are many: video gaming, psychology, film, people, philosophy, yoga, science fiction, fantasy, classic literature, history, world events, etc. This also helps me have something always to contribute and generate a more steady stream of content. Let's face it, 2 posts in 3 years is 2 posts away from this blog never existing. Be that as it may, I never considered the posts shoddy in any way nor without purpose.

At the time of the blogs construction it was important for me to discuss video games and psychology. I wanted to find a way to speak up the marriage of the two subjects in a readable and welcoming forum.  Unfortunately I found it difficult to write about without gravitating towards scholarly jargon and APA-like formatting (abstract, intro, body, conclusion, and citing sources). Granted I was still in graduate school so maybe it was difficult for me to observe other ways of writing an idea. With that, my third post was too term paperish and papers aren't always interesting.

So I hope expanding my writing venue will propagate a better contribution-rate on my behalf. In the end though, it is always up to the writer (me) to take ideas and vocalize them in some way. Devote yourself fully to your craft and never look back on your achievements as lesser than their intention. Good luck to all writers, bloggers, novelists, satirists, journalists, and contributors in creating masterful works of all shapes and sizes.

J.M.

Video games: Don't blame them, understand them

Video games get a lot of flak from the mainstream media for being contributors of violence, mayhem, and sexual bias for the innocent minds of our youth. Interestingly, I've done my share of academic reading into the mechanisms of video game influence and unfortunately it's still a toss-up as to what video games are actually contributing--in addition to entertainment. Psychologists seem to be in favor of reporting the negative aspects of video games--aggressive behavior, thinking, and emotion--and ignoring the emerging evidence of positive contributions--prosocial behavior, problem solving, visual-spatial coordination. However, I'm not surprised since the video game industry has monetary motivation to churn out games that keep people coming back for more.

Currently the target audience for the industry is males 18 -35 years of age, similarly to the movie industry's audience for action movies. Therefore, there should be no shock that similar games are produced (e.g. GTA series, Halo series, God of War series, and COD series). Of course kids are still playing these games but this is not the government's responsibility to enforce as noted by the recent string of congressional hearings (CNET, June 2, 2006) and state laws banning or fining the sale of violent or sexually explicit games to minors (Wikipedia:Video game controversy). 

The ESRB already established a rating system for video games similar to the MPAA's moving ratings and the music industry's labeling of albums with explicit material. Parents/guardians are responsible for the child's choices as it should and always has been. If media wants to point blame direct it toward them (of course they wouldn't because they might loose viewership).

Furthermore, last time I walked into a video game store I noticed that Nintendo tends to cater to a wider demographic of gamers. Given that the console out sells the other two (USA Today, Jan. 14, 2011)that is saying something for the industry--Have you noticed that recent attempts by Microsoft and Sony to jump on the motion-controlled bandwagon? A quick glance at the consoles titles suggests that character driven games are still popular among the general audience (Mario, Zelda, Metroid, Pokemon, Sonic the Hedgehog, Professor Layton, etc.). Furthermore, the Nintendo portable system (currently DS, and the soon to be release 3DS) indicates a similarly strong influence of character driven titles while also offering games suited to the two-screen touch capability (e.g. puzzles, RPGs, 2D side scrollers). The DS has also outsold every piece of video game hardware on the market (VGChartz, July 1, 2010). In general, Nintendo has sold over 700 million console units combined which obliterates the more adult title driven PS3, Xbox 360, and PSP--about 400 million combined units.

So why do the talking heads provide filtered information? Walter Lippmann once said that our lives are so busy, so used to grabbing information on the go, that we fill in the grey areas with stereotypes. Cognitive and social psychology backs this up. Moreover, Lippmann pointed to the responsibility of the media to provide information accurately in order that what little information was grasped by the public was accurate (from Public Opinion). This was said in 1922! Currently where is the accountability?

My advice: Don't listen to media reporters. Instead, use them as springboards and investigate an issue in your own way. We live in the most technologically accessible time in human history. With little more than a modem and a computer anyone can have innumerable opportunities to seek information.

As far as video games go, I love them; they have been part of my life since a was a wee one and I will seek information to defend the medium as long as the facts exist. I wouldn't expect less from anyone else in their search for answers to anything.

If you are interested in video games beyond playing them an old but still relevant book by Loftus and Loftus is a good place to start, "Mind at Play: The Psychology of Video Games," (1983). Check your local library or your favorite bookseller. I bought my copy for less the $10.

There are also plenty of online places where people have blogged about video games: 1up.com is good for general information, as well as, Gamespot, and ign. Of course these are just of few of the many sites out there. Some interesting blogs I've come across are The Psychology of Video Games and the now defunct Ludology.

The bottom line is: Play video games; enjoy them, but don't take them too seriously. Also don't believe everything you read (not even this blog!); instead make your own rationale decisions about things you seen and hear in the media. Lastly, educate yourself by seeking answers. Life is too short to be lived just nodding your head. 

Happy gaming.

Why I love video games

Greetings World (Wide Web)!

For those who don't know me my name is Jason and I love video games.  I am 30 years old and have been captivated by colorful bits on screens for 23 years.  My first memory of anything video game related came in the hallway outside my third grade classroom.  While waiting in line for something that I can't remember (we always had to wait in lines for things didn't we?) someone had a magazine with a colorful cartoon-like figure jumping over a mushroom and a frog-looking thing hot on its tail.  It was animated as if it were a photo taken of some world where cartoons came to life and did fantastic things.  It the first issue of Nintendo Power with Mario being chased by King Wart in Super Mario Bros. 2.

While this was intriguing to me it was pandemonium for others.  Never before had I seen this sort of crazed reaction to something in a magazine.  Kids started calling out to this boy--I'll call him Stan--as if he had Willie Wonka's golden ticket.  He was for that moment the most popular kid on the second floor of Upson Elementary School. They were negotiating things like being his best friend or doling out their lunch money.  All for only a glimpse at this wonderful periodical.  What was it they wanted to see?  I had to know.  I was able to push into the jumble of craning necks and stretched out hands and arms to see that what was in the magazine were pages full of little screens depicting the level layout of the video game on the cover.  I made sure to act like I knew what everyone was talking about.  Thus began the wheels turning in my head.

I grew up during what video game historians call the resurrection of the video game industry.  From 1983 to 1984 the industry experienced an economic crash that would last well into the decade.  At the time, arcades and home consoles shared dominance but it was the home console war that imploded leaving a large crater (and some say many landfills of unused over-produced games).  With Atar, Intellivision, and ColecoVision having competing consoles as well as the recent addition of third-party game developers the market became flooded with merchandise due to over-projected sales outcomes and many companies subsequently folded.  Fast forward to 1988, since 1985 the Nintendo Entertainment System--known familiarly as the NES--was gaining momentum as the popular choice of kids to play games at home. Commercial marketing was effective with a tie-in television shows such as "The Super Mario Bros. Super Show" and "Captain N: The Gamemaster", commercial ads for games like the Legend of Zelda, and a tie-in breakfast serial featuring Maria and Link from the Zelda games.  By 1991 the NES was ubiquitous enough to have a reduced price of $100 and come with a the Super Mario Bros./Duck Hunt combo cartridge which was a great buying incentive and probably aided the Mario franchise's popularity.  Nintendo saved the extinction of video gaming and will forever be remembered for this contribution.

So I have rambled on enough now that you are probably saying, "Dude get to the point," so I will.  My love for video games can be surmised by Sigmund Freud, pioneer of psychoanalytic psychology.  Foundational to his theories of human development are the Pleasure Principle and Reality Principle.  Freud supposed that humans are hedonists because they traverse life seeking pleasure and avoiding pain.  Throughout the life cycle, humans obtain new strategies to handle this dichotomy.  As a child, seeking pleasure is raw and uncontrolled which explains why a child may throw a tantrum when denied something such as a toy or snack.  As we grow and mature we begin to understand that the things that make us happy (i.e. pleasures) are not always readily available but delayed be obstacles.  In short, life gets in the way and we must find ways around these obstacles to obtain our pleasures.  These obstacles are part of Freud's Reality Principle and hallmark to the idea that hard work reaps rewards.  My own experiences can attest to this.

Ever since that episode in the hall I was obsessed with getting a Nintendo controller in my hands.  Of course there was no shortage of kids in the neighborhood with an NES, so most of my hang out spots ended up being other kids' living rooms.  I began to pick kids to hang out with because they had an NES.  One kid even told me that his mom said I only befriended him just to play The Legend of Zelda (I'm not proud of this but its true.  He was at least two years younger than me which went against the neighborhood social hierarchy).  I was on a mission to consume as many hours of game time as possible and it was only a matter of time before I began to envision my own opportunities to covet this wondrous piece of technology.

Christmas 1989:  In my family Christmas and birthdays were your best chance of getting cool new stuff.  Therefore I naturally made the logical connection that what I wanted (Nintendo) was what my family wanted to get me.  Like Ralphie from "A Christmas Story" I daydreamed then dreamed then daydreamed then dreamed...I even made sure to plant subtle hints to my family:

Me: Hey mom!
Mom: Yes?
Me: Can I get a Nintendo Entertainment System for Christmas?
Mom: (Leery) What's that?
Me: It' this really cool...gibberish, gibberish gibberish...(a kid's version of explaining anything they want is loaded with cool, awesome, and amazing and spoken really fast as if the brain is trying to mouth is trying to keep up the images generating in the brain.)
Mom: How much is it?
Me: Only $100 (it was actually $150 but who's counting).
Mom: No that's too expensive.
Me: Aww come on Mom!?

Yes I was a smooth operator.  However I was not dismayed yet.  I continued to project thoughts of acquiring a Nintendo and made sure to talk and think about it as much as possible.  I even memorized the size of NES Control Deck box and its printed images for future daydreaming.  In psychology this is defined as magical thinking: one's way of rationalizing causal events through seemingly unrelated thoughts, actions, utterances, etc.

Christmas Day I was nervous and excited at the same time.  Under the tree were gifts of all shapes and sizes and I easily sized each up.  In my house everyone took turns opening a gift from their presorted pile while the parents judged one or two to be special enough to be moved up or down the queue.  Again the reality principle took effect as I surveyed the presents and made sure to keep the ones that looked like my coveted NES for last.  As the unwrapping commenced I was beat back by unwanted clothes and gifts deemed "useful" by my mother but all was not lost as my resolve remained steady until the last few gifts.

Of the potential candidates to be an NES Control Deck was a indiscriminate garbage bag listed as "From Santa"; now of course I had already know for at least two years that Santa was Mom but for my sister's sake we both received stuff from the Jolly Ole Elf.  Whatever was in the wrapping was heavy; much heavier than what I expected.  At this point I was pretty certain that my dreams of a NES this year were trashed (pun) but I was not expecting what sat on the floor before me.  I opened the bag and saw a tacky blue vinyl bowling ball bag.  I unzipped it to find a marble red eight pound bowling ball.  Etched in the surface was Brunswick Lucky Strike in cursive.  My brain went blank.  Deep in the recesses of my mind something stirred like a ambulance siren getting closer and closer but this was more like a tone or ringing.  Then crack!  Tears leaked down my beet-red face.  I sobbed uncontrollably.  All my pent-up energy, stored over the months, was harnessed into that moment and released into a geyser of anger, frustration, and sadness.  How did my Mom misread all my signals!  How did she reach the conclusion that a bowling ball could replace the sheer elation that could be derived from the pixilated awesomeness on our 20-inch Mitsubishi!? In the words of DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, "Parents just don't understand."

It would be another two years until I was able to obtain my own NES.  After that infamous Christmas day I understood that somethings needed to be earned.  Freud would say that I had reached the point where the reality principle took over the pleasure principle leading me to a more mature level of cognitive development.  By 1991 my paper route earned me enough to go to the local Toys'R'us and walk out with my own NES.  I handled the beautiful glossy box as if it was a new born infant, gently laying in my mom's trunk to make the trip home.  Never comprehending the sheer complexity that a television and a cable box could offer I had the NES up and running by my bed time.  But all was right in the world.  There would be plenty of time to spend after school jumping Mario over goombas and koopas in the Mushroom Kingdom; and as my story unfolded video games became an integral part of my life.  With every city I have lived and every dorm room, apartment, and now condo, there has been a Nintendo console sitting next to my television--from the cathode rays to the plasma.

Everybody has a story to tell.  Mine happens to be how video games have shaped and keep shaping my life;  how the complexity we call human behavior meshes (or not) with this modern-day activity.  With each post I plan to offer a topic that combines the psychology behind our behaviors and the video gaming world in a hopefully fresh, educational, and enjoyable way.  Currently I am finishing up my Masters in Psychology to fulfill my interest in the crossover area of behavior and video gaming.  I hope those who read my posts will enjoy my take on this subject and I welcome comments, questions, and ideas.

Happy gaming!

Jason