My Hooping Attachments

"Renunciation is not getting rid of the things of this world, but accepting that they pass away."
~~Aitken Roshi



Do you have a hoop that you are particularly attached to? Or perhaps a spinning skirt, shirt or out of this world pair of pants that make you feel hooptastic when you're in your flow? While these “things” to others may seem inconsequential, as we gaze upon them we are flooded with images and emotions that are assuredly powerful. My Buddhist nature tells me to let go of attachments, yet I still find myself holding on to a few certain hoop items which produce deep nostalgia.

My hoops themselves often hold energy having moved me through life experiences and transitions. I may use a particular hoop for years or just months. It depends on my station in life, the hoop size, the type of hoop I am using at the time, what my body needed. Changing a hoop is often as easy as changing the tape, letting go of past energy and bringing in the new spirit. To share a secret though, I, personally, am not one to hold too tightly to a hoop (except the one I am currently using). So what, you may ask, are my hooping attachments? Well, until a few days ago I’m not sure I could of answered that question. And then "it" happened.

I was teaching at the yoga studio where I hold my classes. It was a full class of bright-eyed, spunky children and a couple of moms. I left reveling in the uncomplicated, innocent joy created there. I loaded the hoops in my station wagon, my bag of supplies, and all other necessary items I had carried with me. As I drove away from the studio, I reached for my water bottle and swore out loud when I realized I had forgotten it. I immediately turned the car around.

Back at the studio, one of the owners, Dan, helped me look around the few places I possibly could have left it. I started to feel a strange sensation in my chest that I quickly pushed away. "Umm, Bonnie it’s just a water bottle," I tried telling myself. I told Dan it must be in the parking lot or I missed it in my car somehow. We began looking for it outside, my heart slowly sinking. It wasn’t in my car or anywhere near where I had parked. Getting in the car to drive away, that's when I saw it, on the ground, near the stop sign. Excitement filled me until I picked it up. The aluminum had been crushed. It had obviously run over by a car, probably mine, after being left on top of the wagon while I loaded the hoops. Unexpected tears began to brim.

What? Was I was actually crying because my water bottle was destroyed? I mean I know I’m emotional and all, but this was just a water bottle. Or was it? I looked at it again and stared at the two stickers on it, both HoopPath stickers...old school HoopPath stickers they don't make anymore. My eyes welled up more. Memories flooded my heart and mind. This water bottle had traveled with me everywhere for years, even more than my hoops did. I took it to every Monday night Maidan hoop class in Carrboro, to every hooping event I'd ever attended. I nursed my babies with this bottle by my side. When I traveled anywhere, I brought my water bottle. Even on planes I would go through the hassle of emptying it and packing it for that constant reassurance. I'd even brought it on dates (ok weird I know). It was like an aluminum snuggly blanket full of life giving water that nourished me and reminded me, through the stickers, of my tribe, and of three vital stages of life learning “Belief, Strength, Grace”. Now, it was mush. I couldn’t believe I had to throw it away.

Metaphors being as they are, I've since recognized that it was the right time. I moved from Carrboro to Detroit nine months ago, and this was the perfect moment to physically let go of what I’ve been holding onto so tightly. All of those memories, people, love, they'll always be a part of me, even without my security water bottle. As I search for a new water bottle, I’m excited to put a Detroit Fire Guild sticker along side a HoopPath sticker I have packed away. I am fully embracing my journey where ever it is taking me. Most likely with my water bottle, for me a sign of the life water gives, always by my side. We may develop our hooping attachments, but they come and go right on schedule.

Glorious Muscle Memory

This week, just as Hooping.org’s 30/30 Challenge was kicking off, I took my four- and six-year-old ice skating for the second time in their lives. I, myself, have not skated in over 20 years and was surprised to find how quickly I picked it back up. While my immediate thoughts turned towards hooping (“Wow, wouldn’t it be fun to do today’s 30/30 on ice skates”), I also was surprised at how naturally my body fell back into rhythm with the feel of the ice, skates on my feet, and mixing the two together. Initially, I gave this only a moment of thought as I returned my focus to the task at hand; teaching the boys some basic skating skills.

Have you ever wondered how your body changes from struggling to keep the hoop up, or fighting to learn a new move, to then doing it effortlessly? Yes, practice, practice, practice is essential. But why is it that when we first start hooping we have to hoop with fierce intensity to maintain the hoop’s rhythm, but as time goes on we are able to slow down, almost to where our body appears to barely be moving to keep the rotation afloat? Simply put, it is muscle memory.

Muscle memory is a glorious method of learning where our muscles, simply by repetition, are able to move more fluidly and fluently. Continuous repetition of an action allows our bodies to then perform the action nearly effortlessly. In hooping, by practicing a move or trick frequently, our long term muscle memory takes over and soon we are able to execute the task, often without thinking. Just think of the saying, “You never forget how to ride a bike.” It’s all about muscle memory!

Back at the skating rink, while I was teaching the boys the basics, and watching them fall repeatedly and then dust themselves off and get back up again with joy, my thoughts, for moments at a time, turned back to hooping again. I love the learning process. I find it absolutely enthralling to watch a student go from fear of picking up the hoop during his/her first class to rocking it in both currents, and perhaps learning a move or two by the time the hour has ended. Surely some people don’t learn as quickly and are maybe only able to hoop for 5 minutes (or 5 revolutions) by the end of the first class, but still progress has been made. Muscle memory is being formed, and this I find oddly fascinating. Seriously, I relish in the magnificence of what memories our bodies hold, and how our muscles retain memory and help us hoop or learn other new skills.

As we continued to skate, I could see the boys falling less, pushing with their feet more, laughing harder, and their muscle memory growing and growing. I took notice that not once during this learning process, through all the falls and bumps on the ice, did either one of them EVER say , “Mama, I just can’t do this.” I began to reflect on my own erudition with hooping and how many times, even just in passing, I said “Oh I can’t do that, yet…” What powerful words, “I can’t”. Even just the subtlety of the words “I’ll try” vs. “I’ll do it.”. After all the brain is a muscle too, to be exercised, to gain muscle memory. What kind of muscle memory had I been giving it?

The 30/30 challenge had begun that day, and I knew the first thing I had told myself was, “Well I can’t commit to this, but I’ll try.” I skated on the ice with my boys, my teachers, and gulped, fully swallowing this knowledge of what I have been doing for so long. I watched them, bliss exploding from their beings as they continued this journey on the ice, the words “I Can’t” never exiting their lips. I took pause and promised myself to be actively mindful of the silent messages I told myself, but also to take care of what I spoke out loud, little ears are listening. And in those moments I started to rework my muscle memory, “I will do the 30/30 Challenge. I can do it!”.