Upside Down

“But the headstand was my first advanced asana and one I had not experienced since I was a child. At age six or so standing on my head or simply looking at the world from an upside-down perspective, didn’t bother me. Actually, it filled me with wonder. The ceiling could be the floor, and the floor could be the ceiling, and I could pretend that I lived in the treetops without any difficulty. But today being upside down doesn’t feel right to me. I want my life, my town, my country, my world to be in order. And it is definitely not.”—Kathryn E. Livingston

Words & Wonder

By Kathryn E. Livingston

BOGOTA New Jersey—(Hubris)—March/April 2026—The other evening, which now seems like 20 years ago, I was listening to the news when I heard a commentator say that we are in “the upside-down times.” Those words resonated with me for the rest of the week because it seems as though that’s exactly where we are (notwithstanding the term’s connection to Stranger Things, which I’ve never watched). Right is wrong, wrong is right, up is down, down is up, innocent is guilty, guilty is innocent, and if the sky looks blue you will surely be informed that it is orange and you’d better believe it—or else.

It’s clear that to some this unhinged reality feels right side up; they celebrate as cruelty replaces compassion, inequality reigns over equality, exclusion axes belonging. They revel in a world where hate is the new love, friends are enemies, and enemies are friends. Even urban white women are now deemed the acronym AWFUL (doubtful these folks have much good to say about women of color, either).

Long ago, when I first started practicing yoga, my fervent desire was to go upside down by means of mastering a headstand (or head balance—aka Sirsasana—as it’s called in Iyengar Yoga). I was in my 50s, and I had the strength to attempt the pose, so for weeks and weeks I got into position, hoisted my legs up toward the wall (I never did achieve the pose in the middle of a room), and crashed back onto the floor. I kept at it, refusing to give up, until after a few months of trying every day, my legs finally flew up and stayed put. It was a liberating feeling! (A few years later I would try the same method with a handstand and eventually mastered that inversion as well.) 

But the headstand was my first advanced asana and one I had not experienced since I was a child. At age six or so, standing on my head or simply looking at the world from an upside-down perspective, didn’t bother me. Actually, it filled me with wonder. The ceiling could be the floor, and the floor could be the ceiling, and I could pretend that I lived in the treetops without any difficulty. But today being upside down doesn’t feel right to me. I want my life, my town, my country, my world to be in order. And it is definitely not. 

Sometime during the Covid pandemic, when Yoga studios were closed and I was practicing at home without a teacher (Note: I had, ahem, aged a bit too—not that that’s an excuse!) I positioned myself properly and ably took my headstand pose. But this time instead of coming out of the posture in a correctly aligned manner I flopped over to one side, toppled awkwardly to the floor, and felt a sharp pain and a jarring sensation in my neck. It took a few moments before coming up to sitting and realizing I was possibly damn lucky to be alive.

No one was home, so I didn’t make a big deal out of it (normally, I would complain to my husband, a runner, who unfairly views Yoga as a dangerous pastime that causes hip or knee replacements and torn meniscuses). But during the coming days and weeks when it became clear that I couldn’t turn my head to one side, I owned up to my injury and visited my favorite physical therapist. The brilliant man worked with me for almost a year before I was nearly healed, though I don’t think I will ever turn my head fully to the left (politics aside) and I still sleep with a therapeutic pillow under my neck.

A few years ago, my dear daughter-in-law, overhearing my lament that I’d never do a headstand again, bought me a device called FeetUp, a sort of creepy-looking contraption that holds one’s shoulders in place while one lifts legs up without putting weight on the head or neck. The thing works well and allows me to have the same upside-down sensation as I would experience in an unassisted headstand. But sadly, the joy of the inversion is now diminished. I don’t really care if I never go upside down again.

The truth of it is, as mentioned earlier, these days I like seeing things the way they should be. So much is out of order in the upside-down times that I’m quite happy sitting upright in a chair, simply gazing out the window at the birds, petting the cat, or going for a walk, one foot after the other. So dull, completely predictable, and without chaos. 

Anyway, the real Yoga goes deeper than poses: it’s about knowing we are all one, connecting with the breath, and living in the present moment. The latter, frankly, is a challenge, and attempting to stay present is more than enough to deal with right now. These may or may not be the end times, but they’re surely the upside-down times. 

Nevertheless, I still hold onto the hope that in the future we will be right side up again. Ideally, we will get there without breaking our necks. Certainly, we must keep trying.