Keeping time as we humans do, I turned 36 on August 15th. This previous year had not been kind to me, and an acquaintance with a fascination for things psychic and predictive told me (a mere three days before my birthday, and during a very serendipitous encounter) that 3-6 means good fortune. Dear sweet baby Jesus all swaddled in your manger: I hope she's right.
I've been home for a day and a half from what I coined EPIC BIRTHDAY VACATION, which included vast amounts of amazing and high-level roller derby, consumption of enormous quantities of vegan victuals, mass socializing with loved ones and three whole days on the Bonneville Salt Flats during Speed Week. Oh, and lots of backside soreness due to riding in the mister's 1931 Model A Ford pick-up. I felt maddeningly alive, in positive and negative ways, during the epicness... only to return home to the same old malaise, even though I have yet to set foot at the studio.
Backing up a bit: it might make sense to point out that ever since I started my young adult life as a nomad, I've never called any one place home for more than a few years at a time. In all fairness I did log nearly a decade in the Boston area, but in two shifts. My five-year tenure in Ashland marks the longest stretch in one place since my formative years in Queens. I've gone against my nature to set roots in this small town, mostly on account of that foolish thing we call "being in love." Coming home from EPIC BIRTHDAY VACATION (yes, it always deserves all caps) made me realize that maybe love isn't enough to keep me here.
While walking to the grocery store earlier I pondered the idea of experiencing my own mid-life crisis. For a change the timing actually fits. I used to joke about such things in my late teens and early twenties, because back then I had myself convinced I'd be six feet under well before 30. Oh, ha ha. But now it makes sense.
So I guess it's time I bought myself a fancy and expensive road bike (my equivalent of the little red sports car) and hit the road. Again.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
to be or not to be an asshole... that is the question
Many moons ago, when I pretended that pursuing an expensive secondary education might have some merit, I found myself immersed in a world full of self-righteous trustafarians. They directed their youthful zeal towards anyone forced to listen, and anyone who erroneously did not toe their party line. I recall an attempt at a quiet evening with my friend (and comrade in the struggle against parent-funded self-righteousness) Will that was interrupted by one of said trusties trying to out-vegan me. I hate when that happens now, so imagine my fury back then before recovery and yoga. My instinctive response was to very loudly and deliberately point out to Queen of the Vegans that the Guinness she was drinking wasn't vegan. This sent Will into paroxysms of laughter. Once he caught his breath, he said to me, "I got it. You're the gadfly."
I like the American Heritage dictionary's definitions for gadfly: a persistent irritating critic; a nuisance; or, one that acts as a provocative stimulus; a goad. And I liked Will's nickname for me so much that it stuck, and to this day I have a beautiful rendering of a fly I'd like to use as a tattoo.
What's this got to do with the price of tea in China? Pretty much everything.
When you mention you're a yoga teacher, in most circles someone will imagine you wearing flowing, earth-toned garments (perhaps with some excessively beady jewelry) and that someone will likely assume you're some kind of a mellow chanting type who only wishes the best for all beings. That someone would be about one-third right.
The longer I teach yoga, and the longer I pursue the idea of a spiritual practice, the more I realize that we've got it all wrong if we're assuming that yoga and meditation should lead to everyone getting all quiet and zen, man. Because some of us are born to be assholes. Or gadflies, if the coarse language offends.
Meditation isn't supposed to be easy. If it were, everyone would do it. (In a perfect world everyone would. But I digress.) If one can find a morsel of peace in the insanity that is our world, one's got one up on just about everyone. Part of that insanity will come from folks on your journey, or the ones you look to as teachers. Read enough of the books and you'll learn that Buddha and just about every monk following him acted like total pricks a lot of the time. Because you're supposed to know the answers already. If you're asking me, you're asking the wrong person. All I'm going to say is, "Really, dude? You don't already know?"
Doesn't that make me an asshole? No. It makes you distracted. Cut through the bullshit and see through the haze, and eventually you'll discover that you arrived at this school called Life with all your textbooks in hand and all the tools you need. You are your own best teacher. Give yourself time and space to pursue your study. Eventually I just fade into the background like the buzzing of so many insects.
I like the American Heritage dictionary's definitions for gadfly: a persistent irritating critic; a nuisance; or, one that acts as a provocative stimulus; a goad. And I liked Will's nickname for me so much that it stuck, and to this day I have a beautiful rendering of a fly I'd like to use as a tattoo.
What's this got to do with the price of tea in China? Pretty much everything.
When you mention you're a yoga teacher, in most circles someone will imagine you wearing flowing, earth-toned garments (perhaps with some excessively beady jewelry) and that someone will likely assume you're some kind of a mellow chanting type who only wishes the best for all beings. That someone would be about one-third right.
The longer I teach yoga, and the longer I pursue the idea of a spiritual practice, the more I realize that we've got it all wrong if we're assuming that yoga and meditation should lead to everyone getting all quiet and zen, man. Because some of us are born to be assholes. Or gadflies, if the coarse language offends.
Meditation isn't supposed to be easy. If it were, everyone would do it. (In a perfect world everyone would. But I digress.) If one can find a morsel of peace in the insanity that is our world, one's got one up on just about everyone. Part of that insanity will come from folks on your journey, or the ones you look to as teachers. Read enough of the books and you'll learn that Buddha and just about every monk following him acted like total pricks a lot of the time. Because you're supposed to know the answers already. If you're asking me, you're asking the wrong person. All I'm going to say is, "Really, dude? You don't already know?"
Doesn't that make me an asshole? No. It makes you distracted. Cut through the bullshit and see through the haze, and eventually you'll discover that you arrived at this school called Life with all your textbooks in hand and all the tools you need. You are your own best teacher. Give yourself time and space to pursue your study. Eventually I just fade into the background like the buzzing of so many insects.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
cruel summer
It's been a while. Teaching pretty much non-stop, since it's summer and that means everyone else's needs come before mine. In a way this is good because this gives me much to meditate on, and plenty of distraction when things do not go smoothly. Long stretches of teaching affect my practice, however, because it means I teach instead of practice with others, and I have to rely on myself to lead my own practice. Often easier said and intended than done.
We lost one of our beloved hens in May. I don't think I ever wrote much about our birds on this blog, but for some reason my fellow decided that our country life would not be complete without some country critters. He met a chicken who needed rescuing, and last year we took Carolina Chicken (also known as CC) into our home and hearts. (For reference: she is the hen on the right in the photo. The other we call Ninja.) Our faithful pit mutt Natasha somehow learned to love sharing us and her land with CC, and the two became fast friends.
This would explain why, when CC fell ill, our Natasha suffered as well. Tashy was creeping past sixteen years of a full life, so she certainly started showing signs of age well before CC's illness. I had to take note, though, of her melancholy when her hen pal began acting lethargic. We treated her illness and saw some improvement and a return to vitality... for a short time.
One morning we awoke to the sounds of Ninja squawking more loudly than we'd ever heard. The only time we hear such sounds, we know we've got an intruder on the premises. Except this time Natasha accompanied the ruckus with whining, crying and pacing.
The mister went outside to find our CC dead.
Neither of us humans expected to be so moved by the loss of a chicken. The mister openly wondered what it would be like when we had to let Natasha go. We tried not to think about that very real inevitability.
Natasha never really recovered from the loss of her henpal. We knew these two unrelated species somehow got along famously, but we had no idea how much they'd bonded. Tashy's walks went from already shortened to nonexistent, as she seemed to lose all energy.
An unexpected visit from out-of-town friends brought two more dog pals into the mix. We could catch little glimmers of the old spark in Tashy's eyes as she held court for her guests... only to spend the entire next day after their departure asleep in her bed.
That night she woke us with cries, again. This time she needed to go outside, but was unable to lift herself up on her own. The mister and I accepted what had to come next.
Luckily we had a vet friend who made house calls. The next day we were able to say goodbye to our best canine friend in the comfort of our own home, on one of her favorite blankets. The mister had never witnessed the loss of a loved one so directly, which made it all the sadder for me. It's already hard enough to watch someone you love die; watching someone else you love in pain only compounds the suffering.
*******
Some days are better than others. Just like in one's practice. The postures might be the same but the body and mind are different. I can feel sun on my face as I try to dig out of my hole. Perhaps soon I can get back on track to living the more examined life. Until then, I'll keep breathing and missing my friend.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
working for the weekend
Last time I sat on my couch typey-typing a new blog entry, the Mr. and I had the television tuned to Thursday night awesome. Hmm. How time flies when you're busy. Teaching solo for three days in a row left me with little time or desire to write. Friday and Saturday both, I had scheduled my days in such a way, I left myself with no free time between classes. In a way, that's kind of "whatever" since once upon a time I used to pull something like a 9-to-5. It's also kind of good, because movement and busy-ness leaves little time for feeling sorry for myself or doing stupid shit. But it also means no time to write, or think, really.
Lots of stuff came up during the course of my teaching marathon. Except I don't feel much like recapping it now. I just want to rest up for the week ahead.
Lots of stuff came up during the course of my teaching marathon. Except I don't feel much like recapping it now. I just want to rest up for the week ahead.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
this ain't no picnic
Morning: teaching. I slept terribly last night, with no desire to teach or interact with humans before noon. My eyes struggled to open, but when they did I could see plenty of sun and blue sky. I did what I could to fight my way out of bed, assuming I'd probably have a small class on such a gorgeous morning.
Instead I found five students on the patio by 8:25. Apparently the sun roused everyone in town but me. The energy in the room ran so high from minute one. I worried that I'd be unable to keep up or inspire. On top of my fatigue, I discovered that the clock in the studio somehow broke.
One of my regulars brought me a gallon of home-brewed kombucha. I needed that.
20 students total in the morning class. My tired ass taught without a clock, and still managed to finish with three minutes to spare. By the time I got students into Ardha Matyendrasana I was ready to kick the day right in the babymaker. Yeah, sometimes my job rules. One student told me she felt the flow of the class was better than ever. Imagine that.
Afternoon: practice. I arrive at the studio to learn that my scheduled instructor tried to reach me so I could cover her class. *sigh* I accepted the possibility of missing a practice. We secretly wished for no one to arrive. Sounds terrible, but if no one shows up I could practice on my own. Or if regulars arrive I can lead them in a silent class, and let my instructor take care of her personal business.
Always take care when making wishes.
One of my favorite regulars arrives, and we discuss our collective desire for a silent class. Then a new student walks in the door. Honestly it's good to have more business, so I accept this new turn of events and prepare for class. Apparently said newbie will have another friend joining her. Because of the triumphant arrival of spring, we have very few folks in class. It's me, my favorite regular, another woman with a great practice, and three new students.
This was one of my hardest practices. Once upon a time I preferred smaller classes so we'd have plenty of personal space. Now a small class proves challenging. When you're leading it, you're essentially carrying everyone along in their practice. It works well when it's a small group of regulars. Sometimes you can turn it into a mini-clinic, or take chances to make deeper corrections. A small class with a lot of new students is another matter altogether. New students rely on regulars to show them the way, literally and figuratively. I knew I had three pairs of eyes watching me through my practice. I had to represent. No rest for the wicked.
I realized that I am still an asshole after all this practice. I couldn't find enough compassion for my instructor and her issues. I had to remember my first Bikram class and how much I struggled and fought so I wouldn't get frustrated at my newbies. This trying to make yourself better with practice shit is hard. Maybe I have to let go of trying to be better, or at least better for other people. The goal is just as much an attachment as anything else.
I imagine my full day will lead to a restful night. I need all the sleep I can get, considering I have a weekend full of teaching doubles on my horizon.
Instead I found five students on the patio by 8:25. Apparently the sun roused everyone in town but me. The energy in the room ran so high from minute one. I worried that I'd be unable to keep up or inspire. On top of my fatigue, I discovered that the clock in the studio somehow broke.
One of my regulars brought me a gallon of home-brewed kombucha. I needed that.
20 students total in the morning class. My tired ass taught without a clock, and still managed to finish with three minutes to spare. By the time I got students into Ardha Matyendrasana I was ready to kick the day right in the babymaker. Yeah, sometimes my job rules. One student told me she felt the flow of the class was better than ever. Imagine that.
Afternoon: practice. I arrive at the studio to learn that my scheduled instructor tried to reach me so I could cover her class. *sigh* I accepted the possibility of missing a practice. We secretly wished for no one to arrive. Sounds terrible, but if no one shows up I could practice on my own. Or if regulars arrive I can lead them in a silent class, and let my instructor take care of her personal business.
Always take care when making wishes.
One of my favorite regulars arrives, and we discuss our collective desire for a silent class. Then a new student walks in the door. Honestly it's good to have more business, so I accept this new turn of events and prepare for class. Apparently said newbie will have another friend joining her. Because of the triumphant arrival of spring, we have very few folks in class. It's me, my favorite regular, another woman with a great practice, and three new students.
This was one of my hardest practices. Once upon a time I preferred smaller classes so we'd have plenty of personal space. Now a small class proves challenging. When you're leading it, you're essentially carrying everyone along in their practice. It works well when it's a small group of regulars. Sometimes you can turn it into a mini-clinic, or take chances to make deeper corrections. A small class with a lot of new students is another matter altogether. New students rely on regulars to show them the way, literally and figuratively. I knew I had three pairs of eyes watching me through my practice. I had to represent. No rest for the wicked.
I realized that I am still an asshole after all this practice. I couldn't find enough compassion for my instructor and her issues. I had to remember my first Bikram class and how much I struggled and fought so I wouldn't get frustrated at my newbies. This trying to make yourself better with practice shit is hard. Maybe I have to let go of trying to be better, or at least better for other people. The goal is just as much an attachment as anything else.
I imagine my full day will lead to a restful night. I need all the sleep I can get, considering I have a weekend full of teaching doubles on my horizon.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
roll the die!
My friend in yoga and blogging (amongst other things) Suzie D. coined the term "yoga roulette" to describe taking one's chances with location in the studio. A huge part of practice includes letting go of attachment and staying present, which means sometimes you don't get to lay your mat down in that sweet spot right next to the instructor or the window that lets in a crack of fresh air. I've been meaning to spring a game of yoga roulette on my morning class, because I have at least three students who should literally pay me rent for their specific locations. I do get it. You have a spot you like, and there's already enough to challenge you. Why not control what you can control? But we miss the point when we're that attached. And if I am being completely honest (which is pretty much my M.O.) it bores me to see people in the same spots every day.
I didn't even have to roll the die or spin the wheel this morning. I don't know what happened, but two of my regulars got displaced. I felt like I had a new job. Seriously. It was an entirely different experience for me as a teacher. I realized how much I've let my students' attachment turn into a rut for me. I needed this kick in the pants for sure.
I need a lot more than a kick in the pants to get me out of my life rut, but I'll take what I can get. It dawned on me this evening that I neglected to celebrate my five-year anniversary here in Ashland. Hmm. That's all I got on that subject.
I didn't even have to roll the die or spin the wheel this morning. I don't know what happened, but two of my regulars got displaced. I felt like I had a new job. Seriously. It was an entirely different experience for me as a teacher. I realized how much I've let my students' attachment turn into a rut for me. I needed this kick in the pants for sure.
I need a lot more than a kick in the pants to get me out of my life rut, but I'll take what I can get. It dawned on me this evening that I neglected to celebrate my five-year anniversary here in Ashland. Hmm. That's all I got on that subject.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
always trust your first instinct
I don't like to abuse the privilege of studio ownership as a rule, but today I arrived at the studio before my instructor after running some studio-related errands. I feared going home first, because I could totally see myself wussing out and skipping practice. So I went, and let myself in because I could. This means first pick of location in the room. I keep thinking i want to move back into the back of the room, but when I practice behind people I get so terribly distracted. I hate to say it but it's true. I chose the front corner spot, furthest from the door. I hoped this would reduce my chances of folks setting up right on top of me in an effort to stay near the door.
Then one of my favorite regulars comes in to practice. Since I've become the morning go-to instructor, I don't see her as often as I'd like. She hints that she'd really like it if I practiced next to her. I give in and move my mat.
Of course that means that one of my most distracting students would set up right behind me once I moved.
I feel like I will never live a life without challenge. That reads like a total "DUH" statement, but it merits mention. I don't know if I really want true smooth sailing, but one day I'd love it if all the petty shit would just effortlessly roll off my back. Truth is: I am the person responsible for making that happen. If I am completely honest, I have to admit that I've gotten much, much better. I know my practice has kept me from spiraling deep into self-destruction, to put it mildly. This is why I keep coming back to the mat. I know this shit works. I fear that if I stop, I'll just fall back into old bad habits.
So even on days when I want to throttle people around me, I keep coming. Sometimes I use them as inspiration, which is completely stupid and a total contradiction to the intent of the practice. But I do it anyway, because it keeps me in the room and I can keep going. Besides, I know the urge to throttle is temporary. For today, at least.
Then one of my favorite regulars comes in to practice. Since I've become the morning go-to instructor, I don't see her as often as I'd like. She hints that she'd really like it if I practiced next to her. I give in and move my mat.
Of course that means that one of my most distracting students would set up right behind me once I moved.
I feel like I will never live a life without challenge. That reads like a total "DUH" statement, but it merits mention. I don't know if I really want true smooth sailing, but one day I'd love it if all the petty shit would just effortlessly roll off my back. Truth is: I am the person responsible for making that happen. If I am completely honest, I have to admit that I've gotten much, much better. I know my practice has kept me from spiraling deep into self-destruction, to put it mildly. This is why I keep coming back to the mat. I know this shit works. I fear that if I stop, I'll just fall back into old bad habits.
So even on days when I want to throttle people around me, I keep coming. Sometimes I use them as inspiration, which is completely stupid and a total contradiction to the intent of the practice. But I do it anyway, because it keeps me in the room and I can keep going. Besides, I know the urge to throttle is temporary. For today, at least.
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