Just returned from my weekend yoga recertification seminar. Right now I'm channeling that Whitman quote to the nth degree. Physically tired from traveling, but my mind is racing. Inspired and defeated. Happy to be home and itching to move again.
I've fallen behind in the Trust 30 writing challenge. Not that it matters much to anyone but me.
I probably shouldn't write when I'm tired.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
trust 30, day two
Your genuine action will explain itself, and will explain your other genuine actions. Your conformity explains nothing. The force of character is cumulative. – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance
If ‘the voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line of a hundred tacks,’ then it is more genuine to be present today than to recount yesterdays. How would you describe today using only one sentence? Tell today’s sentence to one other person. Repeat each day.
Poor rabbits of the First, they've been drowned by rain.
If ‘the voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line of a hundred tacks,’ then it is more genuine to be present today than to recount yesterdays. How would you describe today using only one sentence? Tell today’s sentence to one other person. Repeat each day.
Poor rabbits of the First, they've been drowned by rain.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
switching gears
Today's prompt:
We are afraid of truth, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, and afraid of each other. Our age yields no great and perfect persons. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
You just discovered you have fifteen minutes to live.
1. Set a timer for fifteen minutes.
2. Write the story that has to be written.
If I am honest (and that's the one trait I have and will always have), I will not spend my last fifteen minutes writing a story. If I know my time is limited, I will be doing... something.
First, I throw all the phones off bridges. My phones, at least. You cannot get a hold of me. You are left with whatever memories you and I last shared. I hope they're good ones, but knowing me you can still hear my booming voice swearing up a storm between your ears, and watching my figure speed past you in some capacity.
The laptops follow the phones. Both of them: home and work. if I go down, I take you all with me.
How much time is left? Is it enough to offer up Clare de Lune to a trustworthy and deserving person? She has been the trusty steed, if you will, for nearly five years now. I let Elvira rest because she had no front brake and I wanted to preserve the bad knee, but at this stage of the nearly-over game it's time for a reunion.
Perhaps ridding myself of the phone was impulsive. I can just imagine my mother sobbing now, knowing we'd never see one another again. No last hug or kiss or kind word from her youngest child, her black sheep, her troublemaker. My father would be more stoic, of course, but I know hearing the news of my passing will affect him in ways he will attempt to dismiss.
I climb aboard Elvira and suffer up the steepest hill in town. I love her because I built her with my own hands, but she kills me before my time is through thanks to her inefficient gearing.
I want to find that one sweet spot that affords me the best view of the valley. It makes the suffering climb worth it. I know I complain about my adopted hometown but it's this view, and others like it, that keep me sane. I deserve this, after tolerating so much bullshit from so many confused people.
I feel like I'm supposed to be sad, but I'm not. How many hours, days, weeks have I sat in silence trying to muster up something resembling emotion for everyone who left me behind? It took years to cry over all that loss. And now as I face the one big loss, I have no tears. If anything, it feels like coming home.
If I sit to meditate I lose the view. I do it anyway. A few last salutations, and then back on the bicycle. One final, brakeless descent.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
mid-life crisis
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.
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.
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.
Monday, May 10, 2010
there went the weekend
On the subject of daily writing: I tried. Better luck next time, as the adage goes.
Folks of a professional bent often suggest that one finds one's passion and follow it in terms of creating a career. You'll be devoting so much of your time and energy to this career, you might as well love what you're doing. Such is the logic, yes? I have to admit I challenged that notion not long after starting to work in exchange for a wage. Yes, I love riding my bike, but won't I start hating it if I do it for a living? Same goes for making photos or working on bicycles or building bicycles. I resisted turning my passions into a paycheck because I wanted to enjoy my life and my hobbies (if you can call them that). Despite my resistance, somehow I managed to avoid falling into the "I hate my job" trap.
Right now I'm on a "teaching six mornings a week" tear. And I am the farthest thing from a morning person. I wake up so damned grumpy every morning, even when the sun streams into my room and I wake next to my fellow sleeping like an angel and our elderly dog snoring at our feet on the bed. I want to ease into my day at my own pace. Such a delightful privilege, no? It's one I had hoped to enjoy once I owned my own business.
Fat chance. I work more now than I ever did. I did expect to, in a way, though I wasn't starting from scratch with a brand new business. I knew it would take time to become solvent and experience a modicum of success. I didn't know that, even with a staff, I would pretty much be working alone. (That part's probably best left for another day, or maybe never.)
My own stresses disappear once my feet hit the podium when I teach. On the days I have to skip my own practice because the rest of my life creeps in, I can still get some peace of mind and quiet when I teach. I am lucky this way. I know this. My job doesn't feel like a job when I'm actually doing it.
That doesn't change the fact that I don't have a weekend. I have one day off from teaching a week. It does not coincide with either of my fellow's days off. Two years of this has made me tired. I don't know any other way to describe it. Again, I'm lucky that the fatigue melts away once I start working. The same thing happens when I practice... if I practice. Sometimes I just want to stay home and read in my yard. Or walk my dog. Or ride bikes through the orchards with my fellow. Because all of that means I AM NOT AT WORK.
And we haven't even hit summer yet, when my only reliable instructor disappears for two months.
If anyone could epitomize practicing yoga off the mat more than me, I'd like to meet that person. I sure could use some advice for making this work.
Folks of a professional bent often suggest that one finds one's passion and follow it in terms of creating a career. You'll be devoting so much of your time and energy to this career, you might as well love what you're doing. Such is the logic, yes? I have to admit I challenged that notion not long after starting to work in exchange for a wage. Yes, I love riding my bike, but won't I start hating it if I do it for a living? Same goes for making photos or working on bicycles or building bicycles. I resisted turning my passions into a paycheck because I wanted to enjoy my life and my hobbies (if you can call them that). Despite my resistance, somehow I managed to avoid falling into the "I hate my job" trap.
Right now I'm on a "teaching six mornings a week" tear. And I am the farthest thing from a morning person. I wake up so damned grumpy every morning, even when the sun streams into my room and I wake next to my fellow sleeping like an angel and our elderly dog snoring at our feet on the bed. I want to ease into my day at my own pace. Such a delightful privilege, no? It's one I had hoped to enjoy once I owned my own business.
Fat chance. I work more now than I ever did. I did expect to, in a way, though I wasn't starting from scratch with a brand new business. I knew it would take time to become solvent and experience a modicum of success. I didn't know that, even with a staff, I would pretty much be working alone. (That part's probably best left for another day, or maybe never.)
My own stresses disappear once my feet hit the podium when I teach. On the days I have to skip my own practice because the rest of my life creeps in, I can still get some peace of mind and quiet when I teach. I am lucky this way. I know this. My job doesn't feel like a job when I'm actually doing it.
That doesn't change the fact that I don't have a weekend. I have one day off from teaching a week. It does not coincide with either of my fellow's days off. Two years of this has made me tired. I don't know any other way to describe it. Again, I'm lucky that the fatigue melts away once I start working. The same thing happens when I practice... if I practice. Sometimes I just want to stay home and read in my yard. Or walk my dog. Or ride bikes through the orchards with my fellow. Because all of that means I AM NOT AT WORK.
And we haven't even hit summer yet, when my only reliable instructor disappears for two months.
If anyone could epitomize practicing yoga off the mat more than me, I'd like to meet that person. I sure could use some advice for making this work.
Friday, May 7, 2010
everybody's somebody's momma
I can say only one thing about today:
My students gave me a Mother's Day card. Not just any card. An OVERSIZED card. I need to get a photo. It is hilarious. I do love the sentiment; the student who brought the card told me I deserve it because I am the yoga mom. Yeah, hilarious... especially since I can easily be the daughter of three-quarters of my students. I suppose inheriting my own mother's nurturing instinct finally has an outlet.
My students gave me a Mother's Day card. Not just any card. An OVERSIZED card. I need to get a photo. It is hilarious. I do love the sentiment; the student who brought the card told me I deserve it because I am the yoga mom. Yeah, hilarious... especially since I can easily be the daughter of three-quarters of my students. I suppose inheriting my own mother's nurturing instinct finally has an outlet.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
how do you achieve enlightenment? practice practice practice
Yesterday I wrote of cycles, and attempting to learn from past experiences and situations. Of course today would present to me the opportunity to put my money where my mouth is.
Fairly standard class this morning. 16 students, if I recall correctly. One newbie, two late arrivals and a second newb who pulled on the locked studio door at 9:01 (for my 9am class) and acted surprised that I wasn't interested in letting her in. I especially liked the fact that she told me she'd never been to our studio before and she also had to drop her daughter off at school. If I could have scratched my head at that comment, i would have, but instead I apologized and told her I had a class to teach.
Right now I keep mulling over the difference between being a disciplinarian and a control freak. Some would call me the latter, and some have in the past. I think I'm learning how to let go of what I cannot control, and this pleases me. This does not mean, however, that I just take shit as it comes. A 9am class should start at 9am, dig? A ninety-minute class should finish in ninety minutes, if you smell what I'm cookin'. Insisting on punctuality and continuity feels more like discipline to me, not control. So I can insist that you're ready to practice at 9am, but I won't stress out if I can't control your tardiness.
My afternoon practice meant more time to mull over this distinction. First I noticed several students setting up their mats rather haphazardly, basically insisting on being as close to doors and windows as possible despite anyone who might have already staked claim in that real estate. This meant I had a student literally on top of me (and I was in the second row!) as well as another student who parked himself right in front of me, leaving me no room to see myself in the mirror. No worries. I just took my breaths and got on with my practice.
The fellow in front of me also happens to be one of my challenges. He chooses to do postures his own way, despite the fact that the Bikram series is rather specific. When I have him in my class I do what I can to keep him working with us, but it's often for naught. It seems my staff must agree, because no one else calls him on it. It definitely messed with my own practice, because how is it that someone who isn't representing the practice properly gets to stand in front of, and block, a teacher? But really... whatever. I can't control it. All I can control is what I do and how I present myself.
As much as I hope to step out of my mind when I practice, dealing with this challenging student inspired me. I came up with a few ways to encourage students to try the practice as we deliver it. Let's see if it works.
Fairly standard class this morning. 16 students, if I recall correctly. One newbie, two late arrivals and a second newb who pulled on the locked studio door at 9:01 (for my 9am class) and acted surprised that I wasn't interested in letting her in. I especially liked the fact that she told me she'd never been to our studio before and she also had to drop her daughter off at school. If I could have scratched my head at that comment, i would have, but instead I apologized and told her I had a class to teach.
Right now I keep mulling over the difference between being a disciplinarian and a control freak. Some would call me the latter, and some have in the past. I think I'm learning how to let go of what I cannot control, and this pleases me. This does not mean, however, that I just take shit as it comes. A 9am class should start at 9am, dig? A ninety-minute class should finish in ninety minutes, if you smell what I'm cookin'. Insisting on punctuality and continuity feels more like discipline to me, not control. So I can insist that you're ready to practice at 9am, but I won't stress out if I can't control your tardiness.
My afternoon practice meant more time to mull over this distinction. First I noticed several students setting up their mats rather haphazardly, basically insisting on being as close to doors and windows as possible despite anyone who might have already staked claim in that real estate. This meant I had a student literally on top of me (and I was in the second row!) as well as another student who parked himself right in front of me, leaving me no room to see myself in the mirror. No worries. I just took my breaths and got on with my practice.
The fellow in front of me also happens to be one of my challenges. He chooses to do postures his own way, despite the fact that the Bikram series is rather specific. When I have him in my class I do what I can to keep him working with us, but it's often for naught. It seems my staff must agree, because no one else calls him on it. It definitely messed with my own practice, because how is it that someone who isn't representing the practice properly gets to stand in front of, and block, a teacher? But really... whatever. I can't control it. All I can control is what I do and how I present myself.
As much as I hope to step out of my mind when I practice, dealing with this challenging student inspired me. I came up with a few ways to encourage students to try the practice as we deliver it. Let's see if it works.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
the more things change
In an attempt to satisfy my curiosity. I re-read my old entries. Long before I settled into a regular yoga practice, I had to acknowledge how my life moves in cycles. Everyone's lives do, in some way, but it started to feel crazy how I'd find myself in similar situations over and over again. I began to wonder if things happened for a reason, perhaps so I could finally learn something from all the messy predicaments in which I'd find myself. It took me a while, but I started learning. I began to accept the places where I could change things and the places where I couldn't. I can't always control what happens, but I can control my reactions and actions.
Now, to clarify: I'm not the type who buys into all the manifestation/The Secret-type BS. I can accept that karma exists, and sometimes we have to lie in the beds we've made. I am, however, the type of person who believes one should learn from one's successes and mistakes.
So here I am reading through old entries of my progress and experiences as I learn how to teach yoga, and I notice that I'm still experiencing a lot of the same things when I teach now as I did when I started teaching and started writing about it. What's different, though, is me.
Once upon a time I honestly felt it was my job to get people to change through their yoga practice. I also felt that my students had to leave my class happy, or at least in a better mood than when they started. None of this is true, or needs to be true for me to be a competent teacher. Because really, I'm not a teacher. I'm more of a facilitator.
When we're born we're given all the physical and mental tools we need to live. As we grow, shit happens to us and around us that messes up our access to these tools. (For some of us it was a LOT of shit happening. For others, not as much.) If we can give ourselves the space to really look at where we are in the present moment, we might realize that we already have everything we need. We just let ourselves get cluttered and distracted. If it were easy to clear those distractions, I'd imagine everyone would be a bit more content and we'd all be living happier, healthier, safer lives.
This is where I make my entrance.
You walk into my studio and you'll have an opportunity to stare yourself in the face, both literally and figuratively, for ninety minutes at a time. It might sound like I'm forcing you to do some intense stuff with your body, but really all I'm asking is that you turn your brain off, breathe, and take a look at what you've got. Some days that means seeing something awesome you didn't know you had. Other days it means acknowledging that you're in the shit and you might want to reconsider where you are. Either way, all I have to do is ask you to be honest and really look at yourself. And sometimes this means you leave a class with me and you are not happy.
If you're lucky, though, your body feels good enough to make you consider ignoring your cranky and unhappy brain, and you come back.
No matter what the end result of one practice, I'll be back if you want to try again. Whether you like me or not.
Now, to clarify: I'm not the type who buys into all the manifestation/The Secret-type BS. I can accept that karma exists, and sometimes we have to lie in the beds we've made. I am, however, the type of person who believes one should learn from one's successes and mistakes.
So here I am reading through old entries of my progress and experiences as I learn how to teach yoga, and I notice that I'm still experiencing a lot of the same things when I teach now as I did when I started teaching and started writing about it. What's different, though, is me.
Once upon a time I honestly felt it was my job to get people to change through their yoga practice. I also felt that my students had to leave my class happy, or at least in a better mood than when they started. None of this is true, or needs to be true for me to be a competent teacher. Because really, I'm not a teacher. I'm more of a facilitator.
When we're born we're given all the physical and mental tools we need to live. As we grow, shit happens to us and around us that messes up our access to these tools. (For some of us it was a LOT of shit happening. For others, not as much.) If we can give ourselves the space to really look at where we are in the present moment, we might realize that we already have everything we need. We just let ourselves get cluttered and distracted. If it were easy to clear those distractions, I'd imagine everyone would be a bit more content and we'd all be living happier, healthier, safer lives.
This is where I make my entrance.
You walk into my studio and you'll have an opportunity to stare yourself in the face, both literally and figuratively, for ninety minutes at a time. It might sound like I'm forcing you to do some intense stuff with your body, but really all I'm asking is that you turn your brain off, breathe, and take a look at what you've got. Some days that means seeing something awesome you didn't know you had. Other days it means acknowledging that you're in the shit and you might want to reconsider where you are. Either way, all I have to do is ask you to be honest and really look at yourself. And sometimes this means you leave a class with me and you are not happy.
If you're lucky, though, your body feels good enough to make you consider ignoring your cranky and unhappy brain, and you come back.
No matter what the end result of one practice, I'll be back if you want to try again. Whether you like me or not.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
inhale on the start, exhale as you hit
I have to blame roller derby for my absence from writing. It is only fair. I fell in love with something else, and it took me away from self-reflection. This has both positive and negative consequences, of course. My intention here was to blog about my yoga practice and the challenge of maintaining my own truth in the face of assumptions about those who practice yoga. So while a part of me feels a digression about derby means straying from the original path, a greater part of me wants to acknowledge that yoga is a lot more than the semi-pretzel maneuvers we do on a little rubber mat.
Reality is: I'm a big-city girl trapped in a small town that tries to act big. As much as I challenge myself to find peace of mind and contentment by sitting in meditation, I need an outlet for my excess energy and my outsized personality. I grew up watching the old school, banked track derby with my dad, and I spent far too much time attempting fancy tricks on a wooden board with wheels, so the fascination makes sense. Learning that there was a derby team in action nearby supplied me with one more way to burn off that excess energy and meet some more like-minded people.
I feel fortunate that I started this new journey with a few years of spiritual practice under my belt. It is amazing how often we can access the peace of mind that yoga brings even when we're far away from our studio or our mat. Finding myself in this very different, non-metropolitan area forces me to interact with folks who dwell on the polar opposite end of the political and social spectrum. Having patience at the ready makes it much easier to cope when things don't quite go my way.
And the breath! Oh, the breath. How having a reliable breathing practice helps when you're trying to build endurance that will last when you hit a bitch as hard as possible while skating at top speeds. (Classy, huh?) I find myself literally meditating on when to inhale and when to exhale to increase the force of my hip checks. I also appreciate finishing a particularly demanding endurance drill and still having plenty of energy to continue practice, while the rest of my team needs breaks. It stands as a testament to how powerful and not airy-fairy a truly consistent yoga practice can be.
I reckon that from this point forward more roller derby stuff creeps into my daily* introspections. Of course I still have all sorts of stuff rising to the surface about teaching and living my yoga, as well as my own practice. But this is a part of my life and practice now. So, here it is.
* Yes, I would like to say I'll be back to daily blogging. Perhaps as my friends struggle in daily yoga challenges, I will struggle with a regular writing practice. If they can do it...
Reality is: I'm a big-city girl trapped in a small town that tries to act big. As much as I challenge myself to find peace of mind and contentment by sitting in meditation, I need an outlet for my excess energy and my outsized personality. I grew up watching the old school, banked track derby with my dad, and I spent far too much time attempting fancy tricks on a wooden board with wheels, so the fascination makes sense. Learning that there was a derby team in action nearby supplied me with one more way to burn off that excess energy and meet some more like-minded people.
I feel fortunate that I started this new journey with a few years of spiritual practice under my belt. It is amazing how often we can access the peace of mind that yoga brings even when we're far away from our studio or our mat. Finding myself in this very different, non-metropolitan area forces me to interact with folks who dwell on the polar opposite end of the political and social spectrum. Having patience at the ready makes it much easier to cope when things don't quite go my way.
And the breath! Oh, the breath. How having a reliable breathing practice helps when you're trying to build endurance that will last when you hit a bitch as hard as possible while skating at top speeds. (Classy, huh?) I find myself literally meditating on when to inhale and when to exhale to increase the force of my hip checks. I also appreciate finishing a particularly demanding endurance drill and still having plenty of energy to continue practice, while the rest of my team needs breaks. It stands as a testament to how powerful and not airy-fairy a truly consistent yoga practice can be.
I reckon that from this point forward more roller derby stuff creeps into my daily* introspections. Of course I still have all sorts of stuff rising to the surface about teaching and living my yoga, as well as my own practice. But this is a part of my life and practice now. So, here it is.
* Yes, I would like to say I'll be back to daily blogging. Perhaps as my friends struggle in daily yoga challenges, I will struggle with a regular writing practice. If they can do it...
Monday, May 3, 2010
consider the date upped
No joke. I've been toying with the idea of resurrecting this blog for a while now. With my beloved faraway friend Suzie D.* blogging about her 30-day challenge, this is as good a time as any.
Except right this second frustration and a certain amount of sadness weigh heavily. Not exactly the best place to start again. Especially since I missed my practice today because of some incorrect information, only to spend most of my entire day dealing with a lot of bullshit and needing the serenity that comes with practice.
Lesson for today: do shit for yourself first. Sounds selfish, but it's starting to feel much more correct.
Better update next time.
*Technically Suzie D. is Suzie R. Or should I say legally she is. She'll always be Suzie D. to me.
Except right this second frustration and a certain amount of sadness weigh heavily. Not exactly the best place to start again. Especially since I missed my practice today because of some incorrect information, only to spend most of my entire day dealing with a lot of bullshit and needing the serenity that comes with practice.
Lesson for today: do shit for yourself first. Sounds selfish, but it's starting to feel much more correct.
Better update next time.
*Technically Suzie D. is Suzie R. Or should I say legally she is. She'll always be Suzie D. to me.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
do you want a workout, or do you want the truth?
Perhaps I am a bit more obsessive than I'd care to admit. When I find myself enthralled in a pursuit or idea, I need to know everything about it. I leave no inch unexamined. I throw myself wholeheartedly in my pursuit. Obviously yoga falls into this over-examined life. Some will argue about yoga's lineage, but no matter what hatha yoga has a history much longer than my own. It is nearly impossible for me to go to the source and get every query answered, every curiosity sated. I have to accept this. I can still enjoy the gem of yoga in my life, even as I wonder whether the shape I see is its true shape. How many hands have passed over each facet, softening and eroding its edges, leaving their distinct fingerprints? I want to accept what is, but I cannot quiet the part of my mind that wants answers.
Clearly yoga changed as it hit American shores. I mean, clearly. Duh. A practice moves from a more collective society (as far as I know, at least) to a far more individually-minded collection of people. Some folks care to celebrate the collective, while others choose to tweak the practice in order to attract the type A's and rugged individualists. I have no way to know which is closer to the "truth" (if such a thing exists).
When I teach I want my students to surrender ego and ambition and accept what is. I know I shouldn't "want" anything, really... but I have to admit to that. In the course of my own practice I've learned to let go of my own mind and accept my body in its current, present state. I cannot expect anything. I cannot make demands. I breathe, I listen, I move. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course not everyone chooses a physical practice as part of a more spiritual practice, but a girl like me can dream, right?
It gives me a chuckle to watch my kindly American students, here in Land-O'-Healin', Oregon, struggle so desperately against a hatha yoga practice. As an instructor I give my students direction, in order to shift the body and mind in a direction of healing and to avoid discomfort and injury in the process. Instead of accepting the instruction, more often than not students ignore it, choosing to move their bodies how they see fit.
All well and good... if you're in an interpretive dance class. But this is yoga.
Folks seem to think: Oh, it's just yoga! I'm just gonna do what feels right! If that's the case, then why bother paying a certified instructor to lead your practice? Why bother coming at all? Stay home and save your money... and get nowhere. No, really: do it.
Could you imagine the uproar at a stadium if a baseball player chose to run the bases in reverse? But this is what feels right! he tells us. Sweet, dude... but the game's got rules. Play by the rules, or go home. America won't stand for interpretive baseball.
One can make the case that hatha yoga is a physical practice, and as such should be divorced from any spiritual or mental practice. Make the case, but don't expect me to speak on your behalf. That's aerobics, or calisthenics. Not yoga. Have fun at the gym. If you're in my yoga class, follow the dialogue or go home. If the suit chafes, decide whether you really want to wear it, or if I've bruised your poor ego. If I have, then I've done my job. After a while you realize you can leave the ego at the door. One day you will forget it altogether, and it ends up in my lost-and-found basket. When that day comes, you can say you practice yoga.
Clearly yoga changed as it hit American shores. I mean, clearly. Duh. A practice moves from a more collective society (as far as I know, at least) to a far more individually-minded collection of people. Some folks care to celebrate the collective, while others choose to tweak the practice in order to attract the type A's and rugged individualists. I have no way to know which is closer to the "truth" (if such a thing exists).
When I teach I want my students to surrender ego and ambition and accept what is. I know I shouldn't "want" anything, really... but I have to admit to that. In the course of my own practice I've learned to let go of my own mind and accept my body in its current, present state. I cannot expect anything. I cannot make demands. I breathe, I listen, I move. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course not everyone chooses a physical practice as part of a more spiritual practice, but a girl like me can dream, right?
It gives me a chuckle to watch my kindly American students, here in Land-O'-Healin', Oregon, struggle so desperately against a hatha yoga practice. As an instructor I give my students direction, in order to shift the body and mind in a direction of healing and to avoid discomfort and injury in the process. Instead of accepting the instruction, more often than not students ignore it, choosing to move their bodies how they see fit.
All well and good... if you're in an interpretive dance class. But this is yoga.
Folks seem to think: Oh, it's just yoga! I'm just gonna do what feels right! If that's the case, then why bother paying a certified instructor to lead your practice? Why bother coming at all? Stay home and save your money... and get nowhere. No, really: do it.
Could you imagine the uproar at a stadium if a baseball player chose to run the bases in reverse? But this is what feels right! he tells us. Sweet, dude... but the game's got rules. Play by the rules, or go home. America won't stand for interpretive baseball.
One can make the case that hatha yoga is a physical practice, and as such should be divorced from any spiritual or mental practice. Make the case, but don't expect me to speak on your behalf. That's aerobics, or calisthenics. Not yoga. Have fun at the gym. If you're in my yoga class, follow the dialogue or go home. If the suit chafes, decide whether you really want to wear it, or if I've bruised your poor ego. If I have, then I've done my job. After a while you realize you can leave the ego at the door. One day you will forget it altogether, and it ends up in my lost-and-found basket. When that day comes, you can say you practice yoga.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
half-assed update
I am, in fact, very much alive and well. Perhaps too alive to keep up with a blog. To sit and write creates this weird conflict in my little brain. I don't want to recap my life, or even my thought processes. I want to do stuff. Y'know, live. Yes, I did just write that. How very high school of me.
The vertigo is long gone. I think I just pissed it off enough to make it leave. I told it it was no longer welcome, and it split. Fancy that. Except it's never really that easy. I've been sick more often this past winter than I have in my entire adult life. I've lost my voice not once but twice. (And the hippies often explain losing one's voice as a conflict over speaking one's truth.) Now I have a bum knee, again.
Someone once told me that if something isn't quite right in your life, it can manifest itself in your body.
I chafe a bit, wondering if I've made the right decisions for myself in recent days, weeks, months. I love teaching yoga. Really, I do. Somehow I've managed to keep myself honest and sane as I teach, and as I transitioned into studio ownership. But still... something's missing. Or something's taking up too much space, since I can't seem to keep my life under control.
I don't know. I didn't write this to clear shit up. I just wanted to post something new, finally. I intended to suss things out a bit more, but instead I spent my post-teaching morning comforting a friend who just put down her dog. Sad.
The vertigo is long gone. I think I just pissed it off enough to make it leave. I told it it was no longer welcome, and it split. Fancy that. Except it's never really that easy. I've been sick more often this past winter than I have in my entire adult life. I've lost my voice not once but twice. (And the hippies often explain losing one's voice as a conflict over speaking one's truth.) Now I have a bum knee, again.
Someone once told me that if something isn't quite right in your life, it can manifest itself in your body.
I chafe a bit, wondering if I've made the right decisions for myself in recent days, weeks, months. I love teaching yoga. Really, I do. Somehow I've managed to keep myself honest and sane as I teach, and as I transitioned into studio ownership. But still... something's missing. Or something's taking up too much space, since I can't seem to keep my life under control.
I don't know. I didn't write this to clear shit up. I just wanted to post something new, finally. I intended to suss things out a bit more, but instead I spent my post-teaching morning comforting a friend who just put down her dog. Sad.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
no yoga. doctor's orders.
Apparently practicing while experiencing spells of vertigo isn't such a good idea. Imagine that.
As loathe as I am to admit it, I am pretty type A when it comes to my physical fitness. (I was gonna say I'm a typical American, then I realized most of us 'merikans think fitness is part of the following phrase: "How'm I gonna fit'n this?") I tend to muscle through aches and pains, minor illnesses and headaches, and bouts of depression and anxiety.
Last week I gave myself the Friday after Thanksgiving off (my first day off in I don't know how long, after teaching a full 30-student class on Thanksgiving morning), so I opted to enjoy some free time with my better half instead of practicing. I felt obligated to practice Saturday morning to make up for that day off, even though I felt a little under the weather. Usually a practice makes me feel better.
Not this time.
Every time I transitioned from the floor to standing I thought I was going to fall over. Once we made our way to the floor series every sit-up made things worse. I went home after class wanting nothing more than to stay in bed for the rest of the day. I didn't, though. The fellow and I went to a train show, then had an amazing Mexican lunch. Then I rested.
I wake up each morning still feeling these dizzy spells. I went to my doc's office yesterday and she ruled out an ear infection, but she couldn't pinpoint anything else that could cause the vertigo. She's treating me for a cold, in hopes the vertigo is tied into the under-the-weather feeling. Now it's wait and see. And no yoga until the dizzy spells pass.
I keep telling people yoga is so great for your immune system and overall physical function. Now look at me. Doc says yoga is great as a preventative measure, but sometimes you have to listen to your body and take a break.
What?
I reckon this is one of those teaching moments. Can I learn to let go and accept that I need to rest, that my body needs to rest? Can I find other ways to calm my mind? As I walked my dog this morning I realized I could use this as a perfect opportunity to deepen my meditation. It also doesn't hurt that walking the dog feels good, and today the weather is spectacular.
As loathe as I am to admit it, I am pretty type A when it comes to my physical fitness. (I was gonna say I'm a typical American, then I realized most of us 'merikans think fitness is part of the following phrase: "How'm I gonna fit'n this?") I tend to muscle through aches and pains, minor illnesses and headaches, and bouts of depression and anxiety.
Last week I gave myself the Friday after Thanksgiving off (my first day off in I don't know how long, after teaching a full 30-student class on Thanksgiving morning), so I opted to enjoy some free time with my better half instead of practicing. I felt obligated to practice Saturday morning to make up for that day off, even though I felt a little under the weather. Usually a practice makes me feel better.
Not this time.
Every time I transitioned from the floor to standing I thought I was going to fall over. Once we made our way to the floor series every sit-up made things worse. I went home after class wanting nothing more than to stay in bed for the rest of the day. I didn't, though. The fellow and I went to a train show, then had an amazing Mexican lunch. Then I rested.
I wake up each morning still feeling these dizzy spells. I went to my doc's office yesterday and she ruled out an ear infection, but she couldn't pinpoint anything else that could cause the vertigo. She's treating me for a cold, in hopes the vertigo is tied into the under-the-weather feeling. Now it's wait and see. And no yoga until the dizzy spells pass.
I keep telling people yoga is so great for your immune system and overall physical function. Now look at me. Doc says yoga is great as a preventative measure, but sometimes you have to listen to your body and take a break.
What?
I reckon this is one of those teaching moments. Can I learn to let go and accept that I need to rest, that my body needs to rest? Can I find other ways to calm my mind? As I walked my dog this morning I realized I could use this as a perfect opportunity to deepen my meditation. It also doesn't hurt that walking the dog feels good, and today the weather is spectacular.
Friday, November 14, 2008
another friday night with bill
Moyers, that is. Though I have almost an hour until he arrives in my living room via Southern Oregon Public TV.
As the mercury drops, the attendance at our studio skyrockets. I could probably start charging money to hold spots open for regular students at this point. Next week we add two more classes to the schedule to accommodate the crush of cold-weather Bikram fans. (These would be the antithesis to fair-weather friends, I reckon.)
I am trying to stay positive, given how much more time I now have to spend at the studio. As the schedule expands, I have more demands, so to speak, from my staff. I am the only person with a "flexible" schedule, so I get to teach all the shit classes no one else wants. Hurray for me! How's that for working for yourself?! Woo!
I experienced a complete lack of pain in my once-injured, now-hampered shoulder. This was my first pain-free day since we returned home from our vacation in August. Tremendous. I acknowledged the lack of pain as I practiced yesterday, trying to keep from hyperventilating in class from the joy of unencumbered movement. I then proceeded to teach a class at warp speed. Amazingly it was a small class; only five students. Usually small classes require so much more energy on my part to keep things moving. On this night I had four regulars (one fellow in the cold-weather crew, whom I hadn't seen in months) and one visitor from out of town. Everyone was so strong I felt like I didn't even need to be there. I didn't have to supply the energy; they had more than enough to share. I imagine my joy at my healing shoulder also helped propel the class.
This morning, however... well, the pain wasn't back in full. My shoulder did pipe up a time or three, reminding me to practice some more patience. Instead I woke feeling tremendously dizzy, as I would after a night of drinking. Except last night I didn't drink. It took everything I had to keep myself upright as class began. I literally made contact with every inch of both feet, commanding them to stay connected to the floor. I let go of performance anxiety, focusing more on keeping my breath calm and staying on my feet. Eventually the dizziness passed, and I finished strong. That put me in a good mood. And I need to be in a good mood, considering I'm teaching the next four classes straight. Yikes.
First of four this afternoon. Ten students, including one newbie who wasn't new to yoga so she already had lots to say about the practice before it even started. Fortunately she kept an open mind and gave an honest effort.
I find myself dancing on this thin line between being a taskmistress and flaunting my anarchic self. Problem is: freedom of expression can look a lot like hippie dancing, if you choose to look through those lenses. I know I've written before about finding some freedom within discipline. I think what needs to be redefined is "discipline" itself. We can insist on the first entry in Merriam-Webster's dictionary, which defines discipline as "punishment." Or, we can drop in and choose one of these three:
4: training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character
5 a: control gained by enforcing obedience or order b: orderly or prescribed conduct or pattern of behavior c: self-control
6: a rule or system of rules governing conduct or activity
The first definition on that list can also define yoga itself. Not just hatha yoga (the physical practice) but all eight limbs. We practice our yoga to reacquaint ourselves with our true bodies and minds, to "correct" the shitty training we've received in self-loathing and doubt.
Speaking of the eight limbs, the second definition on that list can almost fit for Pratyahara, the fifth of the eight limbs. It is open referred to as "withdrawal of the senses." It is here that one can meditate without distractions, achieving the ultimate in self-control. With practice, one can effectively focus on one singular sense (hearing, for example) at the expense of the other senses in an effort to quiet the mind altogether.
As for the final definition... suddenly I'm feeling like this entry is too long. I should tackle this some more later.
As the mercury drops, the attendance at our studio skyrockets. I could probably start charging money to hold spots open for regular students at this point. Next week we add two more classes to the schedule to accommodate the crush of cold-weather Bikram fans. (These would be the antithesis to fair-weather friends, I reckon.)
I am trying to stay positive, given how much more time I now have to spend at the studio. As the schedule expands, I have more demands, so to speak, from my staff. I am the only person with a "flexible" schedule, so I get to teach all the shit classes no one else wants. Hurray for me! How's that for working for yourself?! Woo!
I experienced a complete lack of pain in my once-injured, now-hampered shoulder. This was my first pain-free day since we returned home from our vacation in August. Tremendous. I acknowledged the lack of pain as I practiced yesterday, trying to keep from hyperventilating in class from the joy of unencumbered movement. I then proceeded to teach a class at warp speed. Amazingly it was a small class; only five students. Usually small classes require so much more energy on my part to keep things moving. On this night I had four regulars (one fellow in the cold-weather crew, whom I hadn't seen in months) and one visitor from out of town. Everyone was so strong I felt like I didn't even need to be there. I didn't have to supply the energy; they had more than enough to share. I imagine my joy at my healing shoulder also helped propel the class.
This morning, however... well, the pain wasn't back in full. My shoulder did pipe up a time or three, reminding me to practice some more patience. Instead I woke feeling tremendously dizzy, as I would after a night of drinking. Except last night I didn't drink. It took everything I had to keep myself upright as class began. I literally made contact with every inch of both feet, commanding them to stay connected to the floor. I let go of performance anxiety, focusing more on keeping my breath calm and staying on my feet. Eventually the dizziness passed, and I finished strong. That put me in a good mood. And I need to be in a good mood, considering I'm teaching the next four classes straight. Yikes.
First of four this afternoon. Ten students, including one newbie who wasn't new to yoga so she already had lots to say about the practice before it even started. Fortunately she kept an open mind and gave an honest effort.
I find myself dancing on this thin line between being a taskmistress and flaunting my anarchic self. Problem is: freedom of expression can look a lot like hippie dancing, if you choose to look through those lenses. I know I've written before about finding some freedom within discipline. I think what needs to be redefined is "discipline" itself. We can insist on the first entry in Merriam-Webster's dictionary, which defines discipline as "punishment." Or, we can drop in and choose one of these three:
4: training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character
5 a: control gained by enforcing obedience or order b: orderly or prescribed conduct or pattern of behavior c: self-control
6: a rule or system of rules governing conduct or activity
The first definition on that list can also define yoga itself. Not just hatha yoga (the physical practice) but all eight limbs. We practice our yoga to reacquaint ourselves with our true bodies and minds, to "correct" the shitty training we've received in self-loathing and doubt.
Speaking of the eight limbs, the second definition on that list can almost fit for Pratyahara, the fifth of the eight limbs. It is open referred to as "withdrawal of the senses." It is here that one can meditate without distractions, achieving the ultimate in self-control. With practice, one can effectively focus on one singular sense (hearing, for example) at the expense of the other senses in an effort to quiet the mind altogether.
As for the final definition... suddenly I'm feeling like this entry is too long. I should tackle this some more later.
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