I'm really enjoying teaching my series Yoga 101: FUNdamentals at Shakti Yoga & Living Arts. (So much so, in fact, that Yoga 201 is coming up soon!) It got me thinking. Of course.
There is so much I am not good at when it comes to yoga. Yes, yes, and I know, "practice and all is coming," but we all want to be "good" at what we do, right? Well, I can't reliably do handstand, bind, or even step my foot forward in surya namaskar. Sometimes it makes me feel silly to announce myself as a yoga teacher when I can't do some of those sparkly poses -- or even some of the "easier" ones. But I do practice. And practice well. And as much as I love asana, I like my practice to be about the big YOGA -- not just the stuff on the mat.
Interestingly, I am pretty good at teaching. I was a teacher before I was a yoga teacher, so I came to the top of the mat with a bit of experience. A bit, mind you. There are so many incredible, long-time teachers out there to whom I bow. I am awe of their practices, in many cases. But if you are a great teacher, I'm really in awe. It means you are connected to your students, have that presence, that voice, and a great approach that is serious, but not too serious. And in some ways, that's really what I want to be as a yogini. The teacher that makes you want to come back.
A few in my Yoga 101 series asked what would happen when the series ended. Would they be able to come to my class? (I must have blushed with delight! What a compliment!) And then it hit me -- it doesn't matter that I can't do titibasana (yet). They don't care. They want to feel safe, soft, open, strong, challenged, and successful in their yoga. These gracious yogis have bonded with me enough to want to practice with me more. Well, right on. I'm confident we'll have fun on the path together and find the yoga we're all meant to share.
For me, teaching is a big part of my practice. Spreading the love, opening the door to yoga that someone maybe couldn't find, or worse, had been turned away from. I never really thought about that before. I am so lucky to have these students that help me rethink everything I do on the mat. I take that with me off the mat. Hari OM.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
I don't know
SO much.
Or, there is SO much to try/read/learn/practice/know. It's incredible, really. Lately, I've been thinking about how many of the things I've enjoyed doing in my life: singing, writing, yoga (heck, GOLF, even!) require lots of practice, study, and self-inquiry. I'm kind of a junkie.
I'm reading a book (finally) recommended to me by a fellow yogini, and it is just great. It is practical, historical, and key to moving my practice and teaching to the next level. I'm pretty sure I'm not one of those yogis whose hallmark will be doing lots of WOW! poses -- that's just not me. Though who knows, practice and all is coming -- but I digress. Rather, I like the idea of introducing students to and using in my own yoga practice on and off the mat the depth and breadth of riches that yoga has to offer. There is history, culture, poetry, anatomy, music and more to be explored. It is, in fact, what makes yoga such a colorful, wonderful thing.
Sometimes I feel lucky to not have the strongest, most flexible practice. Not being an athletic juggernaut on the mat in part allowed me to be open to the other elements of yoga: it's philosophy, language, music, ritual and more. And each time I pick up a new text about it, I am reminded just how much of a beginner I am, of how little I know. It's so freeing to approach life this way -- just being in the moment, empty and open to all that is.
Or, there is SO much to try/read/learn/practice/know. It's incredible, really. Lately, I've been thinking about how many of the things I've enjoyed doing in my life: singing, writing, yoga (heck, GOLF, even!) require lots of practice, study, and self-inquiry. I'm kind of a junkie.
I'm reading a book (finally) recommended to me by a fellow yogini, and it is just great. It is practical, historical, and key to moving my practice and teaching to the next level. I'm pretty sure I'm not one of those yogis whose hallmark will be doing lots of WOW! poses -- that's just not me. Though who knows, practice and all is coming -- but I digress. Rather, I like the idea of introducing students to and using in my own yoga practice on and off the mat the depth and breadth of riches that yoga has to offer. There is history, culture, poetry, anatomy, music and more to be explored. It is, in fact, what makes yoga such a colorful, wonderful thing.
Sometimes I feel lucky to not have the strongest, most flexible practice. Not being an athletic juggernaut on the mat in part allowed me to be open to the other elements of yoga: it's philosophy, language, music, ritual and more. And each time I pick up a new text about it, I am reminded just how much of a beginner I am, of how little I know. It's so freeing to approach life this way -- just being in the moment, empty and open to all that is.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Re-solve
I was never good at algebra, or any math, for that matter. And maybe I'm not really good at solving problems in general. I don't know.
I hadn't really thought about making resolutions, or even about the new year that is upon us. Really, is there time for that? My friend Nancy, the Flying Yogini, got me thinking, though. She posted a little gem on Facebook about breathing through the letting go of things -- my paraphrase -- but you get the gist? It was about letting go. Practicing non-attachment.
I've been resolving to lose weight since I was about 12. I make the resolution every year -- even in the years I said (say) I wasn't making any resolutions. It has always been the thing I need to fix about myself. My self. Nancy's idea about letting things go in the new year somehow led me to the idea that resolutions are really new attempts to re-solve something. Solve it again. So maybe I would resolve to re-solve the weight problem. But I thought more about it.
And I thought about how I might let go of this. Let go of the resolution and the re-solution. Let go of the idea of fixing myself. Let go of the idea that I am less because there is more of me. Loosen the white-knuckled grasp. Let go of the attachments that bind me into this mindset, this heartache, this body. Because that's the yoga. The practice of just being, rather than just holding on.
Huh.
Then another gem from Nancy: "The universe is listening." Write it down, she says.
So I wrote it down here. I'm letting go. I'm not sure I even know what that means, but I have the year to find out.
And now I ask you -- what might you let go of?
I hadn't really thought about making resolutions, or even about the new year that is upon us. Really, is there time for that? My friend Nancy, the Flying Yogini, got me thinking, though. She posted a little gem on Facebook about breathing through the letting go of things -- my paraphrase -- but you get the gist? It was about letting go. Practicing non-attachment.
I've been resolving to lose weight since I was about 12. I make the resolution every year -- even in the years I said (say) I wasn't making any resolutions. It has always been the thing I need to fix about myself. My self. Nancy's idea about letting things go in the new year somehow led me to the idea that resolutions are really new attempts to re-solve something. Solve it again. So maybe I would resolve to re-solve the weight problem. But I thought more about it.
And I thought about how I might let go of this. Let go of the resolution and the re-solution. Let go of the idea of fixing myself. Let go of the idea that I am less because there is more of me. Loosen the white-knuckled grasp. Let go of the attachments that bind me into this mindset, this heartache, this body. Because that's the yoga. The practice of just being, rather than just holding on.
Huh.
Then another gem from Nancy: "The universe is listening." Write it down, she says.
So I wrote it down here. I'm letting go. I'm not sure I even know what that means, but I have the year to find out.
And now I ask you -- what might you let go of?
Monday, December 12, 2011
It's that old refrain:
The days are long and the years, short.
Six months since the last post? I can't imagine how that would happen, except for the runaway life.
The period since my last post reminds me of why sometimes the most important yoga is off the mat. Finding peace in my breath and in new ways of responding to things has been a challenge as life has swirled around me. As time and money come and go, being content with what I have seems too simple, but it, too, is a challenge. But I know how lucky I am. I know that I only have to tune in to connect to my practice, even if getting to the mat is a challenge. My girls are my yoga. My husband. My house. My chores. Teaching.
Life is the union, the yoga.
Six months since the last post? I can't imagine how that would happen, except for the runaway life.
The period since my last post reminds me of why sometimes the most important yoga is off the mat. Finding peace in my breath and in new ways of responding to things has been a challenge as life has swirled around me. As time and money come and go, being content with what I have seems too simple, but it, too, is a challenge. But I know how lucky I am. I know that I only have to tune in to connect to my practice, even if getting to the mat is a challenge. My girls are my yoga. My husband. My house. My chores. Teaching.
Life is the union, the yoga.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The days are long and the years, short
It's really true.
Today is Lucy's third birthday, and it seems like it was yesterday she was born.
I know we all say that, but
Lucy's arrival was particularly special because I fought hard to have a VBAC and had it. It was a transformational day for me in that it seemed like for once my body was doing what I wanted it to -- just being normal. This was the fruit, I think, of my yoga practice taking off during my pregnancy. (And of course I was lucky to have the support of my dear husband and my awesome doula, Kim Collins--) I was deeply connected to Lucy as she grew in my womb, and I was deeply connected to myself in my first year of motherhood. Josephine had just had her first birthday when it was time for Lucy to join us. It was an intense time. Carrying Lucy to just shy of 42 weeks was intense. Labor was intense. Two under two was about to be really intense.
It was obviously the start of many things: my dear daughter's life, our life as a family of four, Josephine's life as a big sister. But for me, it was really the start of possibilities -- the importance of my yoga practice and how it could shape me had been revealed. All that intensity was possible because I had found something steady and comfortable in my life -- yoga. It's a kick now to watch Lucy giggle and drop down into a three-legged dog, her favorite pose -- one I know I did a lot of in my prenatal classes. Maybe it is a legacy, maybe not. But it sure feels like the seeds have been planted. I hope I can keep giggling as I try new poses and refine the ones I love. I sure got a giggle on Monday, when I lurched into my first assisted handstands.
With Guru Purnima upon us, I am so grateful to my many, many teachers -- yoga and otherwise. I've added a few new ones to the list this week, especially Amy Ippoliti and Sadie Nardini, who have infused new inspiration into my practice. But my most powerful teachers are my daughters, for sure. Their giggles and cries teach me something new everyday. Jai!
Today is Lucy's third birthday, and it seems like it was yesterday she was born.
I know we all say that, but
Lucy's arrival was particularly special because I fought hard to have a VBAC and had it. It was a transformational day for me in that it seemed like for once my body was doing what I wanted it to -- just being normal. This was the fruit, I think, of my yoga practice taking off during my pregnancy. (And of course I was lucky to have the support of my dear husband and my awesome doula, Kim Collins--) I was deeply connected to Lucy as she grew in my womb, and I was deeply connected to myself in my first year of motherhood. Josephine had just had her first birthday when it was time for Lucy to join us. It was an intense time. Carrying Lucy to just shy of 42 weeks was intense. Labor was intense. Two under two was about to be really intense.
It was obviously the start of many things: my dear daughter's life, our life as a family of four, Josephine's life as a big sister. But for me, it was really the start of possibilities -- the importance of my yoga practice and how it could shape me had been revealed. All that intensity was possible because I had found something steady and comfortable in my life -- yoga. It's a kick now to watch Lucy giggle and drop down into a three-legged dog, her favorite pose -- one I know I did a lot of in my prenatal classes. Maybe it is a legacy, maybe not. But it sure feels like the seeds have been planted. I hope I can keep giggling as I try new poses and refine the ones I love. I sure got a giggle on Monday, when I lurched into my first assisted handstands.
With Guru Purnima upon us, I am so grateful to my many, many teachers -- yoga and otherwise. I've added a few new ones to the list this week, especially Amy Ippoliti and Sadie Nardini, who have infused new inspiration into my practice. But my most powerful teachers are my daughters, for sure. Their giggles and cries teach me something new everyday. Jai!
Friday, June 17, 2011
Reminder
Yesterday, struggling to keep up with tweets, I was knocked down by this one:
“There is no such thing as an advanced variation. My body can not be more advanced than yours. It's just mine, and yours is yours.”
Whoa. Talk about changing my teaching in three quick sentences.
This came from Michael Taylor, a yogi I've followed for a while. In his profile picture, he’s rocking a pretty awesome pose. I’ve never practiced with him -- I’ve never even met him.
Though I am an active, vocal advocate for yoga for every body, I know I think of variations of poses in an hierarchy. And I know I have refered to them in the context of the hierarchy in my classes. Students who might have been turned off by this: please, please accept my apology.
Interestingly (or obviously, I suppose) I owe this same apology to myself. This hierarchical thinking about the poses has infiltrated my own practice, as well. I can hear myself thinking as I take a “prep” pose that someday, maybe someday, enough practice of the “prep” will lead me to the really cool “advanced” version, as if where I am isn’t good enough or doesn’t count. I’m going to have to turn that tape off -- I know it too well.
Of course, in yoga teacher training, like everyone else, I learned about the beauty of the beginner’s mind. But am I always able to get down with it and love it? Apparently not. It is so easy to be wowed (by others). And so easy to compare (mostly me to whatever is “better”). And even easier to discount (my own practice because it isn’t as awesome as _________). Easier to get my head out of my own practice and out of the moment. So I need to listen to Michael Taylor to pay back my practice the honor it is due. A more advanced practice does not exist. There is only the practice. My pose is just mine, and yours is yours.
Many people, myself included, begin practice with eyes closing and tuning into the breath. This begins to move the gaze -- the attention, really -- inward to what is important. Each of our hearts is the unique crystal of our own practice, the divine essence that we share with everyone and everything. Looking inward keeps our eyes off other people’s mats because it just doesn’t matter what is there.
When I read Michael’s tweet, I immediately thought of how it tied back to so many of the yamas and niyamas, yoga’s ethical guidelines. It speaks to Ahimsa in not thinking violent thoughts towards oneself, to Asteya in not coveting what someone else has, to Santosha in practicing contentment, to Svadhyaya, knowing oneself, and Ishvara Pranidhana, surrender to something bigger than oneself. And back to the concept of the beginner’s mind: in the start of each practice, we begin, and we are still beginning at the end. This openness to what is, this willingness to allow the breath to bring us into the pose (whatever version), without judgement, is pure love.
Just as I know my breath is mine and yours is yours, so it is as well with the asanas and all the other elements of the practice. We are not categorized or divided by how we practice, we are united by the very fact that we do it. Thanks for reminding me, Michael.
“There is no such thing as an advanced variation. My body can not be more advanced than yours. It's just mine, and yours is yours.”
Whoa. Talk about changing my teaching in three quick sentences.
This came from Michael Taylor, a yogi I've followed for a while. In his profile picture, he’s rocking a pretty awesome pose. I’ve never practiced with him -- I’ve never even met him.
Though I am an active, vocal advocate for yoga for every body, I know I think of variations of poses in an hierarchy. And I know I have refered to them in the context of the hierarchy in my classes. Students who might have been turned off by this: please, please accept my apology.
Interestingly (or obviously, I suppose) I owe this same apology to myself. This hierarchical thinking about the poses has infiltrated my own practice, as well. I can hear myself thinking as I take a “prep” pose that someday, maybe someday, enough practice of the “prep” will lead me to the really cool “advanced” version, as if where I am isn’t good enough or doesn’t count. I’m going to have to turn that tape off -- I know it too well.
Of course, in yoga teacher training, like everyone else, I learned about the beauty of the beginner’s mind. But am I always able to get down with it and love it? Apparently not. It is so easy to be wowed (by others). And so easy to compare (mostly me to whatever is “better”). And even easier to discount (my own practice because it isn’t as awesome as _________). Easier to get my head out of my own practice and out of the moment. So I need to listen to Michael Taylor to pay back my practice the honor it is due. A more advanced practice does not exist. There is only the practice. My pose is just mine, and yours is yours.
Many people, myself included, begin practice with eyes closing and tuning into the breath. This begins to move the gaze -- the attention, really -- inward to what is important. Each of our hearts is the unique crystal of our own practice, the divine essence that we share with everyone and everything. Looking inward keeps our eyes off other people’s mats because it just doesn’t matter what is there.
When I read Michael’s tweet, I immediately thought of how it tied back to so many of the yamas and niyamas, yoga’s ethical guidelines. It speaks to Ahimsa in not thinking violent thoughts towards oneself, to Asteya in not coveting what someone else has, to Santosha in practicing contentment, to Svadhyaya, knowing oneself, and Ishvara Pranidhana, surrender to something bigger than oneself. And back to the concept of the beginner’s mind: in the start of each practice, we begin, and we are still beginning at the end. This openness to what is, this willingness to allow the breath to bring us into the pose (whatever version), without judgement, is pure love.
Just as I know my breath is mine and yours is yours, so it is as well with the asanas and all the other elements of the practice. We are not categorized or divided by how we practice, we are united by the very fact that we do it. Thanks for reminding me, Michael.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
The List
Inspired by beautiful fellow yogini Nancy at Flying Yogini, I started thinking about (and drafting) my yoga bucket list. It goes on and on and on already! Maybe too much, in fact, as my yoga journey got fired up a little later in life than some, and there might not be time for it all. But yoga is about being here, now, in the present, so I have to believe that the right items will be checked off my list -- as I know they will be from my friend's list.
But one item on my list sticks out to me: I want to have a more yogic household, a home and family more inspired by and in tune with the principles and philosophies of yoga I hold dear. What struck me about this item is that there is nothing to stop me from doing this RIGHT NOW. I am responsible (with my dear husband, of course) for the way in which we treat each other, what we teach our children, and how our house is kept. We are not just inhabitants of this house, we are instead the light of this home, together and collectively.
Let's be honest: a lot of times I don't feel like such a divine light and the home doesn't feel much like a beacon either. A home with two little children isn't all blissed out all the time. There are plenty of raised voices and crying, unhealthy foods, clutter everywhere, frantic movement. Not exactly like an ashram, if you know what I mean. But at the root of all the madness is our love for one and other and our gratitude for the great lives we have. And here is the seed of our yogic home.
So here I will begin to sow the seed and see what flowers forth. Maybe I just need an easy to do list to get things going. Here are a few things I think we can do to start:
- Be more conscious of how we communicate with each other, being mindful to honor each other as the divine beings we are
- Actively integrate seva, selfless service, into our family life
- Be on my mat more often: in keeping with that old saying Happy Mama, Happy Baby
- Incorporate a yoga practice (an age-appropriate one) into the kids' lives more regularly, and find ways to practice yoga with my husband
- Work to de-clutter our home wherever possible so we have fewer distractions and more peace
- Persevere in cooking the healthy, vegetarian food I love, even when it seems too time consuming or tiring
It's the start, I think, of something wonderful -- and it could grow into much more: a way for us all to be a part of and relate to the world around us in a most positive way. I have more ideas that might be a bit more involved, but I need to find a steady comfortable pose for our home life, so to speak. When we make adjustments in our asanas, it takes practice to make them flow. To deepen, we move to the edge and then back off just slightly so we can soften and sing. So it will be in making changes in our home -- it will take practice. But like Sri K. Pattabhi Jois said, "Practice ... and all is coming."
But one item on my list sticks out to me: I want to have a more yogic household, a home and family more inspired by and in tune with the principles and philosophies of yoga I hold dear. What struck me about this item is that there is nothing to stop me from doing this RIGHT NOW. I am responsible (with my dear husband, of course) for the way in which we treat each other, what we teach our children, and how our house is kept. We are not just inhabitants of this house, we are instead the light of this home, together and collectively.
Let's be honest: a lot of times I don't feel like such a divine light and the home doesn't feel much like a beacon either. A home with two little children isn't all blissed out all the time. There are plenty of raised voices and crying, unhealthy foods, clutter everywhere, frantic movement. Not exactly like an ashram, if you know what I mean. But at the root of all the madness is our love for one and other and our gratitude for the great lives we have. And here is the seed of our yogic home.
So here I will begin to sow the seed and see what flowers forth. Maybe I just need an easy to do list to get things going. Here are a few things I think we can do to start:
- Be more conscious of how we communicate with each other, being mindful to honor each other as the divine beings we are
- Actively integrate seva, selfless service, into our family life
- Be on my mat more often: in keeping with that old saying Happy Mama, Happy Baby
- Incorporate a yoga practice (an age-appropriate one) into the kids' lives more regularly, and find ways to practice yoga with my husband
- Work to de-clutter our home wherever possible so we have fewer distractions and more peace
- Persevere in cooking the healthy, vegetarian food I love, even when it seems too time consuming or tiring
It's the start, I think, of something wonderful -- and it could grow into much more: a way for us all to be a part of and relate to the world around us in a most positive way. I have more ideas that might be a bit more involved, but I need to find a steady comfortable pose for our home life, so to speak. When we make adjustments in our asanas, it takes practice to make them flow. To deepen, we move to the edge and then back off just slightly so we can soften and sing. So it will be in making changes in our home -- it will take practice. But like Sri K. Pattabhi Jois said, "Practice ... and all is coming."
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