On Universal Downloads and Co-Creating with Your Muse

I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that my yoga mat is my teacher and my guide.

Lately, most of the lessons I learn in life start on that rubbery rectangle. And many of the creative ideas I develop start as inspiration that appears while I'm in Downward Facing Dog or Child's Pose.

This morning, as I was moving through my practice I started feeling the excitement some new ideas percolating. When I sat down in meditation for a few minutes after my asana practice, the flood of ideas just kept coming.

This is why I keep a notebook handy when I'm practicing yoga and meditating. There's something about moving in time with my breath, about breathing deeply and centering on the inhale and exhale, that triggers creativity. So the minute I'm done with my practice (and sometimes right in the middle of it so that I don't lose a specific idea), I sit down with pen and paper and take notes.

I honestly believe that in those moments I'm transcribing a direct download from the Universe. I'm a true believer in the Muse and know that if I don't take hold of those lightbulb moments, of those clear and fresh ideas, and start developing them and stretching into them that they will pass me by in favor of someone else who is ready.

I've been there. I've had amazing ideas that I didn't delve into and before I knew it someone else was doing exactly what I wanted to do but didn't.

There are a lot of reasons why we don't take inspiration and run with it: lack of time, lack of energy, fear of failure (or success), to name just a few. But if we're willing to push through all of that, to connect to that inspiring thought or idea long enough to see it through, it's amazing what we can accomplish.

I'm telling you all this so that you understand what to do with those ideas when they come up. So that you don't miss out on Universal downloads. So that you can recognize the Muse when she shows up and sit down with her to co-create.

Don't wait when inspiration strikes. Get started and see what can happen!

Expanding in 2016

HK 2016 Countdown by Calvin YC is licensed under CC BY 2.0

It’s noon on January 1, 2016 and I’m sitting in the Odyssey with my lap desk crammed between my belly and the steering wheel, working on my first blog post in who knows how long while the Jellybean snores quietly behind me. 

I don’t even dare look at the date on my last post for fear I’ll start beating myself up for my lack of consistency, my lack of focus, my lack of commitment, my inability to use my time wisely. Frankly, all that beating takes too much time and energy.

So I’m sitting here. Writing. Even though there are a million other things I could be doing. Even though I'm worried no one is reading anymore. Even though I'm SO tired and would like to close my eyes and start snoring quietly, too.

It’s hard to keep coming back to the blank page, but this year I’m doing it. I’m making my creative pursuits a priority. I'm done making excuses and I'm ready to be the writer I keep saying I am.

With that in mind, my word for 2016--my mantra, if you will--is EXPAND. This year I will:

Expand my boarders. 

I’ll push through the walls I’ve built out of fear and pursue the dreams I’ve been forming in my mind. I’ll find growth in choosing to see boarders as flexible and transparent.

Expand my creativity. 

I’ll write, take pictures, color in coloring books, read, visit art museums and learn from other artists. And I’ll learn from my children as they revel in their own creativity before anyone tells them to be grown and serious.

Expand my vision. 

I’ll dream bigger and let my imagination run wild. I’ll write down goals, create vision boards and live with my eyes wide open, looking for opportunities to take more chances and make more space for successes.

Expand my yoga practice. 

I’ll get on my mat and I’ll sit in stillness. I’ll be present and I’ll share my heart with my family, my friends and with new acquaintances.

Now that I’ve shared a bit about my goals for 2016, I’d love to hear what your goals are for the year. What is your word for 2016? What will you do to make this year your best year yet?

Challenge: Stress Relief

I'm typing this post on my trusty iPhone while the Peanut is napping on my lap. It turns out when you're raising an infant you find all sorts of creative ways to get things done. It's taken some time (almost 10 months, to be exact), but I'm finally starting to figure things out.

I think. 

One of the things I miss most about my pre-baby life is my yoga practice. The physical challenge, the grounding and centering, the relaxation. If anyone could benefit from a consistent practice, certainly it's a new mom. Unfortunately, it's not always easy to make it happen. 

Instead of hour-and-a-half classes a few times a week, my yoga practice these days consists of a few deep breaths while nursing, a stolen Downward Dog and Child's Pose while the Peanut plays, and if I'm lucky, a pre-bed stretch or two. Enter The Sisterhood of the Shrinking Jeans and their Great Stress Relief Challenge. Stress relief? Um, yes, please! And I think the motivation of a challenge will help me to get my butt on my mat a few times a week again. 

What say you? Will you join me as I find my way back onto my mat? I'll be happy to answer any yoga questions you have. You can email me or comment here. And I will root you on, too. Just leave me a comment and let me know you're participating in the challenge!

Where Openness Leads

If you'd asked me a year ago where I'd be right now, today, I never would have imagined this. Which just goes to show you that we have no idea what the Universe has in store for us.

I would have told you as much a year ago. I'm no fool now, and I wasn't then. I would have said I had no idea where I'd be or what I'd be doing. I would have told you about some of my plans and dreams--teaching yoga, writing, dating, traveling--but I would have also said this:

I am open to whatever comes my way.

I'd like to believe that's how I've lived my life for more than a year now. Open to all the possibilities and opportunities that I've encountered. Willing to take risks, try new things, look at the world from different perspectives.

I went out on dates with men I was sure were out of my league--and discovered how terribly wrong I could be. I flew a plane. I took trips to new places. I swam with sting rays. I taught my first yoga classes. I learned how to knit. I spent time reconnecting with old friends. I also opened my heart and made new ones.

I fell in love.

And that's where I am now. In love with someone who complements me perfectly, someone I can laugh with and talk to, who seems to know me better than I know myself. He is someone I can trust, who is open and honest and hears me when I speak. He is so caring and generous and loving that sometimes it's difficult for me to receive it all. I try my best, though, and I give back all that I can.

I could not be happier or more content where I am. Right now. Especially because out of that love, something beautiful and amazing was created:

I'm so glad I was open to what came my way, and so grateful for all the blessings and opportunities I've had over the last year. Now I look forward to a year ahead, filled with many more wonderful experiences.

I have no idea what this year will hold, but I am open to whatever comes my way.

On Coasting

I'd like to believe that the moment I decided not to pursue medicine, I decided to take my life into my own hands. That's not the complete truth, though. I have this habit of stepping out, taking a chance, and then coasting.

For a long time, I let things happen to me. I wasn't very good at taking charge of my life. I went with the flow, as they say, rather than considering what I really wanted out of life. That's how I ended up finishing a pre-med program with no desire to go to medical school.

It is, at least in part, how I ended up in Baltimore. It was a friend's suggestions and coaxing that started the process, and once the ball got rolling I couldn't imagine doing anything else. I didn't wonder if it was the right choice, I just let momentum take over. I applied for jobs, I interviewed, and in the end, I found myself in Charm City.

It was my decision to go back to school and get my degree in writing, and it was my choice to change careers and move in a new direction. Then I took the first writing job that came my way and have been coasting along there for six years.

I took a chance and chose to pursue a man, and then I floated for years through a relationship that was going no where. It was comfortable and so I stayed.

It seemed there was no adventure in my bones, no fearlessness or spunk.  It was there, though, lying dormant. I just failed to recognize it, to nurture it. Now and then I would feed it with small risks and tiny tastes of audacity, but it wanted more.

And eventually it got what it wanted. Over the last 18 months I have been exploring adventure. I've been making more conscious choices, and I practice choosing every day what direction I want my life to move in. I decided to become a yoga teacher and I made it happen. Once I finished my training, I carefully chose the classes I wanted to teach. And when a new teaching opportunity comes up, I weigh my options and make the choice I think is best at the time.

I've tried new things, like ending a stagnant relationship, exploring online dating, flying an airplane, auditioning for a teaching position, and submitting essays to Big Name publications. I've learned from my mistakes and I've made some new ones. But I've done most of it consciously.

There will always be times when it's easier to let life sweep us through the motions and there's nothing wrong with coasting on occasion. I just hope that I've learned enough to recognize when it's happening so that I can either choose to be swept away or make the effort to slow the current and take a different path.

Comparison Yoga

When I first started practicing yoga, I would spend a significant amount of time in classes comparing myself to the other students. I'd think, 'I'm not as flexible as her' or 'I'll never be able to do a back bend like that.' I'd get my body into a posture and immediately start looking around to see who was doing it better, who had it more right, who looked more serene and yogic. There was always someone. Always.

These comparisons often discouraged me from taking yoga classes altogether. In fact, they kept me from venturing into a full-fledged yoga studio for years, because that's where the REAL yogis practiced. And I clearly wasn't a real yogi if I couldn't stand on my head or contort into a pretzel, right?

It was only when I began focusing on what was happening on my own mat that I started really benefiting from yoga. At first those moments were sporadic. Maybe I'd close my eyes for a second in Warrior I and realize how strong my legs felt, or I'd find myself gazing at the floor while in Warrior III and realize I'd been balancing in the pose longer than I ever expected I could. With time, I started to link these experiences together. I spent more and more of each class present in my own body and less time worrying about what the bodies around me were (and were not) doing.

Instead of measuring myself against some outside standard, I tried to be more accepting of who and where I was each time I stepped on my mat. With that shift, instead of finding discouragement in yoga class, I started finding strength and peace.

This change in perspective gave me permission, finally, to enter a yoga studio--as a teacher trainee. I'll admit, that entrance was a bit more dramatic than it needed to be. I could have simply taken a class, after all. That doesn't really matter, though. What matters is this: By letting go of the comparisons (at least most of the time), I gave myself permission to do something that, in the past, I would have considered off limits to someone "like me" (read: someone not flexible/strong/thin/whatever enough).

Don't get me wrong. I haven't stopped comparing myself to others. I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop completely. It's a behavior as ingrained and instinctive as scratching an itch. But now that I'm aware of the part of me that finds my own worth (or lack thereof) through comparison to others, I'm able to notice how it affects me and, with a little effort, let those comparisons go.

Message to My Sixth Grade Self

I've been following a lot of yoga blogs of late, for obvious reasons. I came across Curvy Yoga recently, and wish I had found it five years ago, when I first started practicing yoga and was much curvier than I am now. Curvy Yoga classes, or any yoga classes tailored toward people with curves, are few and far between in my experience, and joining a yoga class or studio where everyone seems to be fitter and thinner than you can be intimidating. Trust me. Been there, done that.

But yoga is ultimately about connecting your mind, spirit AND body. It's about tuning in to what your body has to tell you, noticing it and not judging it. As a curvy gal, I've been judging my body for as long as I can remember. With years of yoga practice and other strategies, I'm getting better at the acceptance and non-judgment, but those negative thoughts still creep in on occasion. Which is why I absolutely loved a (somewhat) recent blog post on Curvy Yoga about an enthusiastic sixth-grade yoga student.

Many of the lessons Anna mentions she learned from this beautiful sixth grader are lessons I wish I'd learned by the sixth grade. In fact, most of them I'm still learning. "Fearlessness is the new black," for instance. Or, "Your body is perfect because it's yours."

With that in mind, I decided to write up my own list of messages I'd like to send my sixth grade self. Things I wished I'd known then (and maybe even wish I knew right now). I figure, my sixth grade self is still in there somewhere, still learning, right? Hopefully these lessons will help her grow up confident and strong.

Lesson #1: Trust your gut. If something feels right for you, it probably is. And if it feels "off", that's enough of a reason to walk away.

Lesson #2: You are beautiful. No matter what the magazines or TV shows say or imply. Just because your body looks different, just because you're not a size 2, doesn't mean you are any less beautiful than that model or the skinny girl in your math class.

Lesson #3: It's okay to shine. Don't spend your life hiding. Allow yourself the opportunity to stand out. Be smart. Be funny. Be brave. Enjoy your life by being exactly who you are.

What lessons would you share with your sixth-grade self?

Becoming a Yogini

Seven months ago I started a journey that seven years ago I couldn't have possibly imagined. In the wake of my recent breakup, I wanted to do something to take my mind off the pain, to help me heal, and to prove to myself I was strong enough on my own. And I did just that.

I walked into my first yoga teacher training session with apprehension and excitement. I didn't know what to expect exactly, but I was certain my life was going to change in big ways. A little over a month ago I finished the training portion of the program and I can say without a doubt that I was right. I've learned so much over the last seven months that it's hard to even put the lessons into words. For the sake of summary, I'm going to give it a try though.

1. I'm stronger than I think. Whether it was making it through 108 sun salutations or getting over a failed relationship, I realized that I am physically, mentally and emotionally stronger than I've ever given myself credit for.

2. I can do anything I put my mind to, as long as I just keep breathing. The teacher training program I chose was not easy. It was time consuming, and emotionally and physically demanding. It required a serious commitment for an extended period of time. There were the classes I had to take every week, the weekends I had to dedicate almost entirely, not to mention all the studying and reading that I had to squeeze into my already tight schedule. And yet I managed to get through it all by reminding myself to breath, focus and keep moving. I made the time for it all because it was something I wanted.

3. It's important to have a tribe. After ending my relationship, I realized that I didn't have much of a support system in my area. Sure, I had friends and family who loved me, but most of them were out of town or state. I found myself reaching out to nearby friends more, and I discovered that they were more than happy to help me through a tough time. I also discovered a brand new group of loving and supportive friends through the teacher training. While these friendships are just beginning to bloom, I feel a deep and powerful connection to my fellow trainees and know that connection will last a lifetime.

4. Taking chances opens doors. When I started the yoga teacher training, I didn't really know if I wanted to be a teacher. In fact, my intention was to explore yoga more deeply and "maybe teach some day". But by the time the training was over, I was already built up a small private class that met a couple times a month, and was committed to teaching two classes a week in the studio. Sometimes when we take the first step, opportunity meets us half-way.

5. I will always be becoming. The thing that strikes me most about finishing the teacher training program is that I still don't feel like a teacher. I am not yet a yogini in my eyes. Even though I stand in front of classes of students and lead them in their practice every week, I still feel like a student myself. And I don't know if that will ever change. I've realized that even when I've finally arrived at a what I thought would be the end point, there will always be another lesson to learn. I will always be becoming a yogini.

Floundering to the End

Just one more teacher training weekend, an anatomy test, a take-home exam, and a few class assists and I'll officially be a certified yoga teacher. I can't believe the end is really that near. It's sad to realize that I won't be seeing this great group of fellow trainees each month anymore, that this incredible phase of my life is coming to an end. And even though I've already started teaching the occasional private class and will soon be taking over two morning classes at the studio, it's hard to imagine my life as a yoga teacher.

I taught my first paid private yoga class on Sunday and found myself fumbling terribly despite my preparation and previous experience with this group of students. I gave the wrong name for poses, stumbled over instructions, forgot posture benefits and didn't give a single adjustment. I thought I had the teaching thing down, thought I was getting the hang of it. Apparently, that was not the case. I laughed off my mispronunciations and stumbling instructions with a self-deprecating, "Wow, I'm a little off today." But I felt like I was completely floundering.

Later that day, while ruminating on all the mistakes I had made, I realized that I'm always going to be learning and improving. Not just as a yoga teacher, but as a writer, a friend, a lover, a human being. Like so many times during my exploration of yoga, I began extrapolating what happened in that class to other areas of my life.

I will never "arrive" at some magical end-point, some moment when I'm complete and perfect. I won't always give the clearest instructions, write the most lyric sentences, or be the best person I can be in this world. I will flounder through life making mistakes. And through those mistakes I will change and grow. Sometimes I will fall on my face. But I will get up, brush my knees off, and try again.

(Photo credit: Moffet)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Peace with Food

Confession: I hate being hungry.

I know, no one likes to be hungry. But my aversion to hunger seems to go beyond what I would consider normal. At some point early in my life, hunger became something I avoided at all costs. The sensation actually made me anxious, and I do everything I can to avoid feeling that rumbling.

As soon as my stomach starts to feel empty I immediately seek out something to quell the sensation. In fact, I'm often thinking about what I can or will eat long before hunger even makes an appearance. Which means food has always had power over me.

That desire to avoid emptiness eventually transferred into something more sinister, a disordered relationship with food that extended from eating at the slightest hint of hunger to eating whenever I felt emotionally empty. I know I'm not the only one. I realize that most women, and a good number of men, have some sort of strained relationship with food. But I'm pretty sure my problem crossed the line on more than one occasion from simple emotional eating to what I would have called binge eating. I never purged, but I could eat more than a thousand calories in less than an hour. This binging has subsided over the last few years, as I've discovered ways to better deal with that emotional emptiness, but that fear of hunger still remains.

So imagine my anxiety when I found out that my yoga teacher training group would be completing a juice fast together. At first I was excited to face the challenge. I even volunteered to fast for an additional day. I was caught up in the excitement of the group, interested in experimenting with my diet in a new way. Then the fear started creeping in.

What if I couldn't do it? What if I got really hungry? What if the cravings were too much? What if I wasn't strong enough? The self-doubt and insecurity crept in one question at a time.

To deal with the anxiety, I started planning immediately. I weaned myself off caffeine. I decreased my sugar and white flour intake. And I bought plenty of juice--apple, pomegranate, white grape and cranberry--and vegetable broth

After my dinner on Thursday night, a dinner which I enjoyed slowly and mindfully knowing that it would be my last meal until Sunday afternoon, I settled into the knowledge that my diet would consist only of liquids for more than 60 hours. Then something unexpected happened.

I felt relieved.

Friday I drank juice, water or herbal tea when I was thirsty. If I got hungry, I had a cup of broth. But I never once worried about what I would eat, where my next meal would come from, or when I could finally have solid food again. The anxiety was gone. I knew I would eat on Sunday, and in the meantime, I didn't really think about food. And I felt so alive, it was like every cell in my body was vibrating with energy.

When teacher training started Friday evening, we had a group yoga practice and I found myself able to get more deeper into some poses than I'd ever been before. My focus was intense. My body was responding in new ways. Saturday was a bit more difficult. By the afternoon I was starting to feel a bit more lethargic and the physical hunger was becoming more intense. The anxiety never came up, though. It seemed I was moving beyond my fear of hunger and into a new phase of my relationship with food. It had no control over me anymore.

I could trust that I would never have to eat anything unless I chose to. That would be my challenge once the fast was over. To maintain my sense of control over food. Not for the purpose of going to the other extreme and severely limiting my food intake. But for the purpose of allowing myself time and space to be hungry, to really experience meals when I did choose to eat, and to recognize the effects different foods have on my body.

When we finally broke fast together on Sunday afternoon, every bite was like a flavor explosion in my mouth. After tasting nothing but water, diluted juices, vegetable broth and unsweetened teas, the taste of a strawberry was powerful. The saltiness of a peanut made my mouth water. The crunch of a carrot felt like a blessing.

Almost two weeks later, I'm still having revelations about that fasting experience. Each time I find myself eating when I'm not really hungry or mindlessly munching on a snack during the day, I remember that feeling of power that came with emptiness, and I relax. I've finally found some peace with food. I have the power now, and I know how to use it.

(Photo credit: Shermeee)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

(De)Caffeinated Yogini

Ask fifty adults practicing yoga whether they drink coffee, and there's a good chance at least half of them will say yes. But traditionally, yoga and any stimulant did not go well together. Many yoga teachers recommend letting go of caffeine as you become more dedicated to a yoga practice. Other well-known yoga teachers show up to class sipping coffee from a Starbucks cup.

There's no rule that says you can't drink coffee if you're a serious yoga practitioner. Why then, did this yogini decide to let go of caffeine? Excellent question.

I've been a near-daily coffee drinker for years now. My morning routine during the work week entails me entering the building, taking off my coat and brewing the coffee for the office. I've usually finished my first cup and am going back for my second by the time the rest of my coworkers start trickling in an hour later. I like the smell of it, the taste of it, the way it warms my body. Coffee has been my quiet-time companion for a long time. But I wasn't addicted. There were weekends when I would go completely without coffee (but not necessarily caffeine) and saw no real changes in how my body and mind functioned. No headaches, no sleepiness, nothing to indicate that I had to have coffee.

Still, I had started getting the feeling that caffeine was weighing me down. Not literally, of course. But as much as I had convinced myself that caffeine didn't control me, I found myself drawn to that pot every morning, like a fly to honey.

During our last teacher training weekend, we started discussing preparations for our upcoming juice fast, the topic of caffeine came up and the conversation got a bit heated. "How many of you are addicted to caffeine?" our instructor asked. About half of the group raised their hands. "And how many of you drink coffee but don't think you're addicted to caffeine?" Most of the rest of us, myself included, raised our hands. Then the instructor challenged us to explore that idea.

Like so many things I've been doing lately, I took that challenge seriously and decided to experiment with letting go of caffeine. I truly didn't think it would be that difficult. I only drank a couple of cups of coffee most days of the week, and some days I didn't have any. How hard could it be to let that go?

Surprisingly hard.

I started my week with one cup of 1/3 decaf. At about 2:00 that afternoon I thought I was going to fall asleep at my desk. I got irritable and so very sleepy. At first I couldn't figure out why. Then it occurred to me that I usually had a cup of black tea or a diet caffeinated soda after lunch. Maybe I'd been drinking more caffeine than I thought.

The next two days I stuck with my 1/3 decaf blend. Just one cup. I was miserable during the day. But I was also sleeping soundly through the night, when I would normally wake up three or four times.

On the fourth day, I shifted to one cup of 2/3 decaf and did that for two days. On the sixth day, I had a decaf Americano. And on day seven, I went coffee-less.

It's been almost three weeks now, and aside from the two decaf Americanos I've had, I've been caffeine and coffee free. And I feel fantastic. I'm sleeping so much better. I have more energy. I'm alert and wake during the day without the aid of any stimulants. That's not to say there aren't days when I feel like I could really use that jolt of caffeine or when I want a hot drink, but for now at least, some deep breathing, a brisk walk around the block or some herbal tea are doing the trick. I can't promise that I won't ever drink a caffeinated beverage again, but right now it feels great to be a decaffeinated yogini.

(Photo credit: Demion)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Finding Strength in Yoga

We've all heard the celebrities swear that yoga makes their bodies tight and toned. And I have to admit that when I started yoga teacher training, a rather large part of my motivation was the potential physical benefit of a regular yoga practice. As you can probably tell from my blog posts of late, it seems that I'm getting much more emotionally, mentally and spiritually from the dedicated practice of yoga than I am physically.

That's not to say my body isn't changing. I find myself wishing I'd taken "before" photos, so that I could share my physical progress with you all. My butt is lifting, my waist is more defined, my shoulders are stronger, my biceps and triceps are actually cut and visible. I'm able to do things that I doubted I'd ever be able to do, like balance in Bakasana and lift fully into Urdhva Dhanurasana. And I'm working my way toward headstand, slowly but surely.

One of the biggest things I'm learning about the physical practice of yoga (asana) is that it's such a small part of what yoga truly is. There are actually eight limbs of yoga, only one of which refers to the physical postures. So while I'm actively working to move more deeply into Downward Facing Dog and to practice better form in Chaturanga Dandasana, the real work is coming in other areas of my life.

I suspected that might be the case when I signed up for the training. After all, I'd just ended a six-year relationship and was planning to submerse myself in an intensive program. I knew emotions would come up and I'd run into walls. How could I not? But here's the thing: I had no idea the extent to which yoga would open me up and reveal who I truly am.

The lessons I'm learning on my mat through my physical practice--to keep breathing, even when I'm uncomfortable; to listen to my body; to trust in my own strength; to push myself gently, and handle myself with care--these lessons don't just end on the mat. I see myself applying them in my life when I'm in a stressful situation, starting to become irritable, and I calm myself with a few slow, deep breaths. Or when I'm feeling exhausted by a hectic schedule and treat myself to a hot bath and an early bedtime instead of forcing my body through another long day. Or when I recognize I'm making excuses instead of fully living my life and I forgive myself and then begin to carefully push myself, taking the first hesitant steps toward my future.

Yes, yoga is giving me a fit body. But it is also strengthening my mind, my spirit. Then again, maybe yoga is just quieting the noise and clearing away the underbrush so that I can see what was there all along.

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

108 Sun Salutations: A Perfect Ending and Beginning

I took two yoga mats home with me. Two. Because I was hoping to not only get in plenty of yoga on my own, but also practice my teaching skills on some friends and family. The mats didn't get used nearly as much as I'd planned, but what use they did get was good use.

On Christmas Eve morning, I woke up bright and early, turned up the faux fireplace in my mom's den and unrolled my mat in front of the lit Christmas tree. I practiced for an hour in the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of that morning. It was a beautiful start to my vacation.

I had planned to take a couple of classes at a studio in the area, but one of them ended up being canceled, and I missed the other because I took my nephew ice skating instead. Ice skating itself was a practice in patience and focus, though. I haven't been on skates in years, but it was so much fun to find my footing again and start floating across the ice like I did when I was a kid. We went to a rink that I'd gone to a lot when I was in school. As I skated around and around the ice I couldn't believe all the memories of birthday parties and hanging out with friends that came back to me. I'm pretty sure I was grinning ear-to-ear the entire time I was out there. My nephew, on the other hand, had enough after about 10 minutes and then watched me for the next 45 minutes or so. I could have stayed out there all afternoon, getting surer and surer on the thin blades. I'm not skilled enough to do turns or even skate backwards, but man was I having fun!

Later in the week, I taught a mini yoga class to my stepsister and her girlfriend. It was a great experience and I learned a lot about my teaching style and how I can adjust it for different types of learners. One of them is a visual learner and needed a lot more demonstration, while the other was very good at following my verbal instructions, so I tried to demonstrate more of the poses as I described them, giving them both the tools they needed to benefit from the practice. I also appreciated that they asked a lot of questions. Neither of them have taken yoga before, so they asked about anatomy and benefits of different poses, challenging me to remember all that I've learned during our training weekends and in my studying.

Before I knew it, New Year's Eve had arrived. I woke up early that morning and decided that for the last day of 2010 I wanted to do something challenging. I rolled out my mat in front of that Christmas tree again and set out to complete 108 sun salutations. The last time I completed more than 100 sun salutations was my first teacher training weekend, and it wasn't pretty. I had to take breaks often and was so sore for a week after. I didn't know if I'd be able to get through 108 straight, but I promised myself I'd do as many as I could.

The first 25 were relatively easy. I thought, I'd gotten through almost a quarter of them so maybe 108 was doable after all. By 54, my confidence was starting to wane. My arms were getting Jello-y and I was sweating like crazy. Still, I was half-way there.

At 72, two-thirds of the way to 108, I started to see the sun. There was no way I was quitting at that point. I pushed through to 100, where I paused for a moment at the top of my mat to catch my breath and consider how far I'd come. Just a few months ago, I wasn't able to do even 50 straight sun salutations, much less 100. And there I was, having just finished 100 sun salutations, ready to complete 8 more. For the last 8, I moved slowly, dedicating each series of poses to something different: my family, my friends, my enemies, the earth and all the creatures on it, the universe and all that it holds, my past, my present, and my future.

When I was finished, I stood in silence, stunned by my strength, my perseverance, my dedication. I may or may not have lost count a couple of times, but I found a groove and just kept going, moving with my breath in no hurry to finish. I moved my way through doubt and exhaustion, and ended 2010 stronger than I started it.

How's that for a perfect ending and a new beginning? Whatever 2011 holds, I know I can handle it. And if not, I can always do 108 sun salutations to make myself feel better.

(Photo credit: kevindooley)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Breathing Through Discomfort

There's a point during almost every yoga class I take where I've reached my physical (or mental) limit in a pose and all I want to do is get out of it. I mentally beg the teacher to prompt us into another position. I fidget. I grimace. I sweat. Sometimes I even come out of the pose altogether, tired of struggling. Then I spend the rest of the class, or at least the next few minutes, silently berating myself for my inability to sustain the pose. It seems like a never-ending battle. I want to grow, to build mental and physical strength, and yet I don't want to feel the discomfort associated with all that change.

It's not just in my yoga practice that I experience this conflict either. I'm starting to recognize a similar resistance in my life at large. I'm especially seeing it lately where my writing is concerned. I want to write and publish my writing. I put time and effort into formulating ideas, putting them on paper, molding them into moving stories, and editing them over and over again. But then the resistance comes. The story might not be good enough yet. It might be too personal, might reveal too much of myself. It might--no, it will--be rejected. I don't want to feel the discomfort that comes along with all that. Instead, I leave the unfinished or unsubmitted pieces in a folder on my laptop. Or I pull them out and rework them, yet again. I do everything but send them out into the world. I just haven't been able to figure out how to move beyond that fear.

The answer came to me on the mat, as they so often do these days--but that's another post in itself. I was folded into Pigeon and my right hip flexor was stretch its limit. There wasn't any pain, just a nagging discomfort that my mind wanted to avoid. I started wishing we could move back into Downward Facing Dog. I rocked my hips side to side looking for a way out of the tension. I shifted a little more to the left and the discomfort disappeared, but so did the benefits, the pleasure, of the stretch. So I moved back into the pose, where the discomfort was still waiting.

At just that moment, the teacher spoke up. "Remember to breathe. If you feel tension, try sending your breath into that area of your body." I followed her lead, inhaling and exhaling slowly, deeply. The resistance waned. My mind relaxed as I focused on the air moving in and out of my lungs, and my body responded by relaxing a little, too. I even moved a teeny-tiny bit deeper into the position, as my hip flexor released ever-so-slightly.

Understanding flickered in my mind. The discomfort won't last forever. In fact, if I take the time to breath, to experience the discomfort and allow it to pass, I might just find that I'm able to move more fully into an experience--whether it's on the mat, in my writing, or in my life.

The next time fear, discomfort or tension arises in my life, I promise myself that I will breathe into the discomfort and wait for it to pass, because it always does. Then, when the discomfort subsides, I will move forward into the things that are waiting for me on the other side.

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

All That Is In Me

Two years ago in January, I made a trip to Arizona to visit my sister. At the time, I was feeling out of sorts, lost and confused about my life. I was in a relationship that I now know wasn't going anywhere. I was taking tiny steps toward a freelance career that I couldn't seem to get off the ground. I had lost all spiritual direction and was struggling to find peace in the midst of my chaotic life. So I hopped a plane and headed to a new land hoping for a revelation.

I can't honestly say that I found what I was looking for during that trip, but something new opened up in me. I had been practicing yoga for a while, and being around such interesting natural beauty stirred up the yogic instinct to be present and open in the face of new experiences. I enjoyed moments of laughter and long conversations with my baby sister. I stood on a rock on our way to Sedona and found myself reaching into Tree pose (Vrksasana). I sat beside Slide Rock, watching and listening to the water rush by, feeling my body relax and my breath steady and deepen. I watched the sun set over the Grand Canyon, recognizing the timelessness of both the canyon's existence and my own. And yet I still found myself wondering when the lightening bolt would strike, when the "ah-ha" moments would appear. Would I ever find the peace and strength that I was looking for?

For the two years that followed I began to hear that still small voice of my own spirit a bit more clearly, to explore the deeper places of my mind and heart, the ones that I had shut off for way too long, fearing the effort they might require and the discomfort they might evoke. Looking back I can see that trip for the awakening that it was, but while I was there, even in the midst of what I now see as revelations, I was still looking for something more.

This month, I'll be returning to Arizona for a trip of a different kind--a short visit with my sister followed by a few days at a trade show demonstrating products for the company I work for. This time, I'm not searching. I have learned a valuable lesson in my yoga training so far: All that I am looking for is already within me. My last trip to Arizona gave me a flicker of that knowledge, and now, when I find myself seeking out something deeper, more meaningful, more powerful, just plain more, I am able to recognize the longing and remember that I am full and complete just as I am. It is not the "more" that matters, in the end. It's the experience, the process, the journey, the moments that make up those things, that will determine a life.

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

When Doubt Creeps In

Last weekend I spent three days with my fellow yoga teacher trainees practice teaching, learning new postures and assists, discussing the ethics of yoga (the yamas), practicing mindfulness, and meditating. It was an awesome weekend filled with love, laughter, hard work, and doubt. Yes, I said doubt.

Every now and then I'd glance around the room and wonder what I was doing there. Am I really cut out to become a yoga teacher? Do I have what it will take to knowledgeably, accurately and gently teach others not just the physical but also the mental, ethical and spiritual aspects of yoga that I'm only now beginning to wrap my own mind and body around? Will I ever learn all those Sanskrit terms?

Sometimes I'm not sure what to do with this doubt. I try not to judge it, knowing that it rarely lasts long. I remind myself that every yoga teacher started as a beginner student. I begin to trust that in time I will grow into the teacher role, just as I have grown into the student I am now. I remember that I have a teacher's heart, that I love sharing knowledge and experiences with others, that I have always imagined I would teach in some form throughout my life.

When the doubt passes, I see myself changing. I look back over the eight weeks since our last training weekend and I can see vividly how much I've learned and accomplished in just two months. Poses that I thought were completely out of my reach, that I was sure I'd never be able to achieve, are now part of my regular practice. Just last night, I balanced in Crow (Bakasana) for 10 full breaths. Two weeks ago, I pushed myself fully into Wheel (Urdhva Dhanurasana) and remained there, steady for 10 deep breaths, as well.

Of course, some postures (Head Stand, most of the arm balances, and even Bow) are still out of my reach. And there will always be days when even the postures that usually come easily, like Tree (Vrksasana) and Bridge (Setu Bandha Sarvangasana), are more challenging than I expect. It's those things, those perceived failures, that I too often focus on. I judge as good or bad everything I attempt, and it's the bad on which I usually dwell.

So with my intention set on ahimsa (one of the yamas, meaning nonviolence or to do no harm), I will try to recognize my self-judgment and let it pass. Until our next training session, just a few weeks away, I will be kind to myself, knowing that every day, even when it's not noticeable, I am growing like a tree, my roots sinking into the ground and my branches sprouting new off-shoots toward the sun.

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

The Space Between Effort and Rest

Last weekend I took a morning yoga class and the teacher started the practice by telling us we would be focusing on the balance between effort and rest. There are yoga postures that depend on this balance. Put in too much effort and you topple over or fall out of alignment, but exert too little effort and you get the same result. There has to be a balance between the two, and when you find that balance, you find the fullest, strongest expression of the pose.

Take Warrior III, for example. For those who don't practice yoga, or don't yet know the names for all the poses, Warrior III is a balancing pose. You stand on one leg, with the other leg extended toward the wall behind you, your torso parallel to the ground and your arms extended over your head, pointing toward the wall in front of you. To stay strong in this pose, you must be pressing your standing leg firmly into the ground, while extending your other leg and your arms with equal effort in opposite directions. Once you find that balance in effort, stretching equally in both directions, you can rest in the pose. This rest isn't so much a relaxation, as a settling in.

As I listened to the teacher talk about how we sometimes lose that balance in our practice, pushing ourselves deeper into a pose when we should be resting at our limit or holding back our effort when we could breath into a fuller expression of the pose, I knew I was about to learn a lesson I could take with me outside of that yoga studio and into my life.

You see, I tend toward too much effort--on and off the mat. I'm a control freak. Anyone who knows me knows that. I like to know what's going to happen and how it's going to happen. And when things get a little out of control, I like to put them back in order. I'm always working to make sure things don't fall apart, always trying to make things go my way. Here's the thing, though. It doesn't work. I can't control the weather. I can't control the actions or reactions of others. No matter how hard I try, there will always be things outside of my control.

So I took this lesson to heart and I listened carefully to my body. Throughout the class, as I found myself pushing too hard here, or not trying enough there, I brought myself back to the balance, that space between effort and rest, where I was settled, strong, and stable. I've been able to continue recognizing effort imbalances when I'm on the mat, in other classes, with other teachers.

Unfortunately, finding that balance in the world has been a bit more difficult. I'm still trying to find that place of balance where I know I'm making my best effort without pushing or pulling or straining too much to make something happen. There is peace in that space between effort and rest. I know, because I've seen it. And with practice, I'm certain I'll see it more often.

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Walking Tall

I've been noticing lately that after just a few weeks of consistent, dedicated yoga practice, I'm walking taller. My stride is more sure.

I don't know the exact cause of this change. Maybe it's the strengthening and development of my core muscles. Maybe it's the strengthening and development of my confidence, my spirit, my "core". Whatever it is, I know I'm not the only one who has noticed.

After seeing a friend at her baby shower recently, she sent me a message and mentioned that I looked great and should keep doing whatever it is I've been doing. At first, I wasn't sure what she was talking about. I hadn't lost a pound since the last time she'd seen me. But then I saw a photo of us at her shower and I saw what she saw. My smile was wide and I recognized a confidence, radiance even, that I'm not used to seeing in myself.

The same weekend as that shower, I was at the beach with a couple of girlfriends. At one point, as we walked along the boardwalk in the late summer breeze, chatting about our lives and catching up with one another, I realized my walk had changed. At some point over the last couple of months, I'd started standing taller. Shoulders down my back, heart open and head held high, my steps confident and solid.

It seems these changes in my appearance, at least in the way I stand and walk, started when I began practicing yoga more regularly, which makes complete sense. I am strengthening my core muscles, the ones that support my torso and hips, with every class I take. I’m strengthening my mind and spirit, too. I definitely feel more confident on and off the mat as I begin to see what my body is capable of, making progress in both basic and more complicated poses.

Then again, maybe that radiance and confidence has more to do with my recent breakup. I made the choice to move on with my life, with or without The Ex, and then, when he couldn’t go forward with me, I stood my ground and took that step alone. And here I am, still standing. Confident. Alive. Better at being me. Wavering now and then, but still standing despite the winds of emotion.

Maybe it’s the yoga. Maybe it’s my choices. Or maybe it’s something else. Some combination of things I’ve yet to recognize. Whatever it is, I’m happy to be walking tall.

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

Opening to the Present

I approached the studio with sweaty palms and a pounding heart. Part of that was out of nerves and part of it was because I’d spent the last 30 minutes circling the same nine square blocks looking for a parking spot and was certain I was going to be late to my first yoga teacher training weekend. Thankfully, I’d gotten the time wrong and was actually 27 minutes early.

I signed in, picked up my manual and found a spot on the floor in the alcove with a few other early arrivals. They were younger and thinner than me, probably fitter with more yoga experience, as well. Some of the women were in small groups chatting. It appeared they knew each other and the thought that there were already cliques forming gave rise to a bit of anxiety. Would I fit in here? Could I really do this? Was I ready for what lay ahead?

We rolled out our mats along the walls of the studio, all 35 of us—34 women and one man of varying ages, sizes, shapes and backgrounds—facing one another and the center of the room. And that’s how we started. No introductions, no stories, no preparation. We jumped right in.

Standing at the top of our mats, inhaling and raising our arms. Urdhva Hastasana. Folding forward, exhaling. Uttanasana. Lifting halfway up on the inhale, backs flat. Ardha Uttanasana. Placing hands down, stepping back into high plank and exhaling into Chaturanga Dandasana. Inhaling, sliding chests forward, opening our hearts. Urdhva Mukha Svanasana. Lifting hips and pressing chests back on the exhale. Adho Mukha Svanasana. Bending knees, looking forward to our hands, and inhaling, floating feet forward, back flat. Ardha Uttanasana. Exhaling, folding again into Uttanasana. Sweeping arms up, inhaling and looking to our fingers. Urdhva Hastasana. Pressing palms together, exhaling and lowering them to our hearts.

Arriving at Samastitihi. Equal standing.

And that’s exactly how it felt. Nine breaths putting us all on solid, level ground. Nine breaths linking us all together. Nine breaths and I knew this: I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Breathing. Moving. Here. Now. Opening up to my present, and whatever it has to offer.

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

A Yogini in the Making

Three months ago, when I broke up with my boyfriend of six-and-a-half years, I braced myself for the anger and grief that I knew would follow. It washes over me, the way powerful emotion so often does, in waves that swell, crash and then recede. But under all of that painful emotion, there has been a glimmer of hope that I haven’t felt in a while.

I’d spent the last three years of our relationship denying my own desires for more attention and commitment, and putting goals on hold, imagining they’d be easier to achieve with a spouse by my side. I wished for a committed, reciprocal relationship with marriage and babies on the horizon. It wasn’t happening, though. And so finally, when the pain of waiting on The Ex became greater than the hope of some imagined future together, I decided to move on.

In my new-found freedom, not just from the relationship, but from the limits I’d put on myself while waiting on him, I decided to do something I’ve been considering for a couple of years now. I started doing some research, and without thinking too long about it, I filled out an application for a popular 200-hour yoga teacher training program that would fit into my schedule, and sent in my deposit.

The second guessing and self-doubt started almost immediately, but I held strong and the excitement for something new and life-changing quickly took over. I’ll be in training classes one weekend a month and will take at least three yoga classes a week throughout the eight months the training takes place. As the first training weekend approaches, my excitement is growing. I believe this experience is going to be powerful. My body will change, of course, as I immerse myself into regular, dedicated yoga practice. But I’m thinking beyond my body.

I’m feeling inspired in my writing after just a single class with the training instructor, and I expect that inspiration will only grow as I turn inward in my practice. I look forward to learning meditation techniques that will help me center and focus myself. My interest in the philosophy behind yoga is increasing, and I can’t wait to dig into the book list—fifteen texts, including everything from The Bhagavad Gita to an anatomy reference book to a guide to macrobiotic cooking—and start learning and exploring new ideas.

The intended end-result of this teacher training program is to earn a certificate that allows me to teach yoga to others. But I have a feeling I’m going to get more out of the next several months than I could even begin to imagine right now. For once, I’m not concerned about the unknowing. I’m happy to be taking a step forward, wherever that step may take me.

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).