Racing to the Yoga Studio

“Millions of people are suffering; they want to be loved but they don’t know how to love. And love cannot exist as a monologue; it is a dialogue, a very harmonious dialogue.”
-Osho

Racing to the yoga studio, I’ve gotten a speeding ticket. Racing to the yoga studio, I’ve cursed (they slipped). Racing to the yoga studio, I’ve cut my mom off mid-sentence while on the phone (sorry mom). Speeding and cursing and cutting people off…all while racing to get to the yoga studio. So much for the calming and relaxing benefits of the practice; so much for attaining equanimity of the mind; so much for practicing “off the mat!” I know, I know…I could leave from wherever I’m coming from 5 minutes earlier and get to the studio on time. I could simply ease into the moment and trust that whenever I arrive is when I’ll be there. Or…I could practice at home. I have the mat, I know a lot of the poses and I have a hard surface on which to practice but that just doesn’t do it for me. I am a confirmed studio junkie with road rage. There…I said it!

Jumping out of my car, I grab my mat, bolt to the studio’s door and head up the stairs. With each step, a deeper inhale fills my lungs and I begin to notice an immediate shift in my demeanor. The flurry of the day’s activities drifts away, the heaviness of the day-to-day worries that I drag around floats off with each exhale and within moments, the road rage is long forgotten. At the top of the steps, I see the reason that I race to get to the studio: fellow yogi’s and yogini’s shuffling in and out of the studio in bare feet and ponytails gathering their yogi toes and towels. Smiles and conversations simmer along the studio’s edge and the warm realization that I am welcome here is a welcome relief. Whether we know each other or not, we connect. Whether we know each other or not, we understand. Whether we know each other or not, we recognize that we are all walking along the same path. Different stories? Yes. But the path and the desire and the commitment, we share. And in this, we create community.

In Indian philosophy, assembling together with like-minded persons is called satsang (sat = truth, sanga = company). There are many other cultural philosophies, religions and customs that practice similar satsang-type gatherings…some call it church, others call them meetings and even others might call it a club. But whatever the name of the place or reason for the gathering, we gather, well, to gather. We collect and share, and feel safe in our like-minded hopes and dreams and beliefs and even our differences. We convene, we congregate, we connect.

We all showed up at the yoga studio for the first time no doubt with very different intentions. For some, yoga piqued the interest of those fitness-focused individuals who wanted to see what this latest craze was all about; they wanted a hot yoga body with ropey arms and 6-pack abs. Some noticed friends who had been practicing had a certain glow and ease about them and wanted to glow, too. For others, their friend or their spouse or their enemy dragged them reluctantly to their first class. But for many of us, we showed up broken, burned-out, empty and suffocating all at the same time.

My brother brought me to my first yoga class nearly 13 years ago and while we had a fun experience, afterwards I only occasionally went to a class here and there, inconsistent at best. Six years later, I really showed up at the studio and I was a coiled mess. Broken. Burned. Crispy cool. I spent years practicing in the back corner of the studio near the door. During my practice I remember feeling as if I couldn’t get enough air and that I needed to be by the door just in case. I didn’t chat with anyone; I didn’t exchange smiles or friendly small talk. I slipped in and I slipped out keeping my coiled mess to myself. After several years of a destructive relationship, I just wanted to be alone. Safe.

My protective little shield was always on guard, especially at the studio. It was much harder to feel safe in nothing but yoga clothes while doing awkward and difficult poses that seemed impossible. But there I was, unknowingly beginning to breathe again after years of holding my breath, biting my tongue, grinding my teeth and waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was breathing deep, long, luxurious sighs of relief and slowly, my little armadillo shell began to soften. And slowly, I began to notice the kindness that surrounded me in the yogis and yoginis shuffling around in bare feet and ponytails. And slowly, I began to remember the kindness and the warmth that I had long forgotten in me. Opening up to the warmth in those around me began to thaw my icy shield and the love that I once felt safe to share had resurfaced again. Dorothy Day wrote: “We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community.”

My yoga practice and the community with which I am grateful to gather have grown in ways I couldn’t have possibly imagined 6 years ago. But here I am, racing to get to the yoga studio over and over and over, again.

Whatever your reason for racing to the yoga studio, just get there. But be safe…there are studio junkies with road rage out there on the streets!

Expect the unexpected. Always.

* Thin – Obese * Marriage - Divorce * Space – Congestion * Busy - Bored * Health – Illness* Abundance – Poverty * Joy – Misery * Birth – Death *

Life is full of highs and lows. Life can be bright, easy, charming and effortless. Then it gets messy, sticky, ugly and heavy. We laugh and then we cry. We cry and then we laugh again. It’s all in an honest day’s work. We move swiftly or awkwardly through these moments in time and try to catch our breath; moving along dreaming, hoping, planning and organizing for that moment in life when things will finally be smooth sailing. And then the unexpected always happens. Always.

My grandpa died last week just when I was ready to get my life in order. I went into the office on Monday morning bright-eyed and optimistic about the promising opportunities that lie in the start of a fresh new week. I was prepared to create my plan for my envisioned future, organize my files and my closets, manage my social calendar and keep up with the laundry once and for all. Anyone who knows me knows that I live and die by a strict set of OCD-inspired rules that keep me on my toes and focused on the goal at hand. This is how I’ve lived my life. Even choosing a shampoo becomes a complicated task when I begin to question whether or not the shampoo and it’s maker is in line with my life’s purpose. So this whole idea of “getting my life in order” is quite the joke. Rather it’s a constant refinement of “the plan” and a contemplation of what’s next. But then my grandpa died last week and the plan changed, again.

Sitting in his home on Monday, my brother and I looked around at the remains of the things that have accumulated in his life over the years. There were the usual grandparent things: prescription bottles, packages of chocolates, reminders about doctor’s appointments and that day’s newspaper. There were pictures of all the grandchildren from years and years and years ago (like the year my brother and I had matching permed mullets…thanks, mom) and pictures from just this past summer’s baseball outing. There were doilies and needlepoint décor, knickknacks and reading glasses, china and collectables. All these things that accumulated in a lifetime now just sit there waiting to be moved, packed and donated. All this stuff in a lifetime I’m sure were part of his plan or my grandma’s plan in one way or another. These things arrived no doubt because of the people and activities in their lives that celebrated their highs and recognized the lows in their lifetime. But in the end, it’s just stuff. And the stuff will be moved along.

The crocheted placemats, the macramé plant holders, the golf clubs and tools will long be forgotten but the moments around the arrival and purpose of these things will remain. We’ll remember the times that our grandpa brought his tools over to hang a picture or make a simple repair in our homes. We’ll remember those seemingly endless holiday dinners and the placemats that held our meals. The china that kept our coffee warm and our cookies handy over our multiple discussions about the meaning of life will remain in our hearts, and the glimpses of the macramé plant holders that decorated the front porch will flash in our minds as we look back on those warm summer evenings making commentary and observations about how the world has changed over the years. In the end, it is just stuff but it’s the life we build around the stuff that makes it magical, memorable and meaningful.

My grandpa was a no-nonsense kind of guy who really despised all the stuff but he sure loved music and a respectable dance partner. He cherished a strong cup of coffee with my grandma’s cookies and blueberry crepes with lots of whipped cream before church. My grandpa taught me to appreciate a smooth scotch at a celebration and a traditional pizza pie anytime. But even more, he loved an animated discussion, a good joke and a hearty laugh. He thrived on the cultivation of personal relationships that were built around all of the things we accumulate in life over time.

So these things that we have and these plans that we make sometimes get messy. The china gets dirty. The potted plants tip over in the wind and the picture frames sometimes crack. It is in these unexpected moments that we can often expect to find the best. It is often said that funerals bring out the worst in people but I believe that they can also bring out our best. These unexpected moments cause us to stop and pay attention; to step away from the plan for the future and step into the present; to pause and remember. It is in these unexpected moments, the highs and the lows that we are reminded who we are, where we come from and how far we’ve come. Pema Chodren writes: “This very moment is the perfect teacher is really a profound instruction. Just seeing what’s going on – that’s the teaching right there. Awakeness is found in our pleasure and our pain, our confusion and our wisdom. It is available in each moment of our weird, unfathomable, ordinary lives.” These unexpected messy moments transport us away from the drama and frivolity and back to no-nonsense living.

In honor of Jack Yuhas, dance with a good partner. Have a cup of coffee, cookies and crepes with whipped cream. Sip a smooth scotch and eat a piece of pizza. And then tell a joke, have a hearty laugh and an honest heart-to-heart with someone. Anyone. And mark the highs and lows of life and all of the stuff in between.

Learning to Float

“The circle of your friends will defend the silver lining.” -John Mayer

I’ve always been a fairly strong swimmer. All of those summer days at swim team practice paid off as a kid! Every morning, I would slip on my slick red, white & blue Speedo, run out the door barefoot, hop on my banana seat bike and head up the big hill to the pool; it was a daily thrill. Our team was called the PM Pests; the practices were tough and we were tough. I loved every minute of the drills, the laps, the push-ups and sit-ups, the challenges and the camaraderie. My brother was on the team as were all of our best buds in the hood. It was the best. Simple. Uncomplicated. Rewarding.

The team was in our neighborhood and we competed against other neighborhoods in the city. Families gathered along the pool’s edge for swim meets as we swimmers huddled under beach towel tents that we constructed using wet towels and the chain-link fence that lined the pool’s perimeter. We’d giggle and laugh and lick our fingers and stick them into the various flavors of dry Jell-O mix to get our sugar buzz before our event and heat were called. The pre-race ritual was always the same: I’d stretch the rubber cap over my blonde-turned green chlorine-stained head, spit into my goggles to prevent fogging and then position those goggles strategically on my face securing their position by pressing them as hard as I could into my eye sockets. This procedure no doubt caused some early on-set wrinkles, but I was racing to win. Climbing on the diving block my legs quivered and my heart galloped, and just before the gun signaled the start of the race, I pulled that little swimsuit weggie out and settled into my very best dive stance. Screams and cheers of overbearing parents in the background would suddenly go silent as I dove into the pool, focused to win. Be strong. Swim strong. Finish strong. It’s just you and the water.

My parents always taught me to be tough, fierce enough to take care of myself and to always move forward independently and unwavering regardless of any setbacks. In most cases, this has always worked…in the water and on land. However, for the past several weeks, I have felt like I have been working really hard just to tread water or to stay grounded. Despite my typical determination and perseverance, I have been struggling just to stay afloat. I have felt weak and tired and confused in what appears to be an unfamiliar sea of rough and unpredictable waters. And lately, I’ve needed more than my own independence and vigor.

In his book, The Power of Kindness Piero Ferrucci writes: “We live in an era of individualism. The individual is celebrated in every form. To be special and creative, to offer an original contribution, to compete with others and be the best: Nowadays this is the guiding idea for many people. [However,] the sense of belonging is a basic need and at the same time the answer to a question. We ask ourselves: What am I part of? And another equally crucial question: Who am I?” Well, in my case, I didn’t even have to ask and I have gotten answers. My friends and family have stepped right in and have let me unload the struggle; letting me float. With compassion, genuine concern and unconditional love, they’ve let me waft. With sweetness, kindness and humor, they’ve held me up; letting me coast. They have let me and my heavy heart be light.

Ferrucci also writes: “…the feeling that we are part of a whole greater than ourselves, with which we are physically, mentally, and spiritually involved is a necessary factor to our well-being. Research has found that support is extraordinarily important for physical and mental health. The greater number of friends upon whom we can count, and the better the quality of these relationships, the greater is our longevity and our health.”

During my yoga practice recently, my teacher asked us to dedicate our practice to someone. This person could be someone that we love or despise, someone we admire or question, or simply someone that needs our support…whomever. She suggested that when the practice became more difficult than we thought we could bear, we visualize the face of that person. As is often the case for me, the practice was frequently challenging and in those seemingly unbearable moments I didn’t just see one face, I saw many: I saw the face of the one who invited me over to bake bread just to keep me busy. The face of the one who invited me to her sister’s “candle” party (even though I loathe those parties) in order to temporarily distract my thoughts came to mind. I saw the face of the one who has listened, and listened and listened even while I was babbling and mumbling and sobbing with snots spewing everywhere. The face of one who has called me every day came into view and also the faces of the others who have called every other day or once a week. The face of that someone who changed their plans at the last minute just to be there for me quickly arose. Then there was the face of that someone who sends me encouraging notes, daily and even sometimes twice a day! There was the gentle face of the one who reminded me that I just have to go through it…I can’t go around it. And then there was the face of that one and the other one and the other one who keeps reminding me who I am. And as I saw all those faces during my practice, the tears came softly from my eyes and I smiled with gratitude and grace.

In the past, I would have struggled through the pain, the confusion and the sadness, alone…brawny and brave. I would have navigated the shifty waters determined to get by…by myself. But through my yoga practice, I am learning the importance of the communities that we create and the value of our relationships that can bear the uncertain waters and buoy us up when we can’t. Through these sustaining relationships, I’ve learned to soften and trust, share my true fears and failures, celebrate the joys and the glory, and laugh at the often absurdity of it all. To all those faces that came to mind, thank you. I am learning to float because of you.

Practice yoga. Create Community. Float.

“The meaning of our self is not to be found in its separateness from God and others, but in the ceaseless realization of yoga, of union.”-Rabindranath Tagore

This Crisis

“When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.…And what is it to work with love? It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth…” -Kahil Gibran, The Prophet

Over the past several months, I have been fumbling through my second of what I am sure will be multiple life crises. I have been grappling with the same questions that many of us ponder: “What should I be doing with my life and my career? Am I making a difference? Am I moving passionately through the world? What do I have yet to accomplish? What’s not done yet?” It’s no surprise that this crisis culminated on the passing of my eleventh anniversary at the non-profit organization where I proudly work.

So I have been doing the groundwork to answer these questions. Contemplating, talking with friends and family, researching options and considering a master’s program. I even met with an academic advisor this week to discuss different programs, the time and financial commitment and the marketability of different fields. After meeting with this advisor, I walked out of her office deflated and drained. I had a physical reaction to the idea of going back into a classroom for the next two years and I adore learning! It was quite telling.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the unique opportunity to visit Lake Chautauqua and the Chautauqua Institute in western New York. While on this visit, we attended the all-denominational service in the beautiful open-air amphitheater. The service was conducted by a Christian pastor, a Presbyterian pastor and a Jewish rabbi and no, this is not the start of a joke. Each shared in the delivery of the service and the whole experience was quite moving. But what struck me most was the commentary from the Presbyterian. He was quite eloquent, extremely intelligent and his message was well-supported. Beyond all of his impressive presentation skills, there was one comment that made all the difference to me. He said: “There are those who believe and those who know.” That was it. Something was stirred inside of me and it was exactly what I needed to hear.

So, how do we know? Deepak Chopra says that “every human being has a unique talent [and] when you are expressing that one unique talent, you lose track of time. The expression of that talent takes you into timeless awareness.” And the single most important component to realizing your full potential is when you combine the ability to express your unique talent with service to humanity. This is the Law of Dharma, meaning purpose in life. And each of us is here to discover and know our own true Self.

What do you believe and what do you know? I have believed for a very long time that it is probably a smart idea for me to get my master’s degree. I have believed for a very long time that savvy business professionals change careers and companies frequently. I have also believed for a very long time that my worth would be measured by my career success. But what do I know? I know that I had a negative physical reaction to the idea of going back to school right now. I know that when I am working on behalf of the young people that our organization serves, I am fulfilled and encouraged by their pure potential. I know that when I teach or practice yoga that I lose my ego, my fears and all sense of time. These are things I know for certain. What do you know for certain? Really know without fear, uncertainty or doubt? Go with what you know. Listen to your heart and move forward in truth. It is not without effort but as Albert Einstein once said: “I want to know God’s thoughts…the rest are details.” So…do I believe that I have solved this crisis? I know I have.

“An integral being knows without going, sees without looking, and accomplishes without doing.” -Lao Tzu

Those chops.

“Nothing comes from violence, and nothing ever could.” -Sting, “Fragile”

I’m pretty confident that my mom’s pork chops that we ate as kids were just one of the Universe’s way of encouraging my decision to become a vegetarian. Those chops may have been rawhide in disguise. Who knows? But all I can remember for certain were the torturous moments of gnawing on that pork and trying to choke it down with gulps of thick, whole milk and wanting to die. My jaws ached, my mouth dried up and my anxiety grew as my brother ran out the door to play while I was left behind to “finish my meal.” Those chops. We might as well just have teethed on our shoes. To this day, I still shutter when I see pork chops and applesauce on a menu.

Don’t get me wrong, my mom cooked a lot of amazing things while we were growing up. All of our snacks were homemade: granola, baked apples, creatively flavored popcorn, cookies, pastries and hand-kneaded breads. Very little was store-prepped or processed. We rarely got to get ice cream when the Ice Cream Man rolled around in his truck playing that creepy music because our mom had made homemade orange juice popsicles in those clever little Tupperware containers (who came up with that bright idea?). I seethed with envy as my friends ran around the neighborhood with their Bomb Pops, Screwballs and Ice Cream Sandwiches. All of our cereal was some type of bran or grain or what I thought was bark. Rarely did we get to have Lucky Charms, Fruit Loops or the joy of having the roofs of our mouths torn off as we enjoyed a bowl of Cap’n Crunch. And when my mom did buy factory-made cookies, they were Pecan Sandies. What kid likes those?!? And forget about Happy Meals. There was no such meal that was happy at our house…especially on pork chop and applesauce night!

But truthfully, I am extremely grateful for the way my mom prepared our meals. As a result, I do believe that I now make choices about my food that are nurturing precisely because she took the time to make homemade meals and snacks. I now prefer earthy whole grain bread, I love vegetables and I don’t crave Lucky Charms. I do crave indulgences however, like red wine, dark chocolate and pizza but these days, I’ve learned to spoil myself more often on those luxury foods that are whole, simple and nourishing. And those that are less likely to cause harm to me and to the Earth and its inhabitants where I coexist.

It wasn’t just those chops that turned me off to meat. It was Earth Day, 1990 at the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo. I was a sophomore in high school and my friends and I decided to goof off and head down to the zoo to partake in the Earth Day festivities. Really, we just wanted to hang out together. I had no idea that my experience at the zoo that day would so shape my thoughts and opinions about eating meat. But that day changed everything. We wandered around the zoo checking out the animals, teasing each other and laughing our heads off. It was a great day to be a high school student. And then I stumbled across the PETA informational table and saw those horrific pictures of the factory farms, and that was enough for me. At that time in my life, I just thought it was gross. I was a sophomore and all I thought was how disgusting those slaughter houses were and that I couldn’t possibly ingest another piece of meat that came from such an ugly place. That was it. That day I stopped and I’ve never looked back.

But I have looked forward and the more I learn, the more I understand the ramifications of my choices every day. One of the yogic practices is ahimsa, meaning non-violence. We can practice ahimsa in a variety of ways: managing our road rage, refraining from using swear-words (I’m still working on that) or simply committing to compassion. Compassion in our thoughts, our words and our actions.

Wednesday, April 22nd is Earth Day. The benefits of a vegetarian diet are vast and wide and support a healthy environment. Consider the following benefits from the North American Vegetarian Society. A vegetarian diet:
-Reduces the risk of major killers such as heart disease, strokes and cancers while cutting exposure to food borne pathogens;
-Provides a viable answer to feeding the world’s hungry through more efficient use of grains and other crops;
-Saves animals from suffering in factory-farm conditions and from the pain and terror of slaughter;
-Conserves vital but limited freshwater, fertile topsoil and other precious resources;
-Preserves irreplaceable ecosystems such as rainforests and other wildlife habitats;
-Decreases greenhouse gases that are accelerating global warming;
-Mitigates the ever-expanding environmental pollution of animal agriculture.

What will you do to support our Earth and our environment this year? If a vegetarian diet is not appropriate for you at this time in your life, consider some of the following simple changes:

· Share your used magazines with a friend and then recycle;
· Quit using paper towels…it’s not as difficult as you think;
· Stop buying bottled water. A water cooler and service is inexpensive and convenient. Consider what you spend each month buying those packs of bottled water.
· If you haven’t started using all of those trendy reusable shopping bags that you bought, start today;
· Choose just one day to go completely meat-free. You’ll feel great;
· Shop the perimeter of the grocery store. Those shelves in the middle of the store are filled with processed, packaged foods. It’s better for the environment and great for your waste-line!

There are so many simple, compassionate actions that we can take to create positive change. For more ideas and information, check out www.earthday.gov.

So it wasn’t just those chops that changed my attitude about eating meat but they sure made a lasting impact. Thanks, Mom.

*Please note: Class will be cancelled this Saturday, April 25th due to the Iyengar Workshop.

Go Home Once in Awhile