Late-blooming Lotus

Poetry and football (no, really)

2011-08-19T03:32:00.004-06:00

I am not much of a football fan. I’ve been to games, but have no idea what is happening on the field. How un-American, right?

Yesterday, I had an experience that made me want to love football. That feeling has since dissipated, but I am still thinking about how strong it was while it lasted.

For their final project, my students had to conduct a gender and identity analysis of an advertisement. All of their presentations were amazing, of course, but there was one in particular that really got to me. Surprisingly, it was about football.

Just stick with me on this, ok?

Aside from the obvious observations about the social construction of masculinity, the student who chose this ad also related its appeal to him on a very personal level. Those insights are what really resonated with me.

I should start by saying that this young man is pretty quiet in class. He is very sharp but is just not one of those students who speaks up much. He writes really interesting papers that I enjoy reading, so I was looking forward to his presentation. I thought it was a great opportunity for him to share some his ideas with his classmates.

He opened with an ad for a popular brand of sports apparel. It was one of those ads that was all music and images and no voiceover or dialogue. It was a fast-paced montage of football plays, player interactions, the emotional responses of coaches, and fan reactions. The music and the tight action shots really got my heart pumping. This was a total surprise.

(If you are interested, you can view the ad here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5x0IVSKbkCk )

Anyway, I knew this student was a former football “star” at another university. He has not said much about why he doesn’t play anymore, only that he misses it. He once wrote about how athletic teams are unique cultures in their own right.

After he showed his clip I asked him, “So what appealed to you about that ad? Why did you choose it?” He thought for a moment, remaining completely silent. Just when I was getting ready to interrupt and “save” him because the silence felt too long he said, “I love how football, when everything is working, is like poetry in motion. Words are not necessary. Everything just happens as it is supposed to. It keeps going until there is a hit, someone drops, and the poetry ends. So you get up, move on, and try to create the poetry again.”

______

I found this observation surprisingly beautiful for a few reasons:

1. It is a brilliant metaphor for life. We practice and work hard and everything seems to come together. Our efforts are fluid. The outcome is what we hoped for. We are living poetry – if only for a short time. And the beauty of that moment makes us feel like this perfect slice of life has the potential to go on and on.

But then we take a hit. We fall down. The reverie is broken. And we have to make a choice about what to do next. Most of us get back up and start again because that is the only way to recapture that moment of sheer bliss.

Maybe it’s a football field, maybe it’s a yoga mat, maybe it’s the boardroom, maybe it’s your family room. Get up. Feel the pain. Learn the lesson. Start over. Without the hit we can’t appreciate the poetry.

2. You have to be quiet to hear the message. I can be a little shy and socially awkward. Perceived periods of long silence during an interaction with someone I don’t know well make me uncomfortable. I think I can reduce that discomfort if I fill up the silence and so I say something, anything. This is not necessary. And often, as in this case, if I can just sit in the silence, I am rewarded with the unexpected.

One of my many lessons from yoga is that in order to be in harmony we have to balance our energy. It is not action that counts but QUALITY of action. Speaking just to speak – to fill in silence – is a waste of energy and effort. How much of what you say is making a meaningful contribution? Listening is likely to bear more fruitful results considering the energy expended. So much of our talk is a reflection of a distracted and anxious mind. Words spoken thoughtlessly are not creating or contributing to anything.

3. Passion is contagious. Enthusiasm is infectious. When you surround yourself positive people who love something deeply and express their passion, you feel better. These interactions inspire me to pursue my own passions.

It is human nature to seek connection. We can all relate to joy experienced by someone else. We understand love. Passion binds us together regardless of the object of that passion. Every one of us can relate to feeling this way about something.

4. Cooperative effort is magical. We do have more success when we join forces.

I believe that even when I am acting alone, I am benefitting from the effort and wisdom of all of those who have gone before me. Yoga, especially, may seem a purely solitary endeavor, but I call on the experience of many others in order to reach my goals. I benefit from the knowledge of my teachers. I read books and yogic scriptures. I study the instructions and photo examples of gurus. I ask the advice of friends. I read yoga blogs and watch online videos. I am not alone in my endeavors.

______

I realize this entire post may seem silly to you, but this student came alive in a way I’d not previously witnessed. Here he was talking about football – something in which I normally have absolutely no interest, but we connected. We connected because he chose to share what was in his heart and I didn’t ruin the moment by interrupting him.

I am not sure I can accurately convey to you the effect this interaction had on me. It lasted no more than a few minutes, yet it enriched me beyond measure. Perhaps beyond words. So I will stop trying to explain now and hope you understand.

More please

2011-08-17T12:05:00.001-06:00

Ok – so recently I was finished grading papers for the evening and I was looking for some entertainment before I went to sleep.

I decided on HappyThankYouMorePlease, an indie film that was a reported crowd pleaser at the most recent Sundance Film Festival.

Anyway, this was a sweet and lighthearted movie and it was probably meant for a much younger target demographic, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

For me, the best scene in the movie takes place in a restaurant where one of the characters is explaining that when something good happens to her she says, “Thank you.” She goes on the tell a story about the Indian cab driver who told her this is how she could invite more bliss into her life. He added that after she says, “Thank you,” she should add, “More please.” The idea is that the universe is endlessly abundant and we should invite even more of what we are grateful for into our lives.

So at the risk of sounding all “The Secret” on you, I decided that I would try this. The exercise in showing gratitude is probably not new to most of us. But how many of you are asking for even more of what makes you happy? I wasn't. It sort of makes sense to me and it certainly can’t hurt.

This is what I am experimenting with right now. When I take note of something I want in my life I thank the universe and ask for more of the thing that is making me happy.

Examples of recent happenings/occurrences that I am grateful for and want more of (in no particular order):

1. I am so grateful for the department chair at the school where I now teach. We had a faculty meeting and welcome back to school bbq last week. She invited us all to her beautiful home and served us delicious food. She set up tables and awnings in the backyard and placed fresh flowers on every table. She introduced every person and said something nice about each one. She thanked us all for our hard work and the difference we make in the lives of our students. There were a few people who could not be there and she did not talk smack about them. Instead, she graciously acknowledged his or her hard work and genuinely seemed to understand that not everyone can make every meeting or event. I have never, not once, heard her speak negatively about anyone. Thank you. More please.

2. I have such smart and willing students. Everyday they stretch themselves. I ask them to do things they are not sure they can do – and then they do it! Most of them surpass my expectations. I love our class discussions. They are deep thinkers who care about the world. They question their assumptions and want to understand those who think or believe differently from themselves. And they are just a lot of fun. Classes are full of a few tears and a lot of laughs. Thank you. More please.

3. I have the most amazing friends. They are all over the world. I am especially grateful for my friends here in Denver; they are my family. I guess that happens when you move away from home. I have known most of them for many years. We have been through good and bad relationships, weddings, babies, divorces, deaths, new houses, losing jobs, vacations, birthdays, graduations, illnesses, new businesses – all of it, the good and the bad. We are there for one another. We enjoy and support each other. I love them and I know they love me. And I meet new people all of the time that I am happy to have as friends. I met a great group of amazing folks at my yoga teacher training, people I would never have met any other way. I have friends from art classes and writing classes and new and old jobs. I am also happy to have connected and reconnected with friends through social net working. How else would we be in touch? Thank you. More please.

4. I’ve experienced some challenging times recently and I have received support from people who have shown the kind of integrity we need to see more of in the world. These are people who stand up and do the right thing even when it is unpopular or uncomfortable. Thank you. More please.

5. I can see and feel my body getting stronger everyday as a result of my yoga practice. I am so grateful that I am fit and capable. I remember being in class a few years back and it was starting to snow. We were all looking out the window. It was the first snowfall of the year and was just lovely. The students started fantasizing that maybe it would dump and classes would be cancelled the next day. We talked about what we would do—ski, snowshoe, have snowball fights, build snow women, cook for friends. One young woman who’d been very quiet spoke up. She uses a wheelchair and said, “It is so beautiful and unfortunately all I can think about is how much more difficult it will be to get around.” Silence fell as the rest of us we realized how fortunate we were. Since then I do not to complain about my body or my capabilities. Thank you. More please.

6. Finding love in your mid-to-late 40s seems unlikely when you seek it out. I am lucky that love came looking for me. I have a partner who is adventurous, kind, happy, brilliant, generous, hilarious, beautiful, and a great cook. She also has a beagle, which I always wanted. Thank you. More please.

7. I recently returned from a trip home to celebrate my mother’s 75^th birthday. Two years ago she nearly died, twice. I am so grateful she is here and we got to celebrate and I am so happy she is healthy and active and can enjoy her friends, her home, her hobbies, and her family. I got teary looking around at the party. I was surrounded my by partner, my siblings, their spouses, and their children. We had so much fun. Everyone has a great sense of humor and we laugh like crazy. We told funny stories about the past. We had smaller, more intimate conversations about the present. My big brother came over every morning for coffee. I saw and spent time with two of my sisters who I hadn’t seen in over a year. I got to see my other sister, who is nurse, in action. Many of us traveled some distance to be there. We love each other. Now my nieces and nephews are starting families and so there were lots of babies and toddlers and little ones to play with and talk to and kiss and hug. That was my favorite family celebration ever. Thank you. More please.

8. I love going to festivals, markets, concerts, plays, art openings, poetry slams, museum exhibits, and unusual and new restaurants. I enjoy something like this at least once a week. I encounter interesting people who tell me great stories. I try things that I’ve never tried. I dance. I sing. I appreciate other people’s creative genius. I get inspired. Thank you. More please.

9. I’ve started and ditched this blog so many times over the past year. Writing regularly is such a release for me and now I am finding more opportunities to write. I love that people read my blog and take the time to tell me what resonates with them, or not. Each day I see the number of people who read it tick up. This makes me smile. I don’t know why people read me, I just love that they do. Thank you. More please.

Here is the clip from the movie HappyThankYouMorePlease that I referenced in this post.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqhbVJwZ7l8

Why you gotta be so mean?

2011-08-16T09:04:00.004-06:00

The first yama (one of the eight limbs of yoga) is Ahimsa, or “nonviolence.” This means that not only should we refrain from physical violence, but that we should practice nonviolence in our thoughts, words, and intentions. This vigilance is meant to extend to how we treat ourselves in addition to how we treat others.

This week on facebook, I noticed that several friends wrote status updates asking others to intervene if they saw kids being bullied as the new school year starts. I find this admirable and I hope it results in students taking action when they see someone being harmed either physically or emotionally.

I also hope that, as adults, we begin to stand up to the bullying we see every day in the workplace.

Examples Include:

· Spreading malicious rumors, gossip, or innuendo that is not true

· Excluding or isolating someone socially

· Intimidating a person

· Undermining or deliberately impeding a person’s work

· Physically abusing or threatening abuse

· Removing areas of responsibilities without cause

· Constantly changing work guidelines

· Establishing impossible deadlines that will set up the individual to fail

· Withholding necessary information or purposefully giving the wrong information

· Making jokes that are ‘obviously offensive’ by spoken word or e-mail

· Assigning unreasonable duties or workload which are unfavorable to one person (in a way that creates unnecessary pressure)

· Criticizing a person persistently or constantly

· Belittling a person’s opinions

· Unwarranted (or undeserved) punishment

· Blocking applications for training, leave or promotion

(these examples are from the Workplace Bullying Institute) http://www.workplacebullying.org/2009/05/04/workplace-bullying-psychological-violence/

I’ve been a victim of workplace bullying and it is difficult to describe the psychological damage that accompanies being a target of bullying -- especially as an adult.

As I write about this now, even though some time has passed, the primary feeling that surfaces for me is shame. It is embarrassing to admit that I was bullied, that I felt helpless to respond to it, that someone else had such distain for me that she would go to great lengths to hurt and humiliate me. As a kid I felt a bit picked on by teachers, but I never felt bullied by my peers. I’ve always believed I was pretty likeable and I make friends easily. I had so little armor against this kind of attack.

I also feel embarrassed that I did not see this coming and that I did not think it is something that would happen to me. I should have known better. The truth is that I witnessed my aggressor bully other targets for over a year before she set her sites on me. Why did I think I was the one person who was immune?

What shames me even more is that I did not intercede or stand up to this bully when I saw her belittling, harassing, ostracizing, and otherwise abusing my coworkers. None of the rest of us did. We sat there uncomfortably avoiding eye contact. After the bully was done humiliating her target we would resume our meeting and pretend nothing happened.

In the Intercultural Communication course I teach I talk to my students about opportunities for interrupting racism. That is, we talk about how best to speak or act out when someone engages in racist acts or uses racist language. Surely these same tactics would translate to interrupting bullying, but not once did I employ them.

By the time I became a favorite target of this bully, it was clear to me that the behavior that took place behind closed doors was even more sinister than what happened in front others. When there were not witnesses, the bullying escalated.

Eventually it became clear that there were a number of us who were being bullied. Over time we began to talk about our experiences with one another. This was a coping and social support strategy for us. We did not speak up for each other when the bullying was taking place, but coffee breaks, lunch hours, and after work glasses of wine turned into group therapy sessions.

Confronting the bully directly was out of the question. I made the mistake once of trying to have a conversation about how I preferred to interact and the bullying only escalated.

All of us did try to take action. We all went to human resources. We all visited the ombudsperson. No one seemed to care. Ultimately, we all left.

Perhaps if we’d confronted our bully as a group and demanded that this behavior stop we would have more success. Hindsight.

Though I failed to protect my friends and colleagues from this bully, I like to think of my leaving not as an act of cowardice, but as ahimsa. I was removing myself from a violent situation.

During our group chats I discovered that we were all of the opinion that our bully really seemed to enjoy tormenting us. We will never know or understand why. I can’t help but believe her outward, overt aggression was a manifestation of the dislike she felt toward herself.

The Dalia Lama once said that if you want to know happy someone is, observe how compassionate she is.

Ahimsa, whether directed outward or inward, is ultimately an act of self-love.

Are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?

2011-08-15T12:33:00.000-06:00

Are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life? – Mary Oliver

This quote stares back at me every morning as I look in the mirror. It is the last thing I see before I leave the house. I like to read Mary Oliver’s words out loud before I greet the world.

This phrase is part of a line from a much larger poem, Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches? http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/blog/2009/12/16/mary-oliver-have-you-ever-tried-to-enter-the-long-black-branches/

I prefer to reject the notion that there is a universal truth waiting to be discovered within a poem. Instead, I believe each piece is open to interpretation and reveals the message we most need to receive at the time.

In this poem – in this very line of this poem Mary Oliver is speaking directly to me about mindfulness and intention. It is one thing to express a desire for a certain kind of life and it is quite another to pay attention to how every action you take or word you speak leads you either closer to or further from what you claim to want.

About a year ago I found myself complaining (A LOT) about my life. I did this in a very disconnected way, as if life was something that was happening to me. I suppose that is because it was; I was allowing myself to just be carried along by some current of existence that I was tacitly accepting by virtue of not resisting it.

I eventually just got sick of myself. I stumbled across this poem, a poem I’ve read at least 20 times and this phrase stood out like never before. I saw in that moment that I was breathing just a little, shallowly taking in only the minimum life force I needed to survive and calling it living. I was not actively participating in my own existence. I was unhappy but was not doing anything to change any aspect of myself or my behavior -- the very things that were contributing to my unhappiness.

I conducted an audit. I examined what I should keep that was valuable and what I needed to ditch because it was keeping me stuck in a place that was slowly suffocating me. What was cutting off the air supply and what gave me such joy that I could not help but breathe deeply trying to get more of it?

It was time to get radical. I was feeling sick and stuck and knew only I could create the life I want. I was breathing, just a little, and calling it a life.

As difficult as it was, I had to give up some of the things that offered me security but nothing else. That was so scary at first, but each day that passed was another day I would not ever get back and I realized I would rather be happy than secure. I would rather be working toward a life I actually love than clinging to one that was slowly killing the person I really wanted to be in world.

So I let go a job and a relationship that were no longer serving my higher self and everything started to shift:

· I was invited to present my ideas and research to interesting organizations doing important work to improve the lives’ of others.

· Several colleges offered me teaching gigs and I was suddenly back in the classroom sharing my passion with bright and eager students.

· I discovered who my true friends were and that they’d been waiting to spend more time with me.

· I met a wonderful woman who accepts and loves me just as I am.

I began spending time pursuing what really interested me and not what I had become conditioned to doing:

· I took a playwrighting class and wrote every day.

· I found a ceramics studio where I felt at home and began working with my hands again.

· I ditched my TV and started reading all of the books that sat collecting dust on shelves.

· I started cooking again.

· I planted flowers.

· I visited my mother and called her more often just to talk.

· I attended more concerts and plays.

· I listened to music every day.

· I subscribed to two newspapers and after I read them I did all of the crossword puzzles inside.

· And I recommitted my self to my yoga practice.

Pranayama (breath control) is essential to the practice of yoga. Ancient yogis studied the connection between the breath and the mind. They noticed that an agitiated mind affects the quality of our breath. They also observed that when we control and slow down our breathing, we can control and slow down or minds. For me, when I slow my mind, I can clearly observe my self and my life.

I often spend the first few minutes of the classes I teach having students observe and then focus their breathing. Most of them have come running from another class or their minds are racing thinking about homework and relationships and finances. We all close our eyes; we slow our breathing. We pay attention to how heart rates and racing thoughts slow down as we intentionally inhale and exhale.

Most of them have never done this before. Some days I forget this breathing exercise and they will remind me. They ask for it because they recognize the value of just stopping for moment and paying attention to how we feel and what we are thinking and how our bodies and minds are reacting to those feelings and thoughts. Once we do the exercise, they feel more present -- ready to be where they are in that moment.

Until we slow down, we cannot fully observe anything. Until we begin doing what we say we want to do, we are spending most of our days reinforcing patterns of behavior that do not bring us joy. Let go of those things that make you miserable. Stop waiting for an intervention by some external force that is going to magically make it all better.

Observe yourself. Breath deeply. Take action. Live YOUR life.

I see you seeing me

2011-08-14T01:28:00.000-06:00

I first encountered the term “looking glass self” in graduate school. Charles Horton Cooley, a social psychologist, articulated this concept in 1902. The basic premise of the looking glass self is that we see ourselves through the eyes of other people, even to the extent of incorporating their views of us into our own self-concept.

So I became familiar with the formal term well into my 30s, but I understood the concept very early in my life.

If you grew up in a small town like I did, your identity was not only shaped by those around you – it was reinforced every day, every where you went. You may not have completely agreed with the identity that was thrust upon you, but good luck changing the perceptions of others. Chances are that any time you tried on a slightly different way of being in the world, other were only too happy to remind you of who you really were – according to popular opinion, of course.

Earlier this week I was thinking about the messages we get from others in our lives as we see them seeing us. I happened to be at a student orientation and was fascinated by the identities and roles I saw these new college students projecting to the world.

At my table alone I had the disaffected loner who pretended to sleep with his head resting on his forearms, ear buds in. There was also a very pretty young woman who over-participated in discussions and left little time or room for others to speak. There was the bookish looking girl who hid behind her glasses yet did not miss a thing. To my right was a young man who was painfully shy; he blushed every time I looked his way and turned bright red every time he was asked to speak. There was a tough guy trying on bravado and a tough girl wearing too much makeup. There was a jock and a gaming geek and a daughter of immigrants.

For all of their differences, they had one thing in common: somewhere in the college application and acceptance process, they were identified as “high-risk”. I imagine for most of them this was not a new label. This was an identity with which they were all too familiar – part of a message they’ve been hearing for years in their own communities. And I could see that most of them believed it.

Realizing this made my heart ache – mostly because I remember being that 17-year-old who was busy living up to others’ low expectations. Growing up, I was never the smart girl. It felt like every teacher I had in every grade made sure to reinforce this. This is the danger of the small town – once you are labeled, it sticks.

For many years I believed it, too. I saw myself as others saw me; I accepted my socially constructed identity. Funny, but not smart. Pretty, but not smart. Lazy, and not smart. Sometimes unkind, but never smart. I later learned that I used all of these other ways people saw me (funny, pretty, lazy, unkind) as defense mechanisms. These became walls that protected me and my hurt feelings because I knew everyone thought I was dumb and destined for failure. Yep – I was high-risk.

I failed out of three colleges before I found a school where I succeeded and ultimately graduated with honors. So what was different about that fourth school? One person who saw me with new eyes. I had a teacher, Dr. Rothenberg, who asked to speak with me about my paper after class. Of course I expected the worst. I’d been there less than a month and already someone had figured out that I did not belong. But instead of confirming the academic identity that had been constructed by others again and again for me, Dr. Rothenberg said, “This is a great paper. You are really smart. Why don’t you ever talk in class? You should share your ideas more.”

I believe I looked at the floor and mumbled something and then booked it out of his office as fast as I could. I cried as I walked across campus and back to my car. No one, and I mean no one, had ever told me I was smart. I promised myself I would live up to his expectations instead of down to the expectations of every other teacher I’d had.

Coincidentally, the following day there was an article in the newspaper about a newly opened alternative high school in Denver. The headline read I WILL NOT BE WHO YOU THINK I AM. I cut this out and taped it over my desk where it stayed until I graduated.

After I earned my doctorate I went back to my alma mater and looked up Dr. Rothenberg. I told him about how his words of encouragement and kindness changed my life as an undergraduate student. He was genuinely happy about my accomplishments, though he admitted he did not remember me or our conversation. I loved his honesty and knew that his memory of that day is not what mattered. I promised myself then that I would always strive to be honest, kind, and encouraging to my students. I pledged to hold them to high standards and support them in attaining goals they previously believed were beyond their reach. I understood that, without knowing it, a comment from me might change how someone saw her/himself - for better or for worse.

I took the long road to getting an education. Like I say, I am a late bloomer. I often wonder what would have happened if I’d had more confidence early on, if I’d encountered more people who believed in me sooner.

These experiences weighed heavily on my mind as I spoke to the new college students at my orientation table. I tried to connect with each person. I smiled and made eye contact. I told them about the beauty of this being a fresh start where they could let go of the identities others had ascribed to them previously and start new. They could be anyone they wanted to be. They could start creating the lives they wanted right now. I didn’t care that I might sound corny. What if they’d never heard this before? I needed to tell them before any more time passed.

All of those students will be in the First-Year Success courses I am teaching this upcoming Fall semester. I look forward to learning more about who they really are. I hope to create a safe space for them to try on a few new identities as they drop the labels that no longer apply to them – the labels that likely never really did.

Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. ~Mother Teresa

That's what I want, yeah

2011-08-11T14:34:00.000-06:00

I suspected the bad news as soon as I saw the subject line in the email. No! No! No!

Reluctantly, I opened the message and my fear was confirmed. So it was true. The beautiful bright pink suede wedge heels that were going to change my life had sold out in my size. Agggh!

I’d fantasized about how cute they’d be on the first day of Fall classes. Surely my students would see how cool I am. I knew they’d be the perfect unsuspected pop of color with an otherwise all-black ensemble. They were unlike any shoes I’d ever seen and I knew I had to make them mine. Alas, not to be. Sadness. (Just give me a minute, ok?)

So I thought it was a good thing that I read the email right before heading out to my private Thursday Ashtanga lesson. I was feeling good about the progress I’d made – especially given that I took most of the past week off.

Dare I admit I was looking forward to showing off for my teacher? How unyogic, I know.

During Utttha Hasta Padangustasana A, B, and C, I completely lost my balance. Just last week I marveled at how easy these postures were for me now. What progress I’d made! And today was Wobble City.

( Utttha Hasta Padangustasana A, B, and C)

http://www.sarawhitney.net/yoga/standing.html

Of course I felt compelled to explain to Joan that I was really rocking this sequence out not so long ago. She smiled. Sort of. And then she reminded me that this is why we practice every day – so we don’t get attached to the outcome of the practice. Bringing daily mindfulness to the practice reminds us that it is, and we are, dynamic – ever changing and transforming. We, our bodies, our minds, our spirits are never the same from one day to the next. So we should just observe. Much more difficult to do than to say, Dear Teacher.

Not getting what I wanted did not end there. Of course it didn’t. (If it did my blog posts would be much shorter.)

I was hoping that today I would get another pose. That is, that I would move on to the next pose having mastered what I’ve already been given by Joan. So I felt a little devastated when she told me, “No new pose yet. Work more on what you have so far.” I know she is right. But I still feel disappointed.

So my work on attachment followed me from home to class. I went from obsessing about losing the most perfect shoes in the world, ever, to obsessing about how I want my body to do exactly what I want every day. I also wanted Joan to see how much I’d improved since our last meeting and how I was ready to move on.

This got me thinking about WHY I want what I want. It is embarrassing to admit, but some of it is tied to how I want others to view me. In the field of Communication, we call this Impression Management.

I still want to be a cool girl with cool shoes. And I want to be the woman who is confident enough to wear the unexpected. I want my Ashtanga teacher to see me as strong and capable and worthy of advancement. I want her to see how hard I work when she is not present.

One of the eight limbs if Ashtanga yoga is Yama. These are the precepts of social discipline that lead to growth and evolution and control the negative tendencies that occur in all human beings.

One of the Yamas is Aparigraha. As I understand this, it means cultivating the absence of greed and coveting. We should strive to not grasp at that which is not ours. We should avoid envy and unhealthy competitiveness. And we should limit our possessions only to necessary things.

This was a good reminder for me that I should engage in the practice of all of the limbs of yoga. I am reminded of how everything is connected and how mindfulness can lead to the observance of which behaviors create harmony within me and which create discord.

I am also reminded that I am a work in progress. Dynamic. Changing day to day. Working toward the ideal but forgiving myself when my balance is off and I fall. This helps me cope with other losses and other attachments.

In case you are wondering, I ordered them in the gray. Hey, I am only human.

Don't call it a comeback

2011-08-10T15:19:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was the first day I was able to practice in almost a week. Last Friday I pulled a pectoral muscle trying to change a flat tire on the way to Wyoming. That whole experience was pretty frustrating.

The tire blew and I somehow steered the car to the shoulder. (Shout out to the Driver’s Ed simulator from 30 years ago!) My girlfriend was in the car with me and we gave each other that we should try to do something look. And honestly, what kind of modern women would we be if we did not even try? Eventually we got the lug (or as I now call them “ugh”) nuts off and figured out the jack. I tugged at what was left of the tire with all of my might and felt a sharp pain in my chest. Ouch!

The good news is that my smart girlfriend has a roadside assistance plan. We called. We waited. 40 minutes later we were back on the road. But it was a long 40 minutes. We drove to the next town where it took another hour and a half to just BUY a new tire and then another hour to get it put on the car.

I was cranky and anxious to get to my mother’s - where we would be celebrating her 75^th birthday. I tried to not show my exasperation and mostly paced outside while my GF dealt with the tire people.

Finally, after a nearly four-hour delay, we pulled back on to the highway. My road companion did not seem that bothered by the whole experience. Seriously? Perhaps she had some insight I was lacking.

And so I asked, “Ok. If our uncomfortable experiences are supposed to be opportunities to learn something, what is lesson here? We got a flat. No one stopped. We struggled with the tire. I hurt myself. We had to wait for help to come. It took forever to get the tire. I need to know what the lesson is.”

Calmly, so calmly, she replied, “Patience?”

Without missing a beat I snapped, “Well, I am tired of the patience lesson!” And though I was completely serious, she immediately started laughing. This was the perfect thing to do. It made me laugh too and realize how ridiculous, and yes, impatient, I ~~can be~~ am. We decided we should make I AM TIRED OF THE PATIENCE LESSON ALREADY t-shirts.

This reminded me of my time working at the Denver Department of Human Services. I had to follow up with a client who missed her self-sabotage class. When we finally connected, she admitted she’d simply overslept. I decided that would make a great t-shirt: I SLEPT THROUGH MY SELF-SABOTAGE CLASS.

Does the lesson just keep presenting itself until we get it?

So, back to my pulled muscle. (I know. I am all over the place here.)

I practice Ashtanga yoga and am committed to the standard schedule of doing the primary series six days a week. The only days one takes off are Saturdays, Moon Days and “Ladies Holidays.” You are smart people who can figure out what ladies holidays means.

Oh, and BTW – that is a term used in the Ashtanga community and not something I came up with. So if you are enrolled in my Gender and Communication course, don’t think you can now start saying “Ladies” in class. Unless you are being ironic.

I swear I am trying to say focused here.

Ok – so Saturday is a day off and I don’t practice. Sunday I do practice and it really hurts but I do it anyway. By Monday, the pain makes it impossible to raise my hand above my head or to push or pull anything. I decide to do a modified practice of standing positions, seated positions, and supine positions. But even the twists are killing me.

By Tuesday it is clear I’ve made the situation worse. I’ve received plenty of advice from smart and accomplished people who deal with these types of injuries for a living. Everyone tells me I need to rest and not do any yoga. This is not what I want to hear.

I Google “Ashtanga and Injuries” and find several sites that tell me the injury means I need to strengthen and work on that part of my body with yoga so it is best to keep practicing. It is very likely I misread and/or misinterpreted this advice because it was what I wanted to believe.

My ego was again getting the best of me. I did not want to ruin my six-days-a-week record. So I foolishly (and feebly) practiced again on Tuesday and really made things worse. Feeling defeated, I took my PT friend’s advice and rested. I was supposed to have a private lesson on Thursday and my teacher cancelled; even she told me to rest a few more days.

So I listened and waited five days and the pain subsided. Yesterday I did a very short practice of 10 full rounds of sun salutation B and savasana. It felt great.

I do wonder if I would have missed fewer total days if I’d just rested when the original injury occurred. Deep down, I knew that is what my body needed. Instead of listening I got caught up in what it would mean if I interrupted my six-days-a-week streak. Was I weak? Was I not really committed? Was I being lazy?

And so -- I was presented with one more lesson in patience. And perhaps an additional lesson in true self-care.

Is there a t-shirt for that?

http://www.vintagetshirtstore.com/Don't+forget+to+love+yourself+T+Shirt.php

Everything I needed to know about yoga I learned at an Amish quilt exhibit

2011-08-09T02:53:00.000-06:00

A few years ago I went to an Amish quilt exhibit at the Denver Art Museum. ‘Cuz that’s how I roll. What?!

The quilts were amazing works of art, very old and very beautiful. Of course -- they were in a museum for Pete’s sake.

Anyway, the women who made these quilts spent an incomprehensible amount of time designing and hand sewing them – painstakingly fitting pieces of fabric together to form the most incredible shapes and images. Each pattern was unique, but all of the quilts had something in common: the humility corner. Every quilter deliberately sewed some “mistake” into her quilt. The explanation was something along the lines of not aspiring to perfection because only G*d is perfect. So these small flaws were meant to show humility and emphasize the imperfect nature of the human condition.

Those tiny flaws comforted me. Just knowing they were there seemed to give me permission to not be perfect. I’ve struggled with being a perfectionist most of my life. On the surface it seems like an admirable goal. But the sinister flip side of my perfectionism is stagnation. The more I concern myself with messing up, the more hesitant I become to undertake anything new. However, as I’ve been able to allow myself to see my imperfections as signs of humility, I’ve begun to release myself from my own unrealistic expectations.

This has been especially helpful in yoga. I used to avoid certain classes because I could not “do” all of the asanas. This attitude goes against the very nature of yoga. The goal of the practice should be to humbly strive to do your best – seek constant improvement, push but do not force. Resist the temptation to compare yourself with others. Your body is doing what your body can do right now. And you are still reaping the benefits of the pose.

The first time an instructor showed me a modification I nearly cried with gratitude. I now embrace every prop that makes it easier to get into some version of the pose I am practicing. I unselfconsciously use every block, strap, cushion, and blanket necessary. Each day I see small improvements and I feel stronger. Suddenly I can reach past my toes and wrap my hands around the soles of my feet, gently touching my forehead to my legs without a strap to lengthen my range of motion. This small accomplishment still fills me with joy and gratitude – feelings I would have robbed myself of by believing that yoga was not for me because I could not do it perfectly when I began.

Sri Pattabhi Jois famously said, “Practice and all is coming.” It is probably not coming tomorrow, but it will come eventually if you remain dedicated and let go of your attachment to instant gratification and quick results.

A few weeks ago I took an advanced class from a woman who taught a portion of my yoga teacher training course. I’ve admired her since we first met. She is strong and beautiful and, to my mind, very close to perfect. We were completing a vinyasa and she was giving instruction on how to roll on your toes from upward facing dog to downward facing dog. She paused for a moment and said, “If you are able to do it that way. I have to admit, for all of the many years I have been practicing, I still can’t do this. So I just tuck my toes under and transition to down dog. I keep trying. Maybe someday I will get it.” This admission moved me. In that moment she revealed her dedication and her humility and this revelation gave me permission to keep practicing and to do what I can do. Each day I experience small gains that I am able to appreciate in a new way.

Publishing these posts has been an additional exercise in letting go of my desire to be perfect. Perhaps part of my need for perfection is rooted in wanting to please while avoiding harsh judgment and criticism. I found a few errors in my post from yesterday and I (uncharacteristically) resisted the urge to go back and fix them. I quashed this compulsion by convincing myself that my imperfections might create room for someone else to take action rather than remain stuck for fear of making a mistake.

I am humbled before G*d and my fellow quilters.

I stumbled upon this piece while surfing and reading other blogs yesterday. It seemed perfect for this post.

(“Possibility Girl” – by Andre Jordan)

http://www.abeautifulrevolution.com/blog/abr-things-my-therapist-said/

What took you so long?

2011-08-08T13:20:00.000-06:00

Welcome to the blog I started almost a year ago.

This is my first post. Well, that is not exactly true -- I started many first posts and ditched them. I hope this is the first post I actually post.

A year ago I was staring 45 right in the kisser. This freaked me out. I was worried about my life and and my happiness.

I loved the work that I did. But could not tolerate the petty bullying and office politics.

I'd spent more than 20 years going to school and finally earning my PhD and I thought this would bring some clarity. It didn't. (But that is a story for another day.)

I felt stuck in a relationship with a brilliant but sad woman who thought I could save her. I couldn't.

I loved teaching college courses. That was becoming less and less a part of my life.

I realized I was alienated from my family of origin. I missed them. I hoped they missed me. My mother became very ill and this scared me.

All of this was weighing me down. I felt heavy and scared. How did I end up here? I thought I was a happy and successful person. I thought I had things figured out. At least that is what I projected to the world. If you know me, chances are that is what you thought too.

This introspection and this weight on my chest was reminiscent of feelings that I had six years ago. At the time I was freaked out by 39 staring me in the face. I was then also trying to complete my dissertation so I could graduate. I was teaching as much as I could to make a living while I wrote and rewrote and avoiding writing what I hoped would be a brilliant thesis.

For the first time I understood what friends meant when they said they were stressed. I know that sounds unbelievable, but it is true. Just as I began to understand stress, something else began to happen in my body. I experienced short periods of time where my vision would blur. My hands would sweat. I could not concentrate. I could not sleep. I felt paralyzed.

One afternoon while teaching, the strangest sensation came over me. My whole body began buzzing. I felt dizzy. I thought I might faint. I convinced myself I was having a heart attack. I dismissed my students early and ended up in the ER. After an overnight stay and several tests the doctors told me what I experienced was a panic/anxiety attack. This was the first of many and they came to rule that period of my life. They were crippling. And waiting for them to happen was almost as bad as going through them when they hit. I was hyper-vigilant -- always trying to discover and avoid whatever stimuli caused them. Even reading became difficult. I lived in fear of coming across the words "panic" and "anxiety". I was sure that just seeing those words in print would cause an episode. Sounds crazy, right? It was. I was.

Luckily I found an amazing therapist. I won't get into all of the details of our work together here just now, but she helped me. One of the many things she suggested that I try to ease anxiety was yoga.

The results were amazing. The thing I most love about yoga is that it was nearly impossible for me to think about anything else while I was doing it. It made me feel stronger. And the breathing and meditation helped to calm my mind.

My panic attacks slowed, then stopped. And I somehow drifted away from my yoga practice.

Ok -- where was I when I began this post? Oh, yes -- eyeball to eyeball with my 45th birthday and feeling like my life was out of control. I knew I did not want to wake the panic attack monster; it felt perilously close. I tried to remember what I did before that made me whole and calm. Yoga was such a big part of it.

Why was I not doing yoga any more? Part of it was that my ego intruded and I began to compare myself to all of those other yoga bodies in the room. Part of it was that sometimes I was unfamiliar with the terms, the scriptures, the philosophies that yoga teachers used. This is difficult for me. I like to feel smart. I want to understand everything that is going on around me. (Yet another story for another day.)

I then had a brilliant idea. I would complete a 200-hour yoga teacher training so that I would understand everything (ha!) in yoga classes. Thus, I could relax and just do the poses and breathing. Well, we all know it gets much more complicated.

But I did find a yoga teacher training course. And I did register for it and complete it. And though I dismissed everything people told me about how this would change my life, it did. It changed me. My biggest realization was that I had been living above the neck for most of the past 10 years. I was completely disconnected from my body. Yoga helped me find my body again. It then connected my body to my breath and my spirit and my brain. Some days I am more integrated than others.

And that -- whew! finally -- is what this blog is meant to be about. That and whatever else happens.

So, I started the blog a year ago. This is my first post. One month from yesterday I will be 46 years old. Welcome aboard.