The Space Between

In the last few weeks, it has become evident that the season is changing. The sun is setting earlier, there is a distinct chill in the morning air, and my neighborhood walks are punctuated by the sound of crunching leaves. With the arrival of fall, friends and family are inquiring about my Christmas plans and I am reminded that the holidays are just around the corner. I've seen several festive displays in stores and I'm already getting email alerts promoting holiday deals. It's as if summer ended and someone hit the fast forward button, skipping over fall in its entirety. 

This made me think about transitions, which happen so frequently in life and also on our yoga mats. Consider a typical vinyasa class. Students may transition from one pose to another dozens of times in one hour. Yet our focus tends to be on the actual poses. We are in a forward fold, then a low lunge, and then a plank. Once we get into a pose, we adjust ourselves according to the teacher's cues so we can perform the pose to our best ability. We hold the pose and breathe, bringing exquisite awareness to our bodies in that moment as we continue to fine tune our position.

Yet in the moments when we move from one pose to another, do we keep this same level of attention or do we shift to autopilot? We are still doing yoga–still breathing and moving with our breath. But we seem to lose our focused awareness in the transitions. We put all our concentration and energy into perfecting a posture and then we just let everything go, including our attention. This might be why it is common for yoga injuries to happen as we exit a pose. 

Off the mat we jump from pose to pose on autopilot, too. When we become dissatisfied with a job we grab for the next opportunity, assuming it will make us happier than our current one. When a relationship starts to have problems, we begin to look for other possibilities. And while there is nothing wrong with changing jobs or wanting to improve our situation, I think we can "injure" ourselves by trying to speed through these transitions without giving them the attention they deserve.

If we are dissatisfied with something in our life, do we listen closely to what we are feeling and explore why we feel that way? Or do we simply dive into the next thing, effectively distracting ourselves from our dissatisfaction? When we reach an edge and feel that change is necessary in our life, we are given a juicy opportunity to learn about ourselves. We have an opening to discover what we are afraid of and how we have been conditioned to respond to that fear. If we bring our attention to these internal struggles, we can gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and can make an informed choice about the change we want to make. We can act instead of react.

The space between two poses is a pose in itself, and each one is equally deserving of our attention.

Remember to Breathe

Remembering to breathe may seem like a silly recommendation. After all, we breathe through every minute of every day, and we don't have to stop to think about it. It's automatic. Yes, you may notice your breath when you lose it suddenly (like after intense exercise) or when you are sick and your chest is tight, but the fact remains that most of us don't pay any attention to our breathing on a regular basis. 

I had practiced breathing exercises intermittently in yoga classes, but sometimes they seemed a little unusual. In one technique, you breathe in through one nostril and out through the other, and I was initially put off by this because I didn't want to be so intimate with my nose. Plus there wasn't much detail thrown in about why it was important to practice these exercises, so I wasn't exactly rushing home after class to dig up more information. I figured I had breathing pretty much down, and I would just focus on trying to keep it in sync with my postures.

But all that changed during my teacher training program. I was introduced to the why and how of pranayama, or controlled breath, and the effect that it has on the mind and body. Through my own practice and experience, I started to notice how the benefits of pranayama could impact my life off the mat, too.

I grew up in a family that saw conflict as something to be avoided. If I was mad at my sister, even for legitimate reasons, it wasn't acceptable. We might be forced to apologize and hug it out until we could agree to play together nicely. I learned early in life to keep my mouth closed and my feelings under wraps whenever a situation activated strong emotions. It wasn't okay to express them. And I carried this with me into adulthood. 

I probably don't need to point out that this isn't a great coping mechanism for living in the real world. We are constantly confronted with emotionally difficult situations, and I often do not handle them successfully. If I get into an argument with my partner and he says something that hurts my feelings, or worries me, or makes me mad, I am unable to accept what he is saying. Immediately I'm in my head, thinking about how he has it all wrong. Or being overrun with fear about something that hasn't even happened yet. Or deciding what I can say to shift the blame away from myself. Meanwhile, I'm stuffing all the painful emotions I'm feeling deep inside and throwing up a wall to protect myself.

I might physically look like I am present in these conversations, but I'm not. I'm not able to listen. I can't process what my partner is actually saying. Instead I am creating stories (that are often only slightly relevant to the situation at hand) in my head and reacting to them. And as you can imagine, it's hard to find a solution when you and your partner are not even in the same conversation.

Cue the breath! Remembering to breath has dramatically changed how I respond in these emotional situations. This simple thing that we practice over and over again in yoga class–bringing your attention to your breath–has made it possible for me to stay in the conversation. If my attention is on my breath, I have a single point of focus. My mind is in the here and now, which means it can't be composing elaborate stories about what is happening. If my attention is in the present moment, then I'm not lost in my head. I can listen. I can feel the emotions that come up and give them space and permission to exist. I can accept when someone says something about me that I don't like. I can let it sit there and not get carried away. I can keep breathing. 

Of course this is easier said than done. I don't always remember to breathe, but when I do the conversation is always much more productive–even if the subject is extremely painful. Placing my attention on my breath has allowed me to turn excruciating moments into opportunities to grow as a person. That's worth practicing. 

Life Outside of the Flock

It’s been six weeks since I graduated and all the excitement of summer has been keeping me busy. Too busy, I have decided. Since my program ended I’ve reconnected with friends that I missed, smothered my dog with more affection than she wants, played energetic host to family and friends, and fully utilized the long days and amazing weather that Portland has offered this summer. Something I haven’t done a lot of is yoga. Or meditation. This fact became clear as I started meeting up with some of my yoga school classmates. They asked what classes I was taking at the studio or if I'd been able to maintain my home practice, and I felt a tinge of guilt each time I answered no. I didn’t feel guilty enough to rush into the studio the next day but guilty enough to realize I wanted to think about what was going on.  

What happened? I had established such a consistent routine and I was so happy with all the growth that had resulted from my personal practice. How did I give it up so easily? If it meant as much to me as I thought and said it did, wouldn’t I have stuck with my practice?

I intentionally took a hiatus from yoga during the first two weeks after my program ended because I thought it would be healthy to take a break (and maybe because my calendar was over scheduled). Then my evenings and weekends continued to fill up and I started struggling to get out of bed and onto my mat. Hitting the snooze button multiple times became my morning routine instead. I wanted to get up early to meditate and practice yoga. I really did! I particularly needed it because I was going through some transitions in my personal life that were bringing up a lot of emotion. On days when I would sneak in even twenty minutes of yoga, I was always glad I had done it. It's not like I've ever practiced yoga and then said, “Man, I wish I wouldn’t have done that.” 

As I thought about this, I appreciated that my priorities had shifted. In yoga school I had made a conscious decision to temporarily put my social life on hold while I concentrated on school. Six days a week, I felt accountable to my classmates and had their unending encouragement and empathy to help me stay committed. Now that school was over and those external expectations of daily practice were removed, my focus had naturally returned to spending time with friends, exploring a relationship, and taking adventures. Without the support of my yoga community, my sense of commitment had somehow wavered. And while I have every intention of staying connected to this inspiring group of classmates and teachers, the truth is that I have to want this for myself and not for someone else.

I know that my yoga practice bleeds into the rest of my life in amazing ways, and I do want that to continue. Fortunately, I have learned that the way forward is not to beat myself up over this lapse in my practice. Instead I will start small and build a practice that I can sustain and that can sustain me in the real world that I live in: one where I am a part of a community but where no one is holding my hand. This may mean that I practice for just twenty minutes every day, and that’s okay. There is no question in my mind that I need yoga right now. My practice will continue to grow, but right now it can be exactly what I need it to be.

Pomp and Circumstance

After taking a week off to concentrate on my finals (during which time I encountered a million things I wanted to write about), I finally have a chance to put everything down and reflect on the last five months. It went by too fast, and yet it always seemed like graduation was too far away. On so many occasions I was ready to be done, but at the same time I didn't want the program to end. Life is full of these dichotomies, pulling us in opposite directions but working together to take us out of the moment at hand. 

On the morning of our last 6 AM asana class, my eighteen classmates sat knee to knee in a tight circle, holding hands for one last closing. My dear teacher spoke humbly and eloquently about the path that we had traveled together and her hopes for the personal journeys that we would continue, finishing with the following excerpt from Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor: 

"To be human is to live by sunlight and moonlight, with anxiety and delight, admitting limits and transcending them, falling down and rising up. To want a life with only half of these things in it is to want half a life..."

It was a poignant moment for most of us, and it was a fitting reminder of something we had encountered day after day throughout the program. How often did I spend my meditation period with my mind darting after my thoughts like a skittish sparrow? How often did I want to sit and take a pass when we were introduced to challenging backbends? How often did I want to do anything other than sit down with my anatomy book to complete an assignment? All of these things were hard. It would have been so easy to just do the opposite. If I had a nickel for every time one of my classmates exclaimed (or sighed or muttered!), "This is hard!" then I would be able to buy myself a nice pair of yoga pants. 

As frustrated as we can get when things are hard, it's important to have these experiences. It's okay to struggle and to not be able to find the ground under our feet. If everything was easy, then we'd be living only half a life. We'd miss out on all the ways we grow when we are forced to live by the moonlight, face our anxieties, or admit our limits. Without sadness there would be no joy. Without fear there would be no love. We need all of these in our life if we want to fully participate in the vibrant world around us.

In order to learn how to pick ourselves up, we have to learn to fall down. Yoga school provided me with the opportunity to practice both of these quite regularly, and I am grateful to have had the opportunity to do so. I have learned new things about myself and what I am capable of–mentally and physically–and I couldn't be more excited to teach and encourage others who are starting on this path. 

Ocean Song

Last weekend I was feeling restless. I had made a decision to be open and curious about a possibility that was presenting itself in my life, but immediately afterward things got sticky. It became very difficult to keep expectations from forming and to simply let things unfold. I started to cling to the possibility and was already afraid of losing it. I allowed myself to be vulnerable and it stung. The habits and ways of thinking I'd been developing seemed to have abandoned me, and I was feeling a lot of conflicting emotions. 

I needed air. I grabbed my dog and drove to the ocean, a place that always soothes my soul. Something about the rhythmic sound of the waves cancels out all the noise in my head, and I can breathe deeper when I'm surrounded by so much open space. I wanted to let go of the frustrations and anger that had resurfaced–at myself, at events, at other people–to make room for what really matters to me: love, kindness, honesty, and gratitude. 

I sat in the sand watching the waves roll in and pondering what I could learn from them. There are teachers everywhere in nature if you are willing to look and listen carefully, and I was not disappointed that day. I was feeling the urge to run because I don't know where this thing in my life is going and I want to protect my precious heart. But there are different ways to live your life, and I just had to listen to the waves for a reminder of how I want to live mine.

The waves whisper loudly,
Still I cannot make out
What they say.
My mind softens as
I watch them,
Beautiful and powerful,
Tumbling toward an unknown place.
They do not hesitate,
Racing forward with intention
and grace. 
Crashing ashore
They offer all that they have,
Breaking open to kiss the sand.
I cannot hear what
They are saying,
But they have taught me
Many things. 

If You Build It, They Will Come

Where you place your attention is where you will go. This is a thought that keeps surfacing in the philosophy discussions I'm a part of on Friday nights at yoga school. It has come up in conversations relating to two traditional texts that we are reading, the Bhagavad Gita and The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. As we are surrounded by unlimited distractions, this sentiment is possibly even more relevant today because so many things are constantly competing for our attention.

If this is a true statement–as I believe it is–it gives us a lot of power to make change in our life. In fact it tells us exactly what we need to do to make change happen: focus our attention on where we want to go. When we give our attention to something, we spend time more thinking about that thing and doing that thing. It begins to be more present in our life, which in turn makes us think about it more. It seems like a pretty obvious cycle, right?

This principle is already at work in our lives, but we may only notice it when we intentionally decide where we want to go. For example, let's say you want to make healthier choices about what you eat. You start putting more thought into the foods you are consuming, examining nutrition labels and browsing health blogs. You might start to collect recipes that incorporate whole foods or join a CSA. It's likely you will talk about your progress with others and share what you are learning on your Facebook feed. Consciously directing your attention to healthy food choices allows you to make decisions in line with that goal.

However, this same cascade also works when we aren't paying attention to where we are directing our attention. And for many of us, this is what's happening most of the time. If you spend a lot of time with a friend who likes to gossip and put people down, you are giving those behaviors your attention. You might find yourself participating in the same behaviors even though they aren't in line with your values. If you have a crush on a coworker and start to fantasize about what that relationship could be like, you might make excuses to spend more time with that person, despite having a deep love for your partner at home.

I have realized that where I place my attention is incredibly important. We give life to the things that we think about, so it is best to use care and discernment to decide what those things are. Explicitly thinking about this every day is helping me to create new patterns of behavior and taking me in the direction that I want to go: more kindness, more honesty, more authenticity, more love. Where are you going?

V Is For Vulnerability

A few months ago a friend mentioned a TED talk that she thought I should watch. It was titled The Power of Vulnerability. Considering how vulnerable I was feeling in my life at that time, I was extremely interested in learning how I might use that yucky feeling to my advantage. Clearly I wasn't the only person who had this reaction, because the Brené Brown talk has almost twenty million views on TED's website (only about six of which can be attributed to me!). If you haven't seen it, I recommend finding twenty minutes to sit down and listen.

Vulnerability was a word I was using long before I was introduced to the video, because I couldn't seem to escape that feeling. It had become my shadow, glued to me at all times except for those occasional moments when something lit me up like the sun standing directly overhead. After my husband left, I felt like there was something wrong with me. No matter what he might have said, it felt like I wasn't enough. I was ashamed and embarrassed, and I don't have to tell you how awful that feels.

It's not that I had never been in a situation where I didn't feel worthy before, I just had never felt it so deeply–deep enough to be completely overwhelmed and incapable of hiding my feelings. That's what was different this time. I couldn't silence the uneasy feelings of vulnerability by convincing myself of my worth, putting someone else down to make me feel better, or even pretending to be okay with enough gusto that anyone (including myself!) believed it. So there I was feeling raw and naked, parading my mess–my faults, my mistakes, my fears–in front of everyone I knew.

I could write post after post about my experiences with vulnerability over the past several months (and if you come back you'll probably hear about this again!) but what I want to say about it today is that I started to notice positive things unfolding in my relationships during this period. They were happening even though I was exposed, with both my shiny and ugly parts on display. I felt like a magnet that had been flipped over, suddenly pulling people closer. Strangers engaged with me at an unprecedented rate. People that I knew peripherally asked to spend more time with me and opened up to me. I felt strong enough to share things about myself that I hadn't talked about before, so that friends I had only known for a short time understood me as though they'd known me forever. I felt more of a connection to others, even the people that were just passing through my life.  

Until I watched Brené Brown's video, I didn't realize that the source of this new connectedness was vulnerability. When we share our true selves without filtering out the messy parts, we encourage others to do the same. And this is what builds intimacy–taking the risk to be authentic in our relationships and discovering that we are more the same than different.    

Learning to embrace vulnerability has been one of the most important lessons of my life. I can't claim to practice it without fail, because sometimes the risk of getting hurt seems too great and it's tempting to build walls instead of break them down. But even in these situations, I am trying to have the courage to be fully myself and to know that no matter what is in there, it's enough. 

Results May Vary

Lately I've been thinking about how difficult it can be to make decisions because we can't always predict the results. A simple example is my old Mazda. It's fifteen years old and somehow reliably gets me where I need to go with little protest. Whenever something goes wrong and the mechanic hypothesizes that $500 in repairs will probably fix the issue, I find myself bombarded by uncertainty. What if I spend the $500 and it doesn't fix the problem? Then do I agree to the next $500 in repairs? What if they fix the car but it breaks down again in a month? It is an old car. How much longer could it last me? Should I cut my losses and get a newer car that won't need all this work?

I'm just talking about a car and putting $500 on the line, which is pretty low stakes. How much more paralyzed by uncertainty am I if the decision I have to make involves risking something more precious to me, like my time or energy or heart? What happens when I am considering more important decisions like going back to school, taking a new job, or giving someone who hurt me a second chance? 

When facing these decisions, most of us start by gathering as much information as we can. We might research the issue online, talk to friends and people who have "been there" for advice, and analyze all the possible alternatives, trying to make sure we choose the option that is most likely to give us what we want. There's nothing wrong with this approach, and often it allows us to make a decision that produces an outcome that is acceptable to us. But even with the most considered decisions, the results are never guaranteed. There is always the possibility of something working out differently than you had anticipated.

It is good to be thoughtful when faced with a big decision, but our obsession with the outcome can become a burden. In our attempt to control the results, we can become so weighed down by the information and advice that we are unable to make any decision at all! Not being able to make the decision actually makes the decision for us, stripping away our power and leaving us exactly where we started.

Sometimes we just have to put it all down and take the next step, knowing that we can't quite be sure where it will take us. 

To Forgive and Not Forget

"Today I'd like to talk about an unpopular topic that no one likes hearing about. Today I'd like to talk about forgiveness." That's how my yoga teacher started a vinyasa class last Saturday, and it is just one of the many messages about forgiveness that I have happened upon in the past week. In my case, the teacher was close to the truth when she remarked that we don't like to talk about it, because I'm struggling to forgive right now and it doesn't feel good. It's much easier to cling to my feelings of betrayal and indignation than to sincerely examine the obstacles that prevent me from forgiving. So when my teacher started talking about the dreaded F word, I asked myself to truly listen to what she had to offer and to be equally open in the other encounters I've recently had with the subject. 

One of the biggest roadblocks for me has been the idea (and impossibility!) of just forgetting about the pain that someone caused me, especially in instances when the person won't even acknowledge that his or her actions caused me pain. As much as I wish I could forget certain moments–things I saw or heard or read–my brain has already forged the connections. Those circuits are hardwired now to evoke very strong emotions when triggered. But in the past week I've uncovered that forgiveness is not about forgetting or letting go of the pain. It's not about locking the door to that anger and throwing away the key. Forgiveness is about making conscious decisions about what I do when I feel the pain surface. 

The typical human response is to react with anger when something sparks a memory about a time we were wronged. Maybe we concoct some wild revenge plot. (We know it will never happen but it feels good to imagine anyway.) Or perhaps we make a passionate plea for karma to do its thing. 

We are conditioned to think this way because we believe in fairness and justice, but forgiveness offers us an opportunity to change the way we think. When we encounter the pain that someone's actions caused us, instead of unconsciously spiraling into anger and resentment we can intentionally acknowledge what happened and how we feel about it. It's okay to feel anger or betrayal or sadness and to sit with those feelings for a bit. But we can't stop there. The second step is to choose our focus. Do we dwell on the pain and relive every second of it in excruciating detail? Or do we ask ourselves to move forward and set our minds on something that lifts us up? Which is a better use of our precious time and energy?

Changing our pattern of reaction is easier said than done. I know that I am only hurting myself by staying angry at someone, but I have also realized that identifying as the victim in a situation gives me a sense of righteousness. In a backward way it makes me feel good about myself–look, I have never done that terrible thing so I must be a better person. If I practice forgiveness, I won't have this pedestal to look down from any more and I'll find myself standing amongst the people who hurt me. But if I'm honest with myself, that is right where I belong. I am choosing selfish action, too, by holding onto my righteous anger in order to feed my sense of self.

The truth is that we are all capable of making mistakes and of learning new ways to be. Right now I'm learning that forgiveness means choosing love, even when it's hard.

Get It Wrong

Last weekend I had the pleasure of attending a three-day Sanskrit workshop through my yoga school. It was taught by an endearing instructor, Joshua Michaell, who made the trip from San Francisco to offer an intensive training on the Sankskrit language and yoga philosophy. I had been looking forward to this workshop because I love learning languages, especially one that is so essential to the study of yoga. While I was amazed at Josh's ability to make pronunciation of this new language so effortless, the most memorable lesson for me was a demonstration of two very different models of learning. 

According to the first model, which is prevalent in this country, the way that we are trained to think places the emphasis of learning on Getting It Right. We want to give the right answer, perform the calculation correctly, or pronounce the word properly. Our goal is not understanding what we are learning or immersing ourselves in it for the pure joy of learning. Instead our primary concern is to Get It Right and to avoid Getting it Wrong at all costs. If we Get It Right, we think other people will see us as smart and good and successful. Getting It Wrong feels bad and makes us think we're failures or that there is something wrong with us. Our beliefs about ourselves have become tightly bound to our ability to Get It Right, and there is a lot of pressure and fear to not Get It Wrong.

As a straight-A student throughout my life, I relate to this dichotomy very easily. When you believe that you are smart because you have the right answers, feeling good about yourself hinges on your continued ability to give the right answer. Even when I would get an A on an exam, I could be devastated by getting one question wrong. I never wanted to raise my hand to answer questions from the teacher because I was terrified of giving the wrong answer in front of all of my classmates. That would prove I wasn't smart at all, and everyone would see that I was a fraud. As you can imagine, it felt great to be successful but under the surface I lived with a constant fear of falling from that perch. No matter how many times I Got It Right, every situation presented another opportunity to Get It Wrong.  

Is there another way? Can I change my perspective? What if I take away all the judgments that go along with Getting It Wrong? What if I approach Sanskrit with the honest joy that I have to meet the language and to revel in the new sounds I discover? Josh gave me the opportunity to test out this model of learning during his workshop. He asked the class to accept that all sounds were equally good; therefore, there was no way for anyone to make a wrong sound. Then he took it one step further. He asked us to put our belief in that statement into action because he would later be asking for volunteers to recite Sanskrit vowel sounds to the class. There would be no reason not to shoot your hand into the air when he asked for volunteers, even if you weren't sure of what sounds to make. If any sound was as good as the next, then you couldn't Get It Wrong.

Yet I was still terrified of raising my hand without confidence in my ability to make the right sounds. I didn't feel prepared. I wanted more time to ensure I would be able to Get It Right. Then Josh told us to take a deep breath, and he asked for a volunteer. It may seem low risk but in that moment my heart was pounding. I was raising my hand without knowing the answer! And so were eighteen of my classmates! It was scary, but I also felt a rush of excitement at breaking out of a pattern that never fit right in the first place.

As luck would have it, Josh called on me. And I didn't know the sounds to sing. In fact, I panicked and had to ask for help from my classmates. Three beautiful people joined their voices with mine to chant the line. Nobody thought I was dumb or a failure, and I realized that I didn't either! What a tremendous gift–a simple and honest way to think about new experiences in my life. It will take practice to make this thinking a habit, but I am happy to unload my fear of making a mistake in order to focus on my love of learning.