Eight Years A Yogi....Always A Beginner

It’s the dawning of another new year and almost time for my eighth anniversary as a Bikram yogi. What, you may wonder, is the big attraction that’s pulled me to practice this yoga for these many years? I suppose it’s a multi-faceted magnet, as I am a multi-faceted human being.

I practice yoga enough to keep my body challenged. Yes, it’s possible to be challenged by the SAME practice for eight consecutive years. Millimeters matter and are hard won. Hips take years to open up. Hamstrings seem to prefer being tight rather than loose. And bodies change....and change....and change over the years. Yoga was actually easier for me when I first began, and certain postures were easier to fully express then rather than now. My continuing yoga practice has helped me to accept my aging body, to delight in its abilities, to challenge it in its lazy times. Having to look at myself in the mirror for ninety minutes allows me to find the beauty there as well as the humanity. There’s always something to love...and always something to work on.

I practice yoga enough to settle my ego down. There’s just no place for anyone’s ego in the practice room...not mine and not the teacher’s. It’s amazing the things that will tweak my ego in that room. Whether I’m being laid low by a bout of nausea, feeling a sense of grandeur from holding a posture for the entire minute, or finding myself irritated by a certain teacher’s mood or a fellow student’s loud grunts of exertion....it’s all fodder for the work, and the work, at least for this yogi, is to let go and let go and LET GO of my ego...becoming humble and at one with the nature of things. Once, very recently, I thought I just could not bear another class with a certain teacher who I was finding to be unloving, rigid and callous with her students. Before long, I was hung up on her every word...looking for her lack of trust, her attempts to control us, feeding the nasty monster of my OWN ego. My years of practice helped me to remember that we are ALL doing the best that we can, that I was losing my practice by paying attention to the negatives. I forced myself to keep going, to open my heart and find love and respect for my teacher and for the opportunity to confront this area within myself in need of growth and transformation. Once I was on the other side of the frustration and rage and had transformed it to acceptance and peace, I was so grateful for my practice, which allowed me to work through my own lack of love, rigidity and judgmentalness.

I practice yoga enough to find a sense of surrender to the Divine. For me, there’s simply no better feeling than that clear headedness and peace that is achieved through 90 minutes of heat and sweat and mental focus and physical exertion, all combined. I love taking what I’ve achieved out into the world with me after practice. If you find me to be a positive, loving, peaceful, centered person, it’s because of my yoga. Being humble in my practice, and giving myself over to whatever will BE in that room results in a demeanor that is softer, more loving, better at really listening....really being present...for others. When I practice enough, my relationships with those close to me, my dealings with my customers, my tolerance (and even love) of my fellow human beings increases exponentially.

In March, I will smile at myself in the mirror, bring my hands into prayer position below my chin and bow in acknowledgment of the hard work, the joy, and the blessing of eight years of yoga. And then I will begin again with a sense of openness to and excitement for what IS and what might be possible for me through my practice. Namaste!

Thoughts on Human Touch in the Practice of Yoga

There’s a quote by Virginia Axline that goes something like, “We are all doing the best that we can, and when we can do better, we will.” This quote has been on my mind in my yoga classes a lot lately and it seems to fit so many situations that are occurring with me and around me.

In late summer, a favorite instructor returned to our studio and with her came a special energy that is unlike any other I’ve experienced in my six year practice. Kristen isn't afraid to put her hands on people, to connect with her students in service of

deepening their practice. In our “hands off” culture, this strikes me as both an intensely brave and incredibly loving gesture on her part. The first time Kristen touched me in practice was during her final class before moving to New Mexico a few years ago. During the belly-down series, we rest between postures face-down on our mats. Kristen went around the room and used her toes to massage a number of students’ toes as they rested. I was filled with such an intense feeling of being loved and honored unconditionally as a human being that I was almost brought to tears....and I never forgot the feeling.

Occasionally, Kristen would return to Maine to visit family and friends and she’d pop in at our studio to teach a class. I’m sure I’m not the only one who looked forward to her visits and rescheduled life events to try and be there for her class. It’s so rare, these days, to be able to connect with other human beings on a safe, physical level. Who would’ve thought I’d find such a loving kindness in the hot yoga room?

I’ve been practicing Bikram yoga for quite a few years now, and I’ve seen many instructors come and go. We are all individuals and benefit from different teaching styles, but I have always gravitated toward those teachers who push with love....who seem to realize we are all doing the best that we can. No judgments, no shame...only encouragement and technical advice to make our bodies and minds tune in. It’s been helpful to remind myself that my instructors, too, are doing the best that they can....and that when they can do better, they will. Clearly, there have been times when I’ve noticed that a teacher is not at his or her best...seeming worn out, frustrated, irritated. We are all human beings, after all. Life is not easy for any of us.

Another of my favorite instructors counsels us often, "Don't let anyone (or anything) steal your peace." He's referring to the

distractions that undoubtedly follow one into the studio...and the distractions that sometimes set up their yoga mats beside or behind you. Sometimes, though, that advice also applies to the instructor that is teaching the class. There have been times lately when my frustration with a teacher has threatened to derail my practice and it’s been hard to remain in the room. That’s got to be one of the worst feelings for me. I’ve gotten myself to this very hot studio to practice a very difficult form of yoga. I’m doing the best that I can and feel like everyone else in the room is a rock star, too, just for showing up and TRYING. Patience goes both ways, I suppose.

That’s one of the reasons I appreciate Kristen’s approach to our practice so much. I completely resonate with her energy. She’s a tough teacher and doesn’t let anyone off the hook....but there is an underlying thread of loving kindness and unconditional positive regard that leaves us all feeling good about ourselves and whatever effort we put forth on that particular day. No judgments, no shame. And she gets herself around the room to physically connect with as many of us as she can, offering a gentle adjustment to a shoulder, a push on the lower back, a

lifting of the legs just to show someone what it would feel like to “get there” on her own, or a gentle toe massage just when you need it most. Every single person in the room is sweaty, stinky, tired and often pushed to our limits. That our instructor offers a kind, safe touch at that particular time....when we are often at our worst...is particularly amazing.

I am ever-grateful for having found Bikram yoga, and feel incredibly fortunate that though we have just a single studio in Maine, it’s right here in my own community. And I feel so blessed to have been touched by Kristen and other instructors like her, who seem to know instinctively that we all need unconditional love and that human touch can be safe and healing. Namaste.

Loving Through the Lens

Lately, my photography has been bringing me so much joy, and isn’t it important in this crazy life to have something you can always rely on to light your fire, something you can turn to for comfort, enjoyment, enrichment, connection? Creative pursuits have been an important passion for me for as long as I can remember. From playing with crayons (I used to melt them and mix the colors) as a child to dancing as a teen to sewing quilts as a young mother to writing stories and poetry throughout my life - having an outlet for my creativity has made for a richer, more grounded life.

When I look through the lens of my camera, I “see” differently. Maybe I’m focusing with my macro lens on something minute and obscure that I’d otherwise miss altogether....like the fuzz on a bumblebee...or the curious pattern of swirls and divots on the face of a full moon...or the intensity of the color fuschia when expressed by a purple coneflower. Again and again, I am humbled and stunned by the beauty all around me and I’ve grown attached to that feeling, craving it more and more. It’s not uncommon for my husband to lose track of me on a summer night and find me crouched behind the hydrangea or brown-eyed Susans, camera-to-face. He knows, in those moments, that I am completely happy and in my element. I can tell by the smile on his face as he quietly walks away and leaves me be.

Look through the lens of your camera enough and you may begin to see the world differently even when your camera is resting in its case. I become delighted with the chocolate skin and incredibly dark eyes of a sweet African-American child at the local House of Pizza....enchanted with the weathered, knot-knuckled, age-spotted hands of a farmer at the weekly farmer’s market....jazzed up by the play of colors and textures in bundles of yarn stuffed into cubbies at a yarn shop. “Oh,” I think, “if only I had my camera with me.”

I know that for many, snapping photos is an annoyance. I’ve heard friends remark that they want to experience the sunset or the flower for themselves and not have to share it with others.

For them, a camera ruins the experience. For me, the sharing is part of the excitement, as is the act of capturing what I see. Sometimes, I’m unable to translate my vision into a photograph. The light isn’t right, my skills aren’t quite good enough...and the moment passes quietly. But, oh...how I live for those moments when scanning through downloads of my work and I happen upon something truly perfect. I cannot wait to share the beauty I’ve recorded, to play it back for you.

There’s the opportunity, too, lately to find the beauty in a person and release it and then capture it with my camera. Being fully present...calm and relaxed...with a person I’m photographing often brings this magic to the surface. Being silly and whimsical also helps draw a person out. And when you succeed in translating what is most vulnerable, precious and lovely about a person into a photograph, well....the feeling is pretty amazing, I’ve found....for the photographer, the subject and the audience as well.

I suppose I like to connect with people through art and photography is my latest way of doing so in a deeply meaningful manner. A soulful photograph, perhaps something in black and white, speaks to you of relationship, of depth, of sorrow or joy. And we connect, you and I, through an image I’ve created or captured. You "see" it your own way, adding yet another dimension to the experience. It’s a beautiful thing and it never seems to get old for me.

Practice makes perfect?

Participating in a 4-hour posture clinic at my yoga studio this weekend gave me more than just my asanas to ponder. I’ve been practicing Bikram yoga for over six years now, and you’d think I’d have it down. The truth is that practice doesn’t necessarily make perfect. As my astute yoga teacher Michael said, sometimes “practice makes permanent,” so taking a look at one’s practices is always a good thing.

I’m expanding my thinking about the things I practicewell beyond my yoga mat. I practice my job skills. I have become habitual in my relationship with my husband, son and others. As I learned in the posture clinic, sometimes (painfully often for me, in fact) my practice is skewed and isn’t serving me as well as I’d like to think. Hmmm....these are big “ah ha!” moments to be having on a Monday.

I’ve been suffering lately with a couple of injuries. As attention was brought to my body mechanics in getting into and out of different poses (asanas), I realized I wasn’t lining up my hips correctly....or I was yanking my shoulder back unnecessarily...or my back was arched when I thought I was tucking my tail. My interpretation of the verbal directions of the instructor weren’t translating appropriately from my mind to my body parts and this was causing pain and injury to certain joints. Oh, sure...I might’ve been able to get my leg a little higher in Standing Bow, and I might’ve been able to hold the pose for the whole ten seconds in Balancing Stick, but at what price? I wasn't even doing the postures correctly!! What I had to face head-on in the posture clinic is that I’m kind of a control freak perfectionist.

Ugh. That is so hard to even write. I left the posture clinic and had a few tears in the car over that realization. Me. A control freak perfectionist. The label is self-imposed, and yes, I’m hard on myself. But....I was really blown away by how my zest for perfection in the postures had led me to stop truly listening to my body, and how my months and years ofdoing the same practice over and over had led me to stop truly listening to the instructions. Sometimes in yoga and in life, we need to go back to the beginning and start again -- even (and maybe especially) when we think we’ve got it all down perfectly.

The posture clinic gave participants time and attention and hands-on instruction from our teachers which isn’t possible during regular classes. We got into a posture and they “fixed” us, adjusting our hips and feet and arms the way they are supposed to be. We, in turn, attempted to memorize what these adjustments felt like. For me, much of the fine tuning left me unable to fully express a particular posture the way I was used to. My years of “practice” were tossed out the window and I had to return to the very beginning, with a beginner’s mind, and start from scratch....only going as far into a pose as I was able to while doing it correctly. This is what caused my inner control freak to melt down, as I realized that I’m not so great at this yoga thing....even after six years of trying.

Given time to think this through, I’ve come to a place of acceptance that this is where I’m at. It’s actually very transformative to start fresh. In the case of my yoga practice, my body is already responding with relief to the adjustments. Less pain is a good thing. And I’m wondering, now, about the ways I have done the very same thing - practicing the same old habits - in other areas of my life. In my work with the pups, I am learning that I am at my best when I give my full attention to my students, when I allow their present needs to shape the day rather than thinking my past experience is the best guide. In my relationship with my husband, we hit a huge wall when the kids started departing for college. The way we shaped and practiced our daily lives had to shift and change now that there weren’t sporting and school events drawing us away from each other. We had to start from scratch and begin relating anew. Thankfully, we got back in touch with the love that brought us together in the first place and were able to begin a new and different chapter of life together....because the ways we’d practiced relating, our patterns and habits, just weren’t cutting it for either of us any longer.

I’ve heard it said many times that “change is the only constant” and it seems pretty accurate. As I look at my yoga practice and make some necessary changes, I’m finding that embracing change can be a lovely, loving thing to do. Back on my mat last night for the first time after the clinic, I was careful with my body and I approached each posture with a beginner’s mind. Instead of trying to be great at this or that posture....or giving up when I learned how imperfect my postures actually were...I just allowed myself to practice....to start fresh and approach each posture as if I was doing it for the first time. I gave myself permission to slow down, breathe, and be fully in my body and in the moment, whatever that moment brought and whatever my body was capable of right then.

In my relationship with Michael, we are learning to hold on and let go in equal measure. Many ways of relating and sharing life needed to be thrown out the window as we transitioned to a (somewhat) empty nest.

Other habits and practices needed development so that we could feel more like a married couple and less like two robots fulfilling the needs and wants of four children, etc and so on. We are learning that practice does, indeed, make permanent if you’re not very careful and open-minded and inquisitive. Change is going to happen anyway...but looking at your practices and habits might transform things in a direction that was otherwise unexpected.

Tonight, I’ll be returning to my mat with an open, calm and inquisitive mind.....and leaving my control freak perfectionist persona outside the door to pace back and forth and chew her nails to her heart's content.

On loving oneself with food...

Lately I've been paying closer attention to my relationship with food. It's not something I want to do and it does NOT come easily, but I'm determined to take responsibility for my eating habits. I suppose the time will come in each of our lives when our eating catches up with us in one way or another, forcing us to take a look at how we're treating our bodies, fueling ourselves for whatever journey we happen to be on at a particular time in our lives.

When I was just a baby of 23 and carrying a baby of my own, I was careful for those nine months to feed myself foods that would help build a strong, healthy baby. Because I was responsible for the making of another human being, I treated my body well. During my months of nursing the baby, the same was true....but once that was over, I was back to my old habits and ways. Now, all these years later, I'm asking myself if I'm capable of loving myself as much as I loved my baby. The answer is slippery and amorphous. My relationship with food prefers to remain hidden in the shadows and is resistant to close examination. I imagine most addictive relationships ARE, right? Because....that's what we're talking about here: a relationship of addiction, at least that's what's been surfacing for me as I draw my attention to this unexamined area of my life.

I love my food and I'm ambivalent as hell about giving any of it up. My sour cream, my mayonnaise, my cheese and my pasta and my bread. There's an attachment to these delights whose grip clings ever tightly. My secret stash of chocolate in the nightstand drawer calls to me after a long, exhausting day of work, inviting me to have just a bite (or ten) as I tune out in front of the TV and relax. And a hot soak in the tub is nothing without a small glass of iced Bailey's Irish Cream. We reward ourselves, celebrate our accomplishments, drown our sorrows....by reaching for something to eat or drink. Over and over and over again, our families, friends, co-workers invite us to share a meal, a cup of coffee, a slice of cake. It's the American way to spread out

the buffet and gorge ourselves in celebration, yes? We "biggie size" everything and then wonder why all of US are now biggie sized as well. So tell me, how will I fit in if I take responsibility for what goes into my mouth?

And take responsibility I simply MUST. I am deeply unhappy with the current state of my body. I do not want to carry around extra weight. I do not want my movement restricted by flesh when I am trying chase a puppy down. I abhor tight clothing holding me back, hemming me in. My relationship with food has cost me the freedom I formerly had....freedom of movement, yes, but another sort of freedom as well. I used to feel good about my physical body. I was comfortable in my clothing and confident in my appearance. I could go running in shorts without feeling a sense of shame and embarrassment that someone would be disgusted by the sight of my thighs. It seems cruelly ironic that I'm contemplating giving up my comfort (food) when so many other things are falling by the wayside due to the natural aging process. What a vulnerable time. Wrinkles. Gray, dull hair. Aches and pains. The threat of menopause. Reaching for a donut seems like it would make me feel so much better. I could lose myself in the taste of sweet jelly on my tongue and powdered sugar on my lips, drown my sorrow for a moment. Wash it down with a latte.

But alas...my donut days might be over. I've been paying attention to my food choices for a few months now, getting ever more serious about it as the weeks tick away and I build awareness of my patterns (and bathing suit season threatens). It takes a whole lot of mindfulness, staying present, when it comes to making better choices about what to eat. Sometimes, the effort overwhelms me. It's hard to feed yourself well!! I have a million (valid)

excuses. You have to think about recipes and calorie content and then you have to shop so that you are prepared when it's time to get a meal together. And I'm ashamed to admit that I've become lazy about it, opting to eat out or grab some take-out when I'm exhausted rather than face the kitchen and prepare a meal. But working out is no longer enough to keep me in good physical shape. And my relationship with exercise is a whole OTHER issue (for a later blog....I can only take so much at a time).

So....back to the point of this blog. It's about loving yourself. That's the bottom line, at least for me. Believe me, it's a very hard, sad truth to admit that underneath my relationship with food is a woman who does not love herself enough to treat herself better. Don't poo-poo it away. It's my truth and I can and will face it. I'm gonna learn to love myself enough to stay in control of what I offer myself for fuel. I have a very busy life and I need better fuel so that I'm not tired, sluggish, sick. Making time to choose delicious fresh fruits, vegetables and grains is a way to honor and care for myself. Allowing myself to delight in an evening of preparing and sharing a healthy, home-cooked meal nourishes more than my tummy.

As I've embarked on this journey to take responsibility for my eating, some wonderful things

have been happening. Michael and I are losing weight....slowly but steadily. We are spending more quiet time together in the evening. We're saving money because we're eating in rather than stressing about finding healthy foods on a restaurant menu. We are celebrating our successes with mindful and moderate choices: a single glass of wine, asingle scoop of ice cream. On days when we've been hard at work and haven't made time to plan ahead for our next meal, we've found it challenging to stick with healthy choices. We've taken steps backward, felt badly....and moved forward again with renewed resolution to stay on the path.

Maybe lots of you have been on this journey for a long time....or all of your life. I grew up too skinny and I ate everything I wanted and more, lamenting over not having hips or boobs. As a child, I was offered Cap'n Crunch and Devil Dogs for breakfast and Spaghetti O's from a can for lunch. Now, as a mature (ha) middle aged woman, I've got to figure out stuff I really don't want to pay attention to. But I'm doing it. It's good for me and I'll get used to it. But it'll take a while. And I'll feel sad and edgy and even angry at times....as I notice the "wants" and the habits of a lifetime of eating bad shit. Many times, I'm able to feel the feelings, notice...and do nothing. When I resist the urge to reach into the nightstand drawer for my chocolate or my Twizzlers tonight while

losing myself in the mindlessness of another episode of The Bachelorette, I will grow just a little bit stronger. I am learning what I'm made of. I'm loving myself a little more each day.

Once Upon A Time, There Was You

Elizabeth Berg somehow manages to publish a novel once each year. I don’t know how she does it, but I know this: her stories are amazing. It’s not that they are complicated or clever. Quite the opposite is true, in fact. She is able to create a wonderfully deep and interesting novel about....nothing. I’m serious. Her stories are about the most ordinary of people, folks just like you and me. The characters aren’t sexy or strong or rich. They are...normal. Their problems, conflicts and joys are run-of-the-mill, just like you’d find in your life or mine. Some get divorced and some stay happily married. Some struggle with cancer and others with growing older. I suppose this is exactly what I love about Elizabeth Berg’s novels - they are approachable, easily digestible, and yet...they make me feel things very deeply. That is her greatest gift: the ability, through writing, to elicit emotion in the reader.

Last night, I was reading in bed as my husband pretended to watch the Bruin’s game. (I say pretend because his eyes were closed.) In any event, there I was curled up against the pillows with my iPod reading along as one of my characters was sharing with her dinner date something that had happened to her that day. This character had watched a woman sitting on the commuter bus crying. All the passengers could see the tears running down the woman’s face and the woman was just sitting quietly with her hands in her lap allowing her tears to flow. Then, a 50-something male passenger came and sat next to the woman and placed his arm around her shoulder and just stared straight ahead. The character was so moved by this small act of kindness. It gave her hope in humanity and made her feel that we’re all connected. And it made me cry.

Yesterday was a hard day for me, so the tears were easy in coming. I just felt sad. Maybe it was Monday-itis after a warm, sunny weekend...but after reading that passage and sharing it with my husband, I began to wonder if that heavy sadness I’d been feeling throughout the day was more than that. It’s true that I tend to have these bouts of heavy heartedness now and again, without cause or explanation....sort of a recurring tug on my heart strings. Last night, Elizabeth Berg’s writing helped me to realize that what I may be feeling is a longing for connection, for that sense of belonging in the world.

I don’t talk about it much, but I had a pretty sad childhood in a lot of ways. I wasn’t a “wanted” child, and my needs, both physical and emotional, went unmet much of the time. Perhaps this transient feeling of sadness and disconnection, this sometimes intense longing for an elusive something is related to those early experiences, sort of like a very long arm reaching out from my childhood and tugging on me, leaving me rattled and off kilter. I shared these thoughts with my husband and he seemed to understand. It felt good to be held and kissed on the top of my head as I let my own hot tears flow.

I am ever-grateful for writers like Elizabeth Berg. She writes about ordinary, everyday life through characters we can relate to. Some of us need a good novel to help us access our own feelings and thoughts, to process things we’ve been through, looking at things through a different lens. Good literature, music, movies, art - these are the mediums that help me appreciate humanity, mine and other’s. A simple story, a poem, a song. Sometimes, these are my salvation. I’m hopeful, too, that my own “art” might touch others. A photograph, a journal entry....the simple sharing of words and images. You just never know who needs your touch, even though it’s scary to reach out, to open up. We need each other. That much I know is true.

Being Here Now...

"Your worst enemy cannot harm you as much

as your own unguarded thoughts."

The Buddha

Perhaps one of the many reasons I adore music lies in its ability to bring me completely into the present moment. Think about what happens to you when you hear one of your favorite songs. I might sing along if I’m in the car but at home I can’t resist the urge to get up and dance (especially if it’s a Black Eyed Peas song), no matter if I’m in my pajamas at 6 a.m. or outside in the snow with the dogs listening on my iPod. Dance I must....and dance I do.

When I allow the music to move me, everything else falls away. Problems stop gnawing at me. Thoughts cease to pester as I give in to what’s happening in the immediate moment. I don’t worry about how I look or whether I’m “good” at this or that dance move. With no censorship, I allow myself to simply "be."

Sometimes I’m able to let go like this in my Bikram yoga class as well. There is no past and no future: suddenly, as I am attempting to pull one leg up over my head while balancing on the other, I am in The Zone. My gaze is steady in the mirror. My breath is moving in and out through my nose. The room can be full of hot, sweaty people, yet I remain composed and completely absorbed in expressing the beauty of this particular posture to the fullest of my ability. And then it’s over. That posture, good....bad....or lovely, is now in the past.

I suppose, as a human being, my most important practice lately is attempting to Be Here Now. It’s so easy not to truly be present. My mind is often overactive, attempting to fill my consciousness with a million thoughts....past hurts, future “to do” lists, reruns of this or that event. I am learning to notice these thoughts and let them go. By doing this, I open up the present and become witness to what is occurring right here, right now.

"To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders."

Lao Tzu

The more I am able to Be Here Now, the better I feel. There is a sense of calm....clarity....deep peace. Often, I pull myself back to the Now by asking a simple question when a thought starts to gain a foothold: is it happening NOW? Let’s say I’m hung up on some past hurt or injury a person has caused me. Asking myself, “Is it happening NOW?” reminds me that it’s inconsequential. There’s nothing I can DO about it. It’s in the past, and if I spend my present moment rehashing it or emoting over it, then I lose the only thing that is truly “mine”...this moment, right here and right now.

This is my understanding of Enlightenment. I welcome activities that support and encourage a focus on the immediate. Being in nature. Engaging in yoga. Dancing. Writing. Photography. Art or craft of any sort. Cooking. These are all activities that bring me face to face with The Now. Certainly, my work with puppies and dogs also empowers me to Be Here Now. Dogs instinctively live in the Now. They don’t dwell. They don’t hold grudges. They just deal with what’s going on around them and, in my experience, try to have fun with it. They are good teachers for me.

Today, I am asking myself, "What can I do with THIS moment?" Action is immediate....one moment at a time.