I get really judgey about yoga. The things that people call yoga often make my hackles stand up on end. "That's American Power Stretching," I say indignantly, "that's not yoga."
By American Power Stretching, I mean the yoga done in gyms to intense beats and sweat streaming off the body. The Lululemon yoga with cute outfits but without Oms or any understanding of the origins of the practice or the meaning of the word yoga. The yoga with few alignment cues and lots of back strains and knee tweaks, because instructors are undertrained and overzealous. "They shouldn't call it yoga. They should call it something else," I say from my high horse.
Yoga means union with the divine, or according to Pantanjali, "the stilling of the changing states of the mind." Not cute butts in cute butt shorts.
In the spirit of reflection, I am trying to challenge my own self-righteousness. Particularly as yoga has taken so many twists and turns along the way, it's hard to say who gets to own that word. The asana series, or physical practice, that many of us call yoga was derived from a 19th century Scandinavian gymnastics training program craze that swept Europe by storm. Reread that sentence. GYMNASTICS TRAINING PROGRAM= YOGA OF TODAY. That's a little different than early aesthetics in the forest throwing down warrior ones and downward facing dogs to achieve enlightenment. In fact, the earliest practices of yoga, we're talking second century BCE Pantanjali old, were focused on stillness and seat. Only later were there a few postures introduced, which still looked nothing like our physical practice today. It wasn't until those crazy Scandinavians stepped in that a new model was created and the asana series was modernized. And quite frankly, I dig that yoga. I like the physical challenges, and mental clarity, half moon pose, or crow, requires of me. Not surprising, given my former life in gymnastics, but am I really holier than thou?
Furthermore, it's true that there's a lot that may be a part of a purer, or at least more ancient, yoga that I'm not really into. My Kripalu teacher training book tells me about some pretty intense purification techniques that are not super appealing to me (Rags running through my sinus system? No, thank you). There's the fasting and aestheticism- never have quite gotten down with those. So if I'm not doing all of the parts, am I not doing yoga?
And if I'm telling the truth, when I teach yoga, there are no Oms. And I rarely mention anything having to do with the Divine. Maybe my yoga's not real Yoga either. Does it really matter?
For me, the physical practice of yoga, and meditation for that matter, is about practicing for life. I'm trying to find a calm present space inside myself so that I'm less of a jerk face when confronted with 24 screaming middle school students, or a dirty dishwasher. Because when I'm really present and grounded, it doesn't matter that there's a dust bunny under the sofa the size of a pitbull, or that I have to tell one of my students for the millionth time that it's not okay to get up and sharpen a pencil while I'm in the middle of giving directions (for the love of god, why don't they understand that yet?). So I step on my mat and breath deeply because practicing here is fortifying me for the next day. And I wake up at 5:45 to sit in the morning because I want to see my students for who they are in any given moment, not how they fall into an annoying disruptive pattern of behavior that, in truth, will never end, so I better find some peace with it.
So what I really hope that other people find that in their yoga, or American Power Stretching, or whatever it is that serves them, is this: the new definition of Yoga- a practice for life that helps us be a little less of a selfish jerk and a little more compassionate with ourselves and others. And in that spirit, I can accept a tight bum as a nice side benefit.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Gut-punches from the World
There was a moment last month when I realized my life was hanging in a most delicate balance. I had nothing to complain about. My work life, personal life, creative life, all felt so satisfying and comfortable. I was practicing regularly, so when I got off the mat, I found myself more equipped to deal with life's little challenges, and there were, for a fleeting instant, no bigger challenges. How sweet. How terrifying.
It did not take long for life to unbalance itself, as it is wont to do, and I found myself again in a position where circumstances that were outside of my control asked for a response. It is almost amusing, the emotional gut punch we can get from situations that, in hindsight, feel fairly innocuous.
For example, an early morning under-caffeinated unkind exchange with a friend that left me in a snotty mess in the staff bathroom at school. Followed by the thoughts that extend and build a new kind of endurance pain grown from the stories I told myself about my initial event. Why did she respond to me that way? I was just trying to do the right thing and she was so mad at me. I always do that, I'm too brusque with people but I just wanted to get back upstairs. Gah, she's always so kind and I pissed her off. It must have been really bad if she was mad at me. But she shouldn't have responded that way. It wasn't really a big deal and she actually escalated it. She won't even look at me. What if our friendship never recovers? We're doomed. And on, and on, arguing back and forth in my head, first defending, then chastising myself ad nauseam until my throat completely clenched, my eyes brimmed over, and I had to run to the bathroom at 8:15 in the morning so my students didn't see me bawling. Like a middle school girl. Except I'm supposed to be an adult.
But what I have loved about having a practice, what I have been so fascinated by, is that I have begun to watch the whole play unfold, without squinting or turning away. I have let myself feel the initial punch land, really hold that pain, and watch myself construct a story around that moment. I can more clearly see that I tell and retell the same story that builds the emotion, which sometimes takes the reigns and pulls me into a whiny impossible to escape dervish. And then... I watch myself escape.
My friend and I made up, because unlike middle school girls, we have the skills to come back to one another and admit wrong, to be at once apologetic and forgiving.
And just this afternoon, I found myself again in that sweet spot- feet up on the railing after a run, drinking down a cool glass of water, the temperatures extra sweet after finally climbing out the arctic mess we were frozen in for far too long. And I really noticed that sweetness.
I am no Mindfulness Ninja. I say things I regret and get upset about them and blame others. I forget to notice the beauty we are surrounded by. But at least now, every now and then, I'm noticing. And maybe on that hundred and first time I watch myself make the same mistake, I'll be able to pause and choose the response that is most Ninja-like.
For example, an early morning under-caffeinated unkind exchange with a friend that left me in a snotty mess in the staff bathroom at school. Followed by the thoughts that extend and build a new kind of endurance pain grown from the stories I told myself about my initial event. Why did she respond to me that way? I was just trying to do the right thing and she was so mad at me. I always do that, I'm too brusque with people but I just wanted to get back upstairs. Gah, she's always so kind and I pissed her off. It must have been really bad if she was mad at me. But she shouldn't have responded that way. It wasn't really a big deal and she actually escalated it. She won't even look at me. What if our friendship never recovers? We're doomed. And on, and on, arguing back and forth in my head, first defending, then chastising myself ad nauseam until my throat completely clenched, my eyes brimmed over, and I had to run to the bathroom at 8:15 in the morning so my students didn't see me bawling. Like a middle school girl. Except I'm supposed to be an adult.
But what I have loved about having a practice, what I have been so fascinated by, is that I have begun to watch the whole play unfold, without squinting or turning away. I have let myself feel the initial punch land, really hold that pain, and watch myself construct a story around that moment. I can more clearly see that I tell and retell the same story that builds the emotion, which sometimes takes the reigns and pulls me into a whiny impossible to escape dervish. And then... I watch myself escape.
My friend and I made up, because unlike middle school girls, we have the skills to come back to one another and admit wrong, to be at once apologetic and forgiving.
And just this afternoon, I found myself again in that sweet spot- feet up on the railing after a run, drinking down a cool glass of water, the temperatures extra sweet after finally climbing out the arctic mess we were frozen in for far too long. And I really noticed that sweetness.
I am no Mindfulness Ninja. I say things I regret and get upset about them and blame others. I forget to notice the beauty we are surrounded by. But at least now, every now and then, I'm noticing. And maybe on that hundred and first time I watch myself make the same mistake, I'll be able to pause and choose the response that is most Ninja-like.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Spring Break means break...from everything.
It is a rainy Tuesday afternoon and I am sitting in my friend's living room in Eastern Vermont. We are surrounded on all sides by scraggly pines and rain dripping down the roof. A cat is curled up next to me. Since my flight north for my week of spring break, I have been optimizing relaxation time, alternating between walks in the woods, reading, marathon friend chat sessions, postcard making, and eating delicious food. It is so quiet up here. No busses. No drunk angry men weaving down the middle of the street at 2am.
It's also socially quiet. In DC, every weekend has three birthday parties and a friend's band's CD release party to choose between. Every weekend night I have to apologize to someone about not being able to be there and support them. I acknowledge this is an incredibly delightful issue to have, am ever grateful to be surrounded by amazing talented loving people, and see it is a bit obnoxious to even suggest this is problematic. But going away means I am obliged to no one. I can't be there because I'm simply not there. I love it. My days are all mine to waste away. There is endless time for guilt free inactivity.
In response to the break from my external life, I have also taken a break from my meditation practice. After all, it's like a week-long sit. At least I've told myself that. And it is true that I've found it easy to move throughout my day with presence and calm when the biggest stressor is whether to nap before or after I read my book.
However, I've mentally made some compelling arguments I'm having with myself about why I "should" sit.
Consistency: Like anything in this world, from running to teeth-brushing, it is the kind of thing that's easier to keep doing it if I keep doing it.
Time: I've got it. Oodles of it. So there's no reason not to, really.
Depth: With time often comes depth. Sitting for 1/2 hour of 45 minutes is a different experience than the 15-20 I manage to eek out on a weekday. Furthermore, without the stressors of school, I can likely more easily find my internal checkpoint.
Putting cash in the bank: I do think that practicing now is not just for my benefit as I am sitting around drinking my fifth latte of the day, but also for the (alarmingly not so distant) future when life gets challenging again. I know I'll be less of a jerkface in the future if I practice not being a jerk now.
Seems convincing, doesn't it?
But there is also something really lovely about relaxing for a minute. From everything. Even sitting. To just let life carry me through the week without having to force any structure around it. To choose for days in a row to not sit, to not run, to eat half a chocolate bar, or a whole one.
In a highly structured and scheduled world, I am finding that I even need a break from those things that support me. And I think, despite my intellectual arguments otherwise, that it's okay to take a break from everything every once and awhile.
It's also socially quiet. In DC, every weekend has three birthday parties and a friend's band's CD release party to choose between. Every weekend night I have to apologize to someone about not being able to be there and support them. I acknowledge this is an incredibly delightful issue to have, am ever grateful to be surrounded by amazing talented loving people, and see it is a bit obnoxious to even suggest this is problematic. But going away means I am obliged to no one. I can't be there because I'm simply not there. I love it. My days are all mine to waste away. There is endless time for guilt free inactivity.
In response to the break from my external life, I have also taken a break from my meditation practice. After all, it's like a week-long sit. At least I've told myself that. And it is true that I've found it easy to move throughout my day with presence and calm when the biggest stressor is whether to nap before or after I read my book.
However, I've mentally made some compelling arguments I'm having with myself about why I "should" sit.
Consistency: Like anything in this world, from running to teeth-brushing, it is the kind of thing that's easier to keep doing it if I keep doing it.
Time: I've got it. Oodles of it. So there's no reason not to, really.
Depth: With time often comes depth. Sitting for 1/2 hour of 45 minutes is a different experience than the 15-20 I manage to eek out on a weekday. Furthermore, without the stressors of school, I can likely more easily find my internal checkpoint.
Putting cash in the bank: I do think that practicing now is not just for my benefit as I am sitting around drinking my fifth latte of the day, but also for the (alarmingly not so distant) future when life gets challenging again. I know I'll be less of a jerkface in the future if I practice not being a jerk now.
Seems convincing, doesn't it?
But there is also something really lovely about relaxing for a minute. From everything. Even sitting. To just let life carry me through the week without having to force any structure around it. To choose for days in a row to not sit, to not run, to eat half a chocolate bar, or a whole one.
In a highly structured and scheduled world, I am finding that I even need a break from those things that support me. And I think, despite my intellectual arguments otherwise, that it's okay to take a break from everything every once and awhile.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Mindfulness is HOTT.
Mindfulness is HOTT right now. A few months ago, the cover of Time Magazine read, "The Mindfulness Revolution." It's being talked about as training now offered to stakeholders as varied as google employees, military personell, and inmates. So, what the heck is this mindfulness business anyway? And maybe more importantly, what isn't it?
I started my Curriculum Training with Mindful Schools this past week, and have been steeped in thinking about how I will explain mindfulness to interested parties (Or uninterested parties, as the case may be with my students. At first. Until they realize how rad it is, of course.) Furthermore, I have been tasked with explaining it to someone as one of my exercises. And while I must do it verbally, I also want to practice a long-hand version on the interweb.
Jon Kabat Zinn, father of the secular mindfulness movement, defined it as, "...paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the moment, non-judgementally." That's a pretty good, if wordy, place to start from.
I think of mindfulness simply as noticing....noticing your experiences, your senses, your thoughts, your feelings. Noticing your bodily responses to your experiences, senses, and thoughts. Noticing. So simple in statement, but yet so difficult to do. Our thoughts often dominate our experiences so the world is filtered through our ever-present narrative about what we're experiencing. So omnipresent is it that we don't even realize it's there.
Many people think mindfulness is about the cessation of thoughts. About being completely clear of mind. They think it's about calmness. About absence of anger. These are not goals of mindfulness, but often byproducts. Thinking is not bad. Anger is not bad. They are part of the human experience. Otherwise we'd all be squirrels. Or cockroaches. Or something.
As stated by Megan Cowan, Mindfulness Ninja of Mindful Schools: "The ultimate goal of mindfulness is introducing us to our entire spectrum of experience, and learning how to recognize that, and be with it."
And if you like the prettied-up version, as I do, check out this Mindfulness Ninja, Rumi:
The Guest House
I started my Curriculum Training with Mindful Schools this past week, and have been steeped in thinking about how I will explain mindfulness to interested parties (Or uninterested parties, as the case may be with my students. At first. Until they realize how rad it is, of course.) Furthermore, I have been tasked with explaining it to someone as one of my exercises. And while I must do it verbally, I also want to practice a long-hand version on the interweb.
Jon Kabat Zinn, father of the secular mindfulness movement, defined it as, "...paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the moment, non-judgementally." That's a pretty good, if wordy, place to start from.
I think of mindfulness simply as noticing....noticing your experiences, your senses, your thoughts, your feelings. Noticing your bodily responses to your experiences, senses, and thoughts. Noticing. So simple in statement, but yet so difficult to do. Our thoughts often dominate our experiences so the world is filtered through our ever-present narrative about what we're experiencing. So omnipresent is it that we don't even realize it's there.
Many people think mindfulness is about the cessation of thoughts. About being completely clear of mind. They think it's about calmness. About absence of anger. These are not goals of mindfulness, but often byproducts. Thinking is not bad. Anger is not bad. They are part of the human experience. Otherwise we'd all be squirrels. Or cockroaches. Or something.
As stated by Megan Cowan, Mindfulness Ninja of Mindful Schools: "The ultimate goal of mindfulness is introducing us to our entire spectrum of experience, and learning how to recognize that, and be with it."
And if you like the prettied-up version, as I do, check out this Mindfulness Ninja, Rumi:
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Meditation in Motion: Race Day
My meditation this morning was a meditation in motion. The Cherry Blossom 10 miler launched at 7:30am, which I began chilled from an underdressed bike ride through the nation's capital. The course was packed with people who spilled over onto grassy berms and sidewalks trying to maneuver through the masses of bodies to find their own cruising altitude. This was my third longer race this year, and I have experienced the mental tenacity required to get through the 3/4 mark and finish strong. I have developed a system of positive self talk through this time, which seemed totally unremarkable until I shared it with my running partner, who found the idea completely hilarious. "What does that even sound like?" she asked.
"You know, like, mantras 'You are strong. You can do it.' or phrases like, 'Keep at your cruising altitude until the last 2 miles and then really let loose. Just keep cruising for now.'" She laughed.
"Cruising altitude, huh? I would like to be in your head for these races."
"Maybe not," I replied. I had earlier shared with her that I play a game I have dubbed "predator-prey," in which I "hunt down" other runners who seem like they are struggling and race past them. I even like to start slower so that I can do the second half of the race that way. This also amused her to no end.
The power of the mind is rarely so clear to me as when I am physically challenging myself. I know those last few miles are not even about my physical capacity, but my mental clarity. If I start telling myself I'm too tired, or I can't do it, I falter...my legs respond in kind and believe they surely cannot take another step. If I start thinking about the finish line when there's still distance between me and it, my legs become leaden and unresponsive. But if I stay present in the moment and take in what is around me. If I get single minded in my belief that I feel strong and am strong. If I open up to what is, rather than what I think might be- a torturous finish predicated on a pace that might be too fast, for instance- then I perform.
My meditation was gliding around Haine's Point this morning at mile 8. When some man next to me swore, "Where the fuck is mile 9 marker? It can't be this far," his breath ragged, I was able to trot by, knowing that it didn't really matter. We were where we were in that moment, and so we better make it the best it could be. This clarity was not constant, but emerged in between my own angsty moments about the surely unevenly spaced mile markers 'cause seriously, yo, where the f*** were they??? My meditation was in my self-promoting mantra that really should never be shared with anyone else, but manages to be so core to enduring through the challenge of such races.
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Gratitudes for the weekend: Running twins, early mornings on the Tidal Basin, A's kindness holding our stuff while we ran, bike parking, out of town friend visits, freshly baked bread, help putting dishes away, new glasses, dentist-fresh teeth, friends' parents, uke shopping, cuddlefests, open doors and windows, breakfast, breakfast II, brunch, brunch II, moving fast
"You know, like, mantras 'You are strong. You can do it.' or phrases like, 'Keep at your cruising altitude until the last 2 miles and then really let loose. Just keep cruising for now.'" She laughed.
"Cruising altitude, huh? I would like to be in your head for these races."
"Maybe not," I replied. I had earlier shared with her that I play a game I have dubbed "predator-prey," in which I "hunt down" other runners who seem like they are struggling and race past them. I even like to start slower so that I can do the second half of the race that way. This also amused her to no end.
The power of the mind is rarely so clear to me as when I am physically challenging myself. I know those last few miles are not even about my physical capacity, but my mental clarity. If I start telling myself I'm too tired, or I can't do it, I falter...my legs respond in kind and believe they surely cannot take another step. If I start thinking about the finish line when there's still distance between me and it, my legs become leaden and unresponsive. But if I stay present in the moment and take in what is around me. If I get single minded in my belief that I feel strong and am strong. If I open up to what is, rather than what I think might be- a torturous finish predicated on a pace that might be too fast, for instance- then I perform.
My meditation was gliding around Haine's Point this morning at mile 8. When some man next to me swore, "Where the fuck is mile 9 marker? It can't be this far," his breath ragged, I was able to trot by, knowing that it didn't really matter. We were where we were in that moment, and so we better make it the best it could be. This clarity was not constant, but emerged in between my own angsty moments about the surely unevenly spaced mile markers 'cause seriously, yo, where the f*** were they??? My meditation was in my self-promoting mantra that really should never be shared with anyone else, but manages to be so core to enduring through the challenge of such races.
-----------------------------------------------
Gratitudes for the weekend: Running twins, early mornings on the Tidal Basin, A's kindness holding our stuff while we ran, bike parking, out of town friend visits, freshly baked bread, help putting dishes away, new glasses, dentist-fresh teeth, friends' parents, uke shopping, cuddlefests, open doors and windows, breakfast, breakfast II, brunch, brunch II, moving fast
Thursday, April 3, 2014
The classroom road rage equivalent: Teacher Rage
"This is some trash." Afterwards, Andrae walked up to me with is Take-A-Break card and muttered, "Sorry Ms. Erica," but I was already rattled. I knew trying to hold class for two hours after our third day of morning testing wasn't going to result in tremendously deep thinking, nor particularly high motivation around behavior, but I still couldn't help but feel agitated by the animal noises my oh so clever 13 year old boys were bouncing around the room. So when Victor said, "Why is today so boring?" to no one in particular, I responded, "Step outside Victor." I stepped out before I was ready, and he became the object of my frustrated lecture.
"I will not allow that kind of attitude in my room, Victor. I understand this has been a hard day but if you can't be here, then you can't come back in. You can't call that out while I'm giving directions that 'this class is boring'. That's not nice," my voice was loud and stern. I could hear the titters of the sixth graders working in the hallway behind me, but I didn't care, or worse, did care and wanted them to hear too.
"But it wasn't even whole class direction time."
"Stop arguing."
"But you were just telling people to go over the..."
"Stop arguing, Victor. Furthermore, this was not the first time. You came into this class with an attitude."
"No, I was just joking around at the beginning. I actually felt fine. Tell me what I did that showed I had attitude."
I paused because I actually couldn't think of anything. "Right. The joking around doesn't show you're ready to learn, Victor. I know it's been a hard day, but we need to finish strong. Do you understand?"
I knelt beside him. He nodded. And it was over.
I was frustrated by the class, and Victor became the target, though really his infraction was minor and his responses were fairly legit. I just didn't want him responding because I wanted a platform to vent from, not a conversation with him to help him get back on track and feel heard.
Not a my most proud or mindful of moments. Later, I went back and apologized. "Oh, I don't care, my sister gives it to me all day," was his response. I tried to explain that I still didn't think it was right and I think it's important for people to apologize when they didn't do what was right. "I don't accept your apology..Psych, nah! It's fine Ms. Erica. Really."
It was interesting to see how easy it was for him to let go of this moment, and made me think that I probably could let it go too. I'm glad I apologized, but also glad to know the kid is not psychologically damaged from my verbal misstep. His forgiveness suggested I could probably go a little easier on them, and myself.
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Gratitudes for April 3, 2014: making space for morning sits, new ukulele songs to learn, rooftop crossword puzzle group for last period, connect four competition post-testing, grading progress, warm night walks to Thai dinner in good company, large-trunked trees, bike riding to and from school once again, power naps, humility to apologize and forgiving students
"I will not allow that kind of attitude in my room, Victor. I understand this has been a hard day but if you can't be here, then you can't come back in. You can't call that out while I'm giving directions that 'this class is boring'. That's not nice," my voice was loud and stern. I could hear the titters of the sixth graders working in the hallway behind me, but I didn't care, or worse, did care and wanted them to hear too.
"But it wasn't even whole class direction time."
"Stop arguing."
"But you were just telling people to go over the..."
"Stop arguing, Victor. Furthermore, this was not the first time. You came into this class with an attitude."
"No, I was just joking around at the beginning. I actually felt fine. Tell me what I did that showed I had attitude."
I paused because I actually couldn't think of anything. "Right. The joking around doesn't show you're ready to learn, Victor. I know it's been a hard day, but we need to finish strong. Do you understand?"
I knelt beside him. He nodded. And it was over.
I was frustrated by the class, and Victor became the target, though really his infraction was minor and his responses were fairly legit. I just didn't want him responding because I wanted a platform to vent from, not a conversation with him to help him get back on track and feel heard.
Not a my most proud or mindful of moments. Later, I went back and apologized. "Oh, I don't care, my sister gives it to me all day," was his response. I tried to explain that I still didn't think it was right and I think it's important for people to apologize when they didn't do what was right. "I don't accept your apology..Psych, nah! It's fine Ms. Erica. Really."
It was interesting to see how easy it was for him to let go of this moment, and made me think that I probably could let it go too. I'm glad I apologized, but also glad to know the kid is not psychologically damaged from my verbal misstep. His forgiveness suggested I could probably go a little easier on them, and myself.
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Gratitudes for April 3, 2014: making space for morning sits, new ukulele songs to learn, rooftop crossword puzzle group for last period, connect four competition post-testing, grading progress, warm night walks to Thai dinner in good company, large-trunked trees, bike riding to and from school once again, power naps, humility to apologize and forgiving students
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Buoyancy: Stop with the snooze button. For reals.
I awoke this morning and immediately put my butt on my cushion, apparently motivated by my interweb confessional yesterday.
For those of you who are interested in longer guided sits (meaning about 30 minutes), I have recently gotten really into Tara Brach's guided meditation podcasts. The thing is, when someone is talking to me, even if they are just a disembodied voice floating up from my iphone, I feel compelled to stay seated until they finish talking. I wish my students would have this instinct with which I am saddled. I am motivated to respect Tara enough to let her finish her piece before I get up, even if it is 27 minutes later and I'm itching to start thinking about how I am going to encourage Te'yonte to keep his head of his desk later that day. When I sit without the guide or a group, I am tempted to fudge it and peak at the timer multiple times to make sure it is still running, or pop up a few minutes before the timer has gonged (or elephant has trumpeted, when I forget to change my middle schooler-friendly alarm to my meditation setting). But the guide really helps me stay seated.
So I had a really lovely sit this morning, alternately scanning my body and blissfully following my thoughts down some rabbit hole before reawakening to the sound of Tara's voice. I found myself giddy on my bike ride to meet my dear friend Sasha for our weekly pre-work breakfast date. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, and the air was cool, but no longer crisp. Making the time this morning to sit meant that I was to ride my back without raging at the drivers who are so clearly and perpetually trying to take my life from me. It meant I was able to bring the more playful and optimistic sides of myself to the breakfast table and to my kiddos. 30 minutes to not be a big grouch for at least a few hours thereafter seems like a small price to pay. I just seem to struggle to remember that when my alarm goes off.
I also concluded my day by leading my second Teacher Yoga class. I offered this class 2 years ago before life got crazy-feeling, and back then had a core of 4-5 people who would show up each week to stretch and be present with me. Today there were 15 people there, representing both sides of the street (elementary and middle school staff) and all different roles in the school. It is pretty rad that we are all trying to take care of ourselves together at the end of a long day.
I still feel a bit uncomfortable as Yoga Teacher, in that I haven't taught for years and I have not had time to properly prepare. But if I always avoid doing things I am not quite ready for, I probably would spend a lot of time watching Parks and Recreation under my covers..eating chocolate chips. While I stayed glued to my mat last week, today I actually stepped off and offered adjustments, which is an amazing way to teach and connect with people. Hoping to continue to bring it as we move through the weeks and I scrape the rust of my long dormant skill set.
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Gratitudes April 2: Tara Brach morning meditation, warm bike ride, quick testing session= apples to apples, finally figuring out the Mathemagical Wizardry Prize after 3 solid mornings of labor, lattes and Takorean, rockin' CSQ document (Yes, that's a worksheet. Whatever, it was sweet.), dynamic staff discussion around student work, 15 lovely yogis entrusting me with their practice, evening porch sits with cookies, chocolate chips.
For those of you who are interested in longer guided sits (meaning about 30 minutes), I have recently gotten really into Tara Brach's guided meditation podcasts. The thing is, when someone is talking to me, even if they are just a disembodied voice floating up from my iphone, I feel compelled to stay seated until they finish talking. I wish my students would have this instinct with which I am saddled. I am motivated to respect Tara enough to let her finish her piece before I get up, even if it is 27 minutes later and I'm itching to start thinking about how I am going to encourage Te'yonte to keep his head of his desk later that day. When I sit without the guide or a group, I am tempted to fudge it and peak at the timer multiple times to make sure it is still running, or pop up a few minutes before the timer has gonged (or elephant has trumpeted, when I forget to change my middle schooler-friendly alarm to my meditation setting). But the guide really helps me stay seated.
So I had a really lovely sit this morning, alternately scanning my body and blissfully following my thoughts down some rabbit hole before reawakening to the sound of Tara's voice. I found myself giddy on my bike ride to meet my dear friend Sasha for our weekly pre-work breakfast date. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, and the air was cool, but no longer crisp. Making the time this morning to sit meant that I was to ride my back without raging at the drivers who are so clearly and perpetually trying to take my life from me. It meant I was able to bring the more playful and optimistic sides of myself to the breakfast table and to my kiddos. 30 minutes to not be a big grouch for at least a few hours thereafter seems like a small price to pay. I just seem to struggle to remember that when my alarm goes off.
I also concluded my day by leading my second Teacher Yoga class. I offered this class 2 years ago before life got crazy-feeling, and back then had a core of 4-5 people who would show up each week to stretch and be present with me. Today there were 15 people there, representing both sides of the street (elementary and middle school staff) and all different roles in the school. It is pretty rad that we are all trying to take care of ourselves together at the end of a long day.
I still feel a bit uncomfortable as Yoga Teacher, in that I haven't taught for years and I have not had time to properly prepare. But if I always avoid doing things I am not quite ready for, I probably would spend a lot of time watching Parks and Recreation under my covers..eating chocolate chips. While I stayed glued to my mat last week, today I actually stepped off and offered adjustments, which is an amazing way to teach and connect with people. Hoping to continue to bring it as we move through the weeks and I scrape the rust of my long dormant skill set.
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Gratitudes April 2: Tara Brach morning meditation, warm bike ride, quick testing session= apples to apples, finally figuring out the Mathemagical Wizardry Prize after 3 solid mornings of labor, lattes and Takorean, rockin' CSQ document (Yes, that's a worksheet. Whatever, it was sweet.), dynamic staff discussion around student work, 15 lovely yogis entrusting me with their practice, evening porch sits with cookies, chocolate chips.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Another soggy oreo, please.
So, after 6 weeks of intensive mindfulness practice, wherein I built a consistent practice of 1/2 hour sitting a day and regularly checking in with myself for mindful thoughts and behaviors, I was released from my Mindfulness Fundamentals Course to fly on my own. Without all that heavy scaffolding of weekly check-ins and guided audios, I quickly found myself beating my wings erratically before plummeting towards my certain demise at full speed. What this looked like out-of-metaphor was this: Me, alone in the house, shoveling heavy chocolate cake with multi-colored icing into my face, followed by two soggy oreos, followed by an orange soda (Orange soda? Really? I haven't had that drink since I was 11). I feel like I'm in a backlash phase.
Because it did feel amazing to complete the six weeks and really bring the practice into my life. I saw the benefits. All the things they tell you in the books are true: I was more level-headed, could see reality more clearly, felt more joy, blah, blah, blah. So why, the second someone is not telling me to do it, even if it just some internet support person whom I've never made real human contact with, do I flounder? Do I reach for the peanut butter jar for one more spoonful after finishing the banana? Do I resist sitting and start hitting snooze again?
Today, I watched myself with fascination as I read "Dear Carolyn"'s advice column in the Post and shoveled a second piece of cake onto my plate, making sure to smear it with extra icing. I marveled at my desire to shove a second cookie in my mouth, even as my stomach felt distended from a recent dinner. I wondered at the orange soda as a final choice. I actually did see all these choices I was making, and was in awe.
Usually I get angry at myself for these kinds of self destructive behaviors, and then end the experience heavily laden with guilt. It turns out guilt does little beyond making me want to reach for one more snack to shift my attention away from feeling badly about myself. Guilt does little to help me figure out why I'm making those kinds of choices.
So today, I strive for curiosity. After all, why is it a part of the human experience to do things we know, up and down, make us less happy? Instead of hating on myself, I chose to wonder, what is this special kind of lunacy we are all capable of? And maybe that's the gift of those first six weeks of practice. To observe, even nonsensical behavior, nonjudgmentally. I just hope my next phase in this process results in fewer belly aches.
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Gratitudes for April 1: voting (doing my civic duty), planning period latte runs, jacket off tank top bike riding, finishing my taxes (refund, woot woot!), morning sit, colleagues who make silly encouraging music videos, choosing introversion time, porch ukulele time, quiet, clear night skies,
Because it did feel amazing to complete the six weeks and really bring the practice into my life. I saw the benefits. All the things they tell you in the books are true: I was more level-headed, could see reality more clearly, felt more joy, blah, blah, blah. So why, the second someone is not telling me to do it, even if it just some internet support person whom I've never made real human contact with, do I flounder? Do I reach for the peanut butter jar for one more spoonful after finishing the banana? Do I resist sitting and start hitting snooze again?
Today, I watched myself with fascination as I read "Dear Carolyn"'s advice column in the Post and shoveled a second piece of cake onto my plate, making sure to smear it with extra icing. I marveled at my desire to shove a second cookie in my mouth, even as my stomach felt distended from a recent dinner. I wondered at the orange soda as a final choice. I actually did see all these choices I was making, and was in awe.
Usually I get angry at myself for these kinds of self destructive behaviors, and then end the experience heavily laden with guilt. It turns out guilt does little beyond making me want to reach for one more snack to shift my attention away from feeling badly about myself. Guilt does little to help me figure out why I'm making those kinds of choices.
So today, I strive for curiosity. After all, why is it a part of the human experience to do things we know, up and down, make us less happy? Instead of hating on myself, I chose to wonder, what is this special kind of lunacy we are all capable of? And maybe that's the gift of those first six weeks of practice. To observe, even nonsensical behavior, nonjudgmentally. I just hope my next phase in this process results in fewer belly aches.
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Gratitudes for April 1: voting (doing my civic duty), planning period latte runs, jacket off tank top bike riding, finishing my taxes (refund, woot woot!), morning sit, colleagues who make silly encouraging music videos, choosing introversion time, porch ukulele time, quiet, clear night skies,
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