I have been feeling pretty good about the choices I've made in my life. Feeling like I'm doing my part to take care of the planet. Riding my bike to work. Living communally. Teaching the youth to read and write. Buying local strawberries, when possible. And yeah, sure, those are all do-gooder choices that make my existence on this planet slightly less damaging. I like to argue that in making those choices publicly, we are not just making our impact solo, but gently supporting and encouraging others around us to remember their reusable bags and tupperware. And I still think that's true. And I still am proud of those choices.
But this past weekend, a harbinger of what has been my mounting unrest accompanied me on a trip to West Virginia, in the form of a large scruffy trucker-hat wearing gentle bear of a man. James needled me all weekend, some over my choice of abstract painting (which he finds uninspiring as an art form), some about novel reading and long form journalism, but mostly through his life story.
It was not his intention to rattle me, that I know of, but only to share his life experiences, a litany of protests of what he knew to be injustices in this world. Making his voice heard. He told me about times when people who would handcuff themselves together under the ground to prevent oil trucks from getting through, or people building nests that would topple the sitters to their death, should they be disassembled. He, and these people, believed so strongly in what they were protesting that they risked discomfort, jailing, and even bodily harm.
He asked me about my protest history. I said, somewhat self-consciously, that I had none. There are things I am certainly alarmed about in this world. Climate change. Persistent and growing inequities. Forest degradation. Food deserts. Overuse of natural resources. Rising sea levels. Violence. Hatred. War. But it has never occurred to me to join a march or protest. Occasionally I'll sign a petition, but I wouldn't say I've been very active in speaking these concerns. I hadn't wondered about that choice in awhile, since college when I used to read the New York Times in the dining hall and wring my hands, but now I was forced into wondering again.
When I came home (unsurprisingly, as the universe seems to like to push its issues sometimes), I found an article in Yes Magazine, detailing the arrest and further activism of Tim DeChristopher, who interceded in a auction of oil and gas leases on federal lands, and landed himself in prison for 21 months and a fine of $10,000. In this article, he said damningly, "Certainly a lot of the blame falls on fossil fuel executives and politicians, but a lot of it falls on comfortable liberals who changed their light bulbs, bought organic, and sat back and patted themselves on the back." He was directing this comment at the baby boomer generation, but is that not what I am doing? And then, the call to action, "This is why I think activism right now is so critical. The only thing inevitable about our future is that the status quo cannot continue."
To be clear, I am not running out to chain myself to anything. To get myself thrown in jail. I think activism can look many different ways. But I do wonder if I am too comfortable resting on my easy liberal lifestyle choices. I do wonder what my voice sounds and looks like, amplified.
An easy place to explore this question seems to be where I have influence: in the classroom. In fact, a crucial part of the Two Rivers mission reads, "To nurture a diverse group of students...to become responsible and compassionate members of society." Responsible and compassionate. How can I instill that in this next generation? They need opportunities to be responsible and compassionate. They need to read the stories of those who have come before them, know the issues that lay ahead, and know how to amplify their voice. So that is now my challenge to explore. It is not that I have done nothing, and not that I plan on any particular forms of flagellation, but this weekend galvanized me into Q&A with myself about how else I can participate more fully in this world, in a way that is positive and nurturing.
So where does the mindfulness piece fit in? There is an element of Buddhism that can be misinterpreted, so that people believe they should sit back and calmly watch the world fall to shit, from a place of non attachment. To not judge and not get angry and not care. But that's off the mark. On the contrary, I think one must dive in and engage with the world from a place of compassion and openness. Must act from a place of loving kindness. But most importantly, must act.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Why won't you little stinkers get peaceful?
Monday at 3:40pm, 30 minutes before our extended day dismissal, I taught my fourth mindfulness lesson to my students. For one minute we sat with our eyes closed doing mindful breathing, and I asked them to notice their thoughts. The room was quiet, and the students actually closed their eyes. Until....zzZZZZZzzzzz...sghghgh...zzZZZZzz from the right side of the room.
It's really distracting to find your breathing when one of your students is snarfling his way through the exercise. Why wouldn't they do it right, dang it??? I'm trying to give them these amazing tools and they aren't taking is seriously! Don't they SEE???? I WANT THEM TO BE PEACEFUL! I needed them to peaceful. I expected them to be peaceful. And when that wasn't the reality, I grew immediately uneasy in the face of their silliness. Of course, that immediately wound its way into an inquisition over my own lack of skill as a mindfulness teacher, and all hope was lost. I would never make it in my future profession, and I might as well quit now.
OR.
I could remove my expectations. Before all teachers in the audience immediately switch off their computers in fear that they might be monitored by their admin, who would surely report them for reading such blasphemous material, hear me out.
In education, "high expectations" is a buzz term that gets thrown around a lot. In fact, if you ever suggested you had anything other than the highest expectations of your students, you would probably be immediately fired and sent from the school with a note pinned to your chest that no one was ever to hire you again.
This is an uncomfortable bedfellow to the mindfulness tenet in which it is believed that any expectations are, in fact, the root of our suffering. Suffering is wanting, or worse, expecting life to be different than it is. It is our thoughts, not our reality, that create our misery. So I either have to compartmentalize these two belief systems, both of which I ardently ascribe to, or find other some way to remove the cognitive dissonance that is reeking havoc on my mental well-being. Is there a way to hold expectations without loading them with so much emotional energy? To set the bar, and strive for it, without it becoming the sole focus of our experience?
I hope so. I want my students to know where the bar is so they know what to work towards. I want my students to believe I don't think it's okay if they sit through an hour long class period without doing any work or if they snap back at me at a simple request. I think it's my responsibility to teach them those things and to hold that bar high. But I need to do that without emotionally attaching myself to the outcomes. Here's the bar, kiddos, go for it and I'll tell you when you haven't made it BUT I'm not going to get mad about it when you don't. And I'm holding the bar there because I truly believe it's in your best interest. Hold the bar, but don't get too attached to whether or not they make it.
It's so dang hard.
Back in the classroom, I tried to let go of my need to "perfect" mindful behavior. I chose to ignore the snoring. Miraculously, so did the other five highly wound adolescents in the room with me. When we opened our eyes to talk about our experiences, I turned to Amari. "All I ask is that you try this out, for real. If you don't want to do that seriously, you are welcome to wait in the hallway while the rest of us try." But he stayed seated. And we talked about how it made us feel- calm, focused, relaxed. The way I strive to be in any given moment, but I'm not going to chastise myself, or them, when we haven't hit our mark.
It's really distracting to find your breathing when one of your students is snarfling his way through the exercise. Why wouldn't they do it right, dang it??? I'm trying to give them these amazing tools and they aren't taking is seriously! Don't they SEE???? I WANT THEM TO BE PEACEFUL! I needed them to peaceful. I expected them to be peaceful. And when that wasn't the reality, I grew immediately uneasy in the face of their silliness. Of course, that immediately wound its way into an inquisition over my own lack of skill as a mindfulness teacher, and all hope was lost. I would never make it in my future profession, and I might as well quit now.
OR.
I could remove my expectations. Before all teachers in the audience immediately switch off their computers in fear that they might be monitored by their admin, who would surely report them for reading such blasphemous material, hear me out.
In education, "high expectations" is a buzz term that gets thrown around a lot. In fact, if you ever suggested you had anything other than the highest expectations of your students, you would probably be immediately fired and sent from the school with a note pinned to your chest that no one was ever to hire you again.
This is an uncomfortable bedfellow to the mindfulness tenet in which it is believed that any expectations are, in fact, the root of our suffering. Suffering is wanting, or worse, expecting life to be different than it is. It is our thoughts, not our reality, that create our misery. So I either have to compartmentalize these two belief systems, both of which I ardently ascribe to, or find other some way to remove the cognitive dissonance that is reeking havoc on my mental well-being. Is there a way to hold expectations without loading them with so much emotional energy? To set the bar, and strive for it, without it becoming the sole focus of our experience?
I hope so. I want my students to know where the bar is so they know what to work towards. I want my students to believe I don't think it's okay if they sit through an hour long class period without doing any work or if they snap back at me at a simple request. I think it's my responsibility to teach them those things and to hold that bar high. But I need to do that without emotionally attaching myself to the outcomes. Here's the bar, kiddos, go for it and I'll tell you when you haven't made it BUT I'm not going to get mad about it when you don't. And I'm holding the bar there because I truly believe it's in your best interest. Hold the bar, but don't get too attached to whether or not they make it.
It's so dang hard.
Back in the classroom, I tried to let go of my need to "perfect" mindful behavior. I chose to ignore the snoring. Miraculously, so did the other five highly wound adolescents in the room with me. When we opened our eyes to talk about our experiences, I turned to Amari. "All I ask is that you try this out, for real. If you don't want to do that seriously, you are welcome to wait in the hallway while the rest of us try." But he stayed seated. And we talked about how it made us feel- calm, focused, relaxed. The way I strive to be in any given moment, but I'm not going to chastise myself, or them, when we haven't hit our mark.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
"Inner peace and spirituality can suck it."
"Inner peace and spirituality can suck it." This is the introduction to a New York Magazine video exploring Competitive Yoga. The images are of people contorting themselves into all sorts of asanas for an expectant crowd and panel of judges. Falter, you lose points. One of the judges even admits, "We aren't judging the yoga..." Umm....I would like to donate to you this new term, as this is clearly American Power Stretching at its finest. Give us "Yoga" back, please. That's the space where I try to work with my tendencies, not fuel them, and I certainly don't need your help exacerbating my competitive nature.
Coming from a background in gymnastics, this instinct is one that I incessantly confront while practicing yoga. I have to combat the will to sink lower into postures, clench tighter through shaking muscles, and hold my Om longer than my neighbors (I wish I was kidding about the last one). I feel embarrassed when I fall out of Half Moon or can't quite reach my binds. When teachers ask us to set intentions at the beginning of class, I often silently plead with myself to be gentle.
Even when I sit down to meditate there is a sense that I need to be "good" at it, and that I am "bad" when I have many thoughts, or get lost for ten minutes perseverating over the perfect comeback for an earlier verbal exchange. Conversely, when I notice myself creating that space between my thoughts, other thoughts are quick to affirm my meditative prowess. I suddenly am winning meditation! I'm enlightened! I'm....thinking.
But these are the places where we are supposed to practice coming back to our breath, and our presence. Where it's great to fall out of that posture, or this meditative state, so we can figure out what to do next. How to right ourselves. Where it's perfection to see our competitive spirit play out. Let us enjoy in the fall and the rise, without keeping score.
I want to be able to come to yoga without the pressure of contorting into a pretzel. I want to be able to come to meditation without the expectation that I sit cross-legged and clear my mind of every thought. I want to remember it's a place to practice the way I want to be off the mat and cushion. And really its not the competitive yoga that's the problem, nor is it my need to compete. They are all opportunities to redefine my practice for myself. To notice myself and the world. And to laugh. Because how can you not when people are describing a yoga event with this eloquently spoken line, "Inner peace and spirituality can suck it."
Coming from a background in gymnastics, this instinct is one that I incessantly confront while practicing yoga. I have to combat the will to sink lower into postures, clench tighter through shaking muscles, and hold my Om longer than my neighbors (I wish I was kidding about the last one). I feel embarrassed when I fall out of Half Moon or can't quite reach my binds. When teachers ask us to set intentions at the beginning of class, I often silently plead with myself to be gentle.
Even when I sit down to meditate there is a sense that I need to be "good" at it, and that I am "bad" when I have many thoughts, or get lost for ten minutes perseverating over the perfect comeback for an earlier verbal exchange. Conversely, when I notice myself creating that space between my thoughts, other thoughts are quick to affirm my meditative prowess. I suddenly am winning meditation! I'm enlightened! I'm....thinking.
But these are the places where we are supposed to practice coming back to our breath, and our presence. Where it's great to fall out of that posture, or this meditative state, so we can figure out what to do next. How to right ourselves. Where it's perfection to see our competitive spirit play out. Let us enjoy in the fall and the rise, without keeping score.
I want to be able to come to yoga without the pressure of contorting into a pretzel. I want to be able to come to meditation without the expectation that I sit cross-legged and clear my mind of every thought. I want to remember it's a place to practice the way I want to be off the mat and cushion. And really its not the competitive yoga that's the problem, nor is it my need to compete. They are all opportunities to redefine my practice for myself. To notice myself and the world. And to laugh. Because how can you not when people are describing a yoga event with this eloquently spoken line, "Inner peace and spirituality can suck it."
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