Action as Cliff-Diving...

No complaint. Action.

My husband has been bandy-ing this about lately.

(Bandy-ing? Bandieng?)

Anyhow. He read it somewhere, and it touched him. And I have grown to like it quite a lot, too. No complaint...action.

And we've been using it. In moments where we find ourselves slipping into mutual bemoaning...jobs, careers, creative projects, money, weather, driving, social outings...one or the other of us has been piping up, "no complaint, action!" And it has an immediate silencing effect. A positive silencing. A silencing of the mental wheels turning and a clarifying of sharp irrefutable CHOICE. As in...we have the choice to do something about that which gets us down...or not. Either way, the complaining either pre- or post- or during, is useless.

But, this is not about blind action or action as the only force of change (because I firmly believe that action is a partner in the process of creation, not THE process of creation)...because sometimes the "action" that rises up to release the complaint is just a few deep breaths. Sometimes the action that rises up is just about going back to driving the car or writing the email or eating the food--DOING whatever it is you were doing before you found something to complain about.

And I realize, that there are things that seem unchangeable, there are things that seem to have no complementary action...either because they are out of our control or because they just feel too big to ever be able to DO anything about them...but still, if you were to apply this equation, even to those peskiest of concerns:

No complaint, action...

Then wouldn't the only choice be to engage in SOME kind of action, in place of the complaint? A long walk. A phone call. A book. Sitting down and making something. And wouldn't that result in a kind of letting go? A softening around that thing that seems so impossible?

I had a conversation with a student after class today about falling out of handstand. She had taken a falling workshop and hadn't been able to master the art of the fall. It was too scary. The giving up of control too great. And we talked about how much courage it requires to fall. We talked about how it is so much more about the body and so not about the mind.

And, I thought about what it's like to jump into water from a great height...you know that feeling, when your toes are at the edge of the cliff, or the edge of the diving board, and the water is stretched out underneath you? Do you know the one?

Being the younger sister of a highly physically adventurous brother, and not being one to publically turn down a challenge (especially if presented by said older brother), I have found myself a reluctant cliff jumper on many occasions.

And what I have discovered, is that my mind is never what leads me off the cliff and down to the water below. To the contrary. My mind, if it had its way, would have me standing and contemplating possible outcomes, my calculatable physical safety, why on earth I'm doing this in the first place, until the sun went down behind me.

It is my body who has to decide. It is my body who has to take action. Body just steps...and falls. And it's done. Whatever happens afterward is a present-moment experience, and there will be no choice but to take it as it comes. Action, action, action.

(Perhaps the state of presence is nothing more than a state of action. Without complaint.)

Regardless of what else you may believe, it is clear that we are physical beings, living and breathing and loving and working in a physical world. We are meant to act. Action is a delicious thing...and it exists, it only exists in the present. You can't take action yesterday or tomorrow...only now.

And so today, if you feel yourself drifting into complaint (which includes self-criticism, which includes any thought/feeling/story that concludes that what is happening in your life in this moment is somehow not appropriate), stop, take a breath, and look for an action to take. Not to SOLVE what you're complaining about, but for the pure pleasure of engaging in the present-moment-ness of your life. Jump off that cliff.

(No complaint. Action.)

Don't Be Scaaaaaaaared.

Okay, this is definitely a side note to what will be the bulk of this post, but I've been watching some boob-tube this evening (pun intended) and is anyone else as horrified as I am by the Victoria's Secret models in lingerie proclaiming kitten-like, "I love my body." while they squirm around and make kissy-faces. I mean, is that supposed to be ironic? Or am I supposed to think that it's the BRA that makes THOSE women love their body? It's not because, oh I don't know...they're VICTORIA'S SECRET MODELS?!?! Sorry...I just...seriously.

Ahem.

So, on to the point. I've been teaching. Mainly I've been teaching privately, as I'm giving out free introductory sessions in LA to friends and family so I can get my teach on, and a small class at a condo in Culver City...and I've been noticing this interesting trend amongst a lot of the folks that I've been teaching:

First of all, most of my students don't have a ton of experience in group classes and many of them express the same trepidation when they talk about yoga:

"I don't want to go to class because I don't want to be the only one who can't do anything."

And some of these students are, sure, injured or feel like they're not in tip-top shape, but some of them, MOST of them, are young and strong and healthy and have no reason to feel...inferior. In any way. Certainly not in a YOGA class. One of my students, who is a runner and in great shape and has a lot of natural grace asked me after our session, "am I the worst student you've ever had?"

The answer was of course NO, not by a long shot, but it was also NO and I would NEVER think of students in that way! That is not the deal with yoga! Yoga is about the opposite of that. It is about the eradication of that "oh no I'm bad at this" way of measuring progress.

But do you know whhhhhhhhy these students feel this way? It's not in their imagination. They didn't just make it up. It's because they've BEEN to classes somewhere and they've been made to feel, for whatever reason, that they were totally out of their league.

And maybe in some cases it's because they went to a class that wasn't the right level for them...but maybe it's just because they went to a class labeled "basics" that was far from it. Or maybe it's because they ended up at a clique-y studio where the teacher played favorites and made them feel out of the loop. Or maybe they tried to use a block to help them in class (this happened to a friend of mine) and the teacher came over and TOOK IT AWAY and said to her, "blocks are for old people and injured people."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Hold on. I'm collecting myself so that I don't go track down that teacher and kick him in his stupid head.)

Anyhow, my point is, I feel like there's this whole population of people who are interested in yoga but have been scared off in one way or another, and I just...where are the classes for them? Where are the classes for people who aren't "yogis", who don't feel like they have a natural affinity, who need some truly basic instruction in an environment free from judgment? Where do you go if you want to learn but you don't want to feel like "new kid" is tattoed on your forehead?!

I remember several years ago I wanted to take a dance class, and I had some ballerina friends who were like, "oh go here...take this beginner's ballet class at this great studio, you'll love it." And so I did. I showed up, and one of my ballerina friends introduced me to the teacher and told her I was new and she looked at me and said, "Great. What kind of dancer are you?"

And I said, "Oh. Um...I'm not a dancer."

And she said, "You're--you've never taken ballet?"

And I nodded and said, "In fact, I've never taken dance. Period." And, she seemed a little nervous about this, which made me REALLY nervous, and then when class began I immediately understood why. It's because a "beginning" ballet class at a dance studio in downtown New York is not for people who haven't taken dance since they were in preschool. It's for dancers. It's for modern dancers who want to try ballet, or for ballet dancers who have taken some time off and want a refresher course. It was, for sure, not for me.

I tried. I tried to leap around and stand on my toes, but really I just had to give in to being totally humiliated and feeling like a fat graceless slob compared to my classmates. Which I did, for a few weeks, but then I quit. Because I didn't want to feel that way. And I think that's how people feel when they go to a yoga class...they might hang in for a few weeks, but if they feel like they're miles behind everyone else, there's no way they're going to stick it out.

It's both frustrating for me to see this big GAP in the way yoga as a popular practice is taught in the west, but it's also sort of exciting for me, as a teacher. To be able to work one-on-one with people and begin to build a foundation with them so that maybe they CAN go to a class and feel like they're swimming in the same pool as everyone else. It's cool. It's gratifying.

And this is totally a stretch, but maybe my Victoria's Secret model rant at the beginning of this post wasn't actually so off topic...because, not everybody wants a bra that's made for a lingerie model...most of us can't even begin to relate to something marketed for a squirming vixen. Some of us want a bra made for adorable girls with bellies. Some of us want to watch the Dove Real Beauty commercials over and over again.

Which means, I guess, that as a yoga teacher I'm not interested in being Victoria's Secret. I'm very happy being Dove. Or...um...Hanes Her Way?

Learning to Fall...Longing to Fall.

Handstand.  Beloved, horrifying, handstand.

The first time I tried Thee

I nearly losteth my mind.

Okay people, if you've tried it, you know...if you haven't tried it, you can imagine...if you're a master at it...well, this is old news.  Handstand is SCARY.  Way scarier then headstand (at least then you have two arms AND a head in contact with the ground)...way scarier than forearm stand even (where the ground is so close by).  Handstand takes 'em all.  The first time I tried handstand, the idea that my two hands, my ten fingers, could take the weight of my ENTIRE BODY seemed just...ludicrous.

But, many years have passed since then, and handstand has since become more, well, friendly.  I do it a lot. Since coming to Los Angeles it is a part of nearly every class...but still I need a wall or a person to stand near me, to comfort me, to catch me.  I won't totally sell myself short...my form is much improved...when said wall or said person is present I can stick it to that handstand.  I can stay up there for many many many seconds.  If I do say so myself.  (Please imagine confident shoulder waggle here.) 

But take aforementioned wall or aforementioned person AWAY from me, stick me in the middle of the room, and suddenly I'm doing these timid little bunny kicks, my hips just miles away from where they ought to be, which is...balanced.  Over my shoulders.  

And this has been a cause of endless frustration for me.  Because I can not lie to myself...I am strong enough, I am experienced enough and I have the balance to be able to attempt the dreaded handstand alone.  Solo.  No hands (other than mine), No wall.  And so then I must face up to what I am doing: holding back.  

Holding. Back.  

And here is where the practice both delights and infuriates me...because there is no way for me to look at that and not acknowledge the other areas of my life in which I am doing just that--the other areas of my life in which I KNOW I am strong enough, flexible enough, have enough balance to try with everything I have in me, but still I am only putting it out halfway--I am timid bunny kicking when I ought to be using all of the tools I know I have to just stick that mo-fo.  And why?  For what?  For fear--fear of falling, fear of humiliating myself, fear of failing, ultimately, and because it gives me another opportunity to bring back the comfort and the safety of that wall or that extra set of hands.  Safety.  Even though it requires a dimming of my own light (sorry, geeking out...almost done)...even though it requires a DIMMING OF MY OWN LIGHT, still, I choose safety.

Well, last week when I was at the studio, one of my new favorite teachers, Emily Burton, arrived early to work with one of her students on falling, and I quickly insinuated myself into the lesson.  A lesson which was comprised of, falling out of handstand...over and over and over again.  And by the end of our session I felt so confident and so ready to tackle the dreaded HS on my own in my next class--certain I would no longer be frightened.

And today, I took class...and (insert sad clowny wah-wah music here)...no cigar!! Still, still, still tiny timid half-assed little kicks.  No stickin' it.  No victory.  And as I knelt between each go around I kept asking myself, "what is your problem?  You KNOW you can fall.  You've done it.  You're not going to die."  But each time, there I was...holding back.  There were a lot of people in the class and so even the falling seemed more...frightening.  Until finally I had to call someone over to be my safety.

But after class I was determined...and once I had finished my little studio chores, I dragged my mat into a side room and planted myself smack-dab in the middle of the floor, determined to kick this fear bug-a-boo.  

And at first it was STILL (still!) those same little half-attempts...holding back, holding back, holding back.  Afraid, even then--what if I fall wrong? What if my mat slips out from underneath me...and on and on.

And then finally, I sat myself down, and issued the edict that it was Time To Fall.  You must fall 3 times in a row, I told myself, so that you can remind yourself that it can be done, that you can fall and survive.

So I set myself up, I lined myself all up nicely, I took a breathe, and I kicked up...not to do a handstand this time, but merely to fall...

AND I DID IT.  

I did a handstand.  And I held it, for several seconds.  By myself.

(and then I fell)

 

Once it was over I rolled onto my back, stuck my two hands under my head, like a cloud-gazer--and I just laughed and laughed.  I did it! I did it!  And what had done it?  What had pushed me over the edge?  The intention to fall.  Because it was a get-out-of-jail free card for me--an opportunity to let go of control--to sail head-first into failure instead of spending so much time resisting it, holding back, what if.  And as soon as I did--there it was--success.  Strong, solid, balanced, happy...success.

I was giddy, and repeated the trick, just to make sure it wasn't magic, and each time...with permission to fall...I didn't.  I stuck it.  I balanced.

We are such amazing creatures, we humans, and it is proven to me over and over again that I can accomplish so much more WITHOUT my own interference, than with.

I love you all, Shanti-Towners, and I encourage each of you today, in some way big or small, to just let yourself...fall.

xo

YogaLia

Some Tips for the Inversion Shy

A couple days ago, I recieved a letter from a reader requesting some yoga advice about a subject that I think is really relevant.  So, with said reader's permission, I am going to reprint some of my response here, in the hopes that it might be helpful to anyone else out there who may be suffering from...(drum-roll please)...

Inversion Aversion!!!

(Otherwise known as good old fashioned fear of going upside-down.)

The reader in question had a very real and serious concern, as she had an experience where she was dropped (by a teacher no less, argh!) when attempting one of her first handstands, and it really left a mark (emotionally).  I don't know if any of you have ever been dropped by anyone in a yoga class, but it is a truly upsetting (not to mention dangerous and painful) experience.  Also, the teacher/culprit of this dropping didn't do or say much to remedy the situation (she was probably freaked out about having dropped a student, but still!) and the impact on my dear reader was so profound that she stopped going to classes and relegated her yoga practice from that moment on to DVDs in her living room at home.

In the studio where I'm practicing currently the teachers are super serious about spotting in inversions--they tell students to opt out of spotting if they don't feel 100% comfortable and they really get on people if they aren't being attentive. The spotter, in those few minutes when a pose is being partnered, becomes an extension of the body of the person they are spotting--they should be breathing with you, anticipating where you are and what you need and being so, so sensitive to your comfort level, especially in inversions. If that's not happening, it can just be bad news for all involved.

Happily, however, the aforementioned reader has recently been bitten by the "I want to go back to class" bug--hence the re-appearance of her inversion fear--hence her letter to me.  Which, in a nutshell asked--how do you handle fear of inversions, and what can I do in class so that I don't feel pressured or freaked out when it comes time for headstand or handstand?

She is not alone in this question, I am CERTAIN.  So, in the hopes that it might also be helpful to someone else with a similar bug-a-boo, here follows my tips on how to deal with fear and the upside-down world:

1. You. Have. To. Keep. Breathing.

That's it. When you are ready to start to go upside-down again, do not leave your breathe, not even if your life depended on it...which it's going to feel like it does. Stay with your breath. Breath can overpower fear, it really can...or at least it can drown out the voice that's saying, no, you can't do this.

2. Tell the teacher that you're scared. Tell her (or him) that you were dropped before and that you are frightened. Tell her (or him) to reassure you that they are there, and to keep their hands on you at all times when you're going upside-down. This is no joke. Even if you're embarrassed...do this. It will help you immensely.

3. Be a spotter for someone else. And vow to be the very best spotter you could possibly be. Pay minute deliberate attention to their body, communicate with them, keep them safe, take care of them like they were you. This will help you feel a part of the process of inversions, and it will help you to learn what you need from a spotter when you're going up.

4. (this is an esoteric one, but what the hell)...Let the symbolism of the pose touch you. Ask yourself (your big self) what is in this pose for you, why it is so hot, what does it mean to turn your world upside-down, and let the poetry of that, the metaphor of that, keep you interested...let it be a balm for your fear.

and lastly,

5. Even if you never ever go upside-down again, your practice can be as full and as miraculous as ever. As long as you are present and breathing and bringing all of your beautiful self to the mat, it doesn't matter if you spend the entire first class in childs pose. And anyone who gives you any guff about what poses you are or are not doing...well, they have their own shit to work out.

xo
YogaLia

***

I would love to hear from anyone and everyone about their inversion experiences...good and bad.  Have you ever been dropped? Have you ever dropped someone?  Do you invert? Or do you just happen to run off to the bathroom when it comes time to get all legs-in-the-air-y? Tell me your tales of the upside-down world!

The Yoga of Fear...

So, the other day on my way to class, for no apparent reason, I was struck with a large and penetrating fear. The kind that washes your whole body--the kind that makes your heart race and your stomach go all quibbly. It was not connected to anything in particular (though I soon found something to connect it to, clever, quick-minded girl that I am. Note: Sarcasm), but it did come on the heels of an up and down day in which, among other things, I fired my agent.

That's right. I fired my agent.

Well, why is that? You ask. Is it because you have legions of other bigger, better agencies pounding down your door?

Nooo, not exactly.

Well then, why? Is it because it's sort of a slow season, and not the middle of pilot season, and you have some other meetings set up?

Noo, no, not that either.

Oh. Well it must be because your agent did something HORRIBLE like lost you a job or something?

Uh, no. Nope. Nopers.

I'm confused, YogaLia, what prompted this sudden termination?

Well, quite honestly, blog of mine, I fired him because he wasn't doing anything. I fired him because in the 7 months we have been working together, he did not procure me one single solitary audition. And also, and maybe mostly, I fired him because I needed to hear myself stand up for myself. I needed to know that the me who understands that I deserve better, much better, is still around and ready to take charge.

But that doesn't mean I wasn't sort of thrown off balance by the whole thing...I was. I wanted him to fight for me, and he didn't. I wanted the phone to ring right after with a sudden out of the blue call for a job that I could then rub in former agent's face, and it didn't. And so, on my way to class I was feeling a bit...adrift.

Hence, perhaps, the wave of fear. The wave of fear that felt very much like the fear of the possiblity of total groundlessness, and probably in fact WAS the fear of the possibility of total groundlessness, and which, all the same, took me by surprise and spun me nearly upside-down.

Now, let me add here that fear is my go-to emotion in most stressful situations. I hate to admit that. And I'll amend it by saying, that for all that, I still consider myself a pretty fearless person. But I WORRY. I worry...a lot. And when things get tough, instead of some good ol' fashioned anger, I tend to turn to...fear.

And as I walked into class, this feeling sort of DRIPPING off of me, I thought something along the lines of "Goddamnit. This again." Because I knew which way that road leadeth, if you know what I mean. I am very familiar with the ins and outs and ups and downs of the highway of worry that is carved in me, and I am, to say the very least, sick of driving those roads.

And I didn't want another moment of my life stolen by worry. And I did not want my yoga to be tainted, in any way, by the nonsense of worry.

And so as I sat down, I reviewed my options:

A. Spend class worrying. Go through motions with body.

B. Spend class fighting worry. Go through motions with body.

And then, suddenly, a third option presented itself to me. Something along the lines of:

C. Don't fight it.

Don't fight it.

Don't.

Fight.

It.

And I felt, as I considered this option, the strangest sensation. I felt the feeling of the worry intensify (as so much of the reasoning with/explaining away/fretting over is really an attempt by the mind to get away from the FEELING present in the body) and then I felt myself sort of--I don't know how else to explain it--sort of "drop in" to the feeling.

The feeling didn't go away, I wasn't suddenly transported to bliss-land, but I was FEELING what I was FEELING. And it wasn't altogether unpleasant.

My body was tingling. My chest was aching, like a heart aching in its shell. My cells were all alive and jiggly, but there was also--warmth. There was also an aliveness. And, it seemed at least, that maybe my heart wasn't pounding nearly so fast as I thought. I even felt, paradoxically, quite relaxed and attentive inside all the swirling feeling. The swirling feeling was still THERE, that's important to note, but I wasn't fighting it anymore.

And in that moment I really thought, oh my god, THIS is what I'm running away from? All that figuring out/examining/reassuring/lambasting, etc., is all just an attempt not to do THIS? Not to sit in the middle of THIS?

And I thought of all the times I've been told to be present. And I thought of how often I think of presence as being present to that which is OUTSIDE myself, and rarely do I think of my emotional state as a circumstance to be present to--just as valid as being present to sounds in a room or any of the other things I urge myself to pay more attention to.

And I felt such compassion for myself--for this intricate system that calls out to me and calls out to me and which I ignore or deem "bad" over and over again, in attempt to change the feeling that is present. And not going anywhere.

It was a powerful practice, needless to say. It was a practice that had little to do with the asana and so much more with standing out on that ledge--because it's a risk, isn't it? To be presented with a feeling that is uncomfortable and to say, I will not attempt to FIX you--I will not attempt to fix this moment--I will sit smack dab in the middle of it and experience it from tip to toe.