Please Continue Being Awesome, Meghan Currie....

...so that I continue to watch you do stuff like this:

Why I Don't [blank] As Much As I Should...

Home Practice.  Argh.

I've talked about this before in this blog, and thankfully, I have learned a few things about what a home practice is "allowed" to look like.  And that is...absolutely anything.  I've taken a very sneaky poll over the last few months of my fellow teachers and what their at-home deal is all about (I try to sneak it into conversation in unlikely places, as if we're just sharing, and not as if I'm picking their brains about their behind-closed-doors lives so that I can feel better about mine.  Which I am).  Anyhow...there's a range.  And the big advice is always...do what makes you feel good.

Do what makes you feel good.  (This is why I'm a yogi and not a Catholic.)

Alright, so I'm allowed to just do headstand and some pigeons if that's all I want to do.  Excellente!  You'd think I'd be rolling out my living-room mat like a champ.  But I'm not, and here's why:

1. I'm going to be really honest here Shantis...I'm teaching tons of classes every week, I'm talking about yoga, I'm writing about yoga, and between classes I'm thinking about, well, my wedding...and yoga.  The last thing I want to do when I'm home by myself...is yoga.  It's just the bald ugly truth.  I'm so sensitive about not turning my practice into a chore, terrified that then this one thing that has provided me such obligation-free joy over the last many years...will be ruined.  So I have been skimping on my at-home work.

2. I let myself get away with moi-der when I'm at home.  I am the kind of student at home that I would NEVER be in someone else's class.  I get distracted.  I half-ass all kinds of stuff.  I let my mind just go buck-wild...I mean WIIIIIIIIIIIIIiillllllllllllld.  I drink tea, I answer my phone, I sort of half check my email by glancing at the computer from the ground.  I fall out of poses!  All the time!  I rarely fall out of a pose in class! Want to know why?  Because in class...I'm focused.

3. And this goes along with number 2...I skimp on the el-class-o structure-o.  I just don't give myself a full class.  No theme-setting, no Om-ing...sometimes even (gasp) no savasana.  I mean, do I really neeeeeed all that stuff when I'm alone?  I'll just "mark" the places where I would normally be setting up or taking down and that will be good enough.  Right?

Wroooooooooooong.

Oh my god...if I went to someone's class and did that, I would be the crazy distracted student they told their friends about afterward.  I think about my own wildly distracted students this way!  Poor unfocused darlings!  But apparently their distractedness is just a reflection of my own scattered inner-workings!  I mean, come on, this is "outside is inside" symbolism 101, people! I should knoooooow this.

So, yesterday, I took matters into my own hands...I decided that I would treat my home practice just like it was a real class.  I moved furniture.  I brought props.  I chose a time frame and some practice-appropriate music...I turned off my phone and closed my computer...and set to work.  I did everything but give myself my own dharma talk!  I om-ed, I bowed, I focused.  I treated my practice with a bucketful more reverence than I normally do...and it worked!  I was present, I was breathing, I even did some crazy ass stuff that I would usually need a teacher to push me into.  ("crazy ass stuff"...yes, that is sanskrit.  It means...crazy. ass. stuff.)

So, great.  What I want to know is...why is the mere fact that other people are present in the room, or the mere fact that someone else is holding you accountable...why is that the necessary catalyst for a person to set to work?  My writers out there...you know what I'm talking about.  Deadlines can function like this...even if the only person who's going to read something is Paul, it makes me more likely to dedicate myself toward completing what I'm working on.  But try and sit down every day to do your work without this something or someone as encouragement...it's so much more challenging!  Why is it so hard for us to give ourselves permission to be dedicated?  To be focused?

Well, enough is enough!

From here on in, I'm saying it outloud...you get to be as sweet to yourself as you are to other people, as attentive to your own work as you are to the work that is assigned to you from elsewhere, and deeply dedicated to the actions you take, whether you're alone, or in front of 1,000 people.

Ch-ch-cha-changes...

Okay, I have a bit of a confession to make...

My practice, as of late, has been a bit, um...oh my god, I can't even say it...my practice these days has been very...quiet.

Now, let me just say this, in my own defense...I have been teaching A LOT, I have been studying a BIT (not as much as I should), and I have been meditating A LOT...but the moving and the stretching and upside-down-ing...not so much.  I just haven't really been able to get it up (pun intended) for my physical practice the last couple weeks.

Now if you are very wise you might be thinking something like, "well, Lia...asana is only one of the eight limbs of ha-tha yo-ga" (and in this scenario you would be pronouncing "hatha" like "hot-ta", because you are fancy and you have learned your Sanskrit pronunciation properly).  But eight limbs ain't going to get me any awesomeness points on the handstand meter, okay my little blogosphere swamis! 

Part of this slowed-down-ness is due to being in the midst of wedding planning, which is at once stressful and amazingly sweet, but which requires large swaths of energy.  So most often these days when I have carved out time to practice, all I want to do is close my eyes and sit in the center of my own chest.

Which brings me to the other culprit, this...this love-affair I'm having lately with meditation.  Talking endlessly about yoga is obnoxious enough, so I'm really going to hold myself back from talking about meditation, but I swear I seemed to have cracked some kind of code--the how the hell do I do this code of meditation.  And it's nice.  And I want to do it more.  (For now.  Please, god knows, don't hold me to this). 

And lastly...and this is the thing that is maybe hardest to admit...my practice is (gulp) changing.

Right now that means it feels like it's not as "cool" as it used to be.

Right now I feel like a practitioner without a home team...not quite doing it like them, and not quite doing it like them, either.

Right now I feel like my initial ancient impulse to just move, move, move, express, express, express, achieve, achieve, achieve...has, without my say-so, been replaced.  And it's been replaced by this pesky desire to get quiet.  To feel every little microscopic nanosecondish flutter of my insides.  (though the desire currently stands solo on one side, while the ABILITY still lags pretty far a-field).  But, still.

And I have to admit, I'm a little confused by it.

I'm confused that I am so resistant to letting my practice change.  I'm confused that I still apparently have "cool kid" and "not cool kid" divisions in my head when it comes to what people are doing and why.  And I'm confused to find myself in this place, where my physical goals seem to be taking a back seat to some other things.

So I try to remember that change is important.  I try to remember, in some kind of larger way, how easy it is, even with the things that by their very nature encourage change and fluidity--how easy it is to get stuck in a certain WAY of doing things.  And to decide, just by the very fact that you have done it this way 1,000 times before, that it is the best way.  And to remember that that might not be correct.

And then I think...may I BE so lucky.  May I be so blessed to have my practice change like this, again and again, as I continue down this road.  May it bend with my life, and be quiet when there is too much noise, and be exuberant when there has been too much dullness...because this, I have to remember, is one of the great gifts of yoga.  It will take you as you are, no exceptions.  And no matter how bumpy or smooth your heart, or your mind, or the shell of your body, it will fold around you...and fill in all your empty spots.

If You Want to Have a Home Practice...READ THIS.

This amazing article on having a home yoga practice was written by Kara-Leah Grant, the creator of The Yoga Lunchbox (and a friend of mine, I'm happy to say) and published this week in Elephant Journal. It is, without a doubt, the best thing I have read on creating a home practice. Ever.

I would dare say, even if you don't care about doing yoga at home, but you care about doing ANYTHING creative regularly and with passion (you know who you are), I suggest you check this out.

Thank you, Kara-Leah, you are a barrel of loveliness.

Slow It Down...

Lately I have been indulging in a lot of SLOOOOOW practice sessions...maybe it's the onset of the warm weather (it's going to be 80 degrees now until January, I can just feel it, and some people love that, I know, but it actually means my least favorite season--summer--goes on FOREVER). Anyhoooo...maybe it's the warmer weather, maybe it's a building "to-do" list, whatever it is, everytime I've set up to practice on my own I've found myself doing only a very few standing poses and primarily a big fat juicy practice on the floor (or on the top of my head, depending on the day)*.

*Because going upside-down is the only drug I allow myself. Wake'n'handstand, people.

And, it's been great. The luxuriousness of it. And as soon as I tuned in to the fact that this was what my body was asking for, I was able to stop feeling guilty about not having a "harder" practice, and actually get engaged with all the many benefits of a restorative workout.

Now, for those of you who have never done this type of practice. You are missing out. I promise you. Spending an hour rolling around on the floor and opening up your hips and doing supported chest openers is like THE BEST THING EVER.;.it's gooey. It's ooey. It's delici-o-so.

If you'd like a jumping off point:

You could try Supported Bridge Pose:

Or, Wide Legged Straddle....

Or you could do good ol' Legs Up The Wall Pose (that's um...that's not the sanskrit name, btw...)

Or you could try Supported Childs Pose:

And you could end with the mother of all relaxing poses...Supported Goddess Pose...

(Yes, those are hand-drawn by yours truly. I am a master of anatomy.)

And you might find, if you give yourself over to the land of "AHHhhhhhhh" that you'll discover some things about your own practice that you did not know before...

Like, for instance, that you've been gripping your butt muscles ALL THE TIME...

Or that you are excellent at inhaling and not so great at exhaling...

Or that childspose isn't as easy as you thought it was...

Or maybe you'll just realize that you haven't relaxed, really relaxed in a very long time, and that your body is now throwing a party in your honor, thanks to this small bit of effort (or non-effort) on your part.

Whatever it is, people, it's gonna be goo-oo-oood.

xox

YogaLia 

Fear and Yoga-ing in Los Angeles

My shoulder is better. (Mostly).

I have been forced to continue to do Chatarunga with my knees down, which has ceased to make me feel dumb, and now makes me feel pretty good: A. because I'm actually learning proper shoulder alignment in that pose (or so I hope) and B. because I am giving my competitive streak a short rest while I *gasp* modify.

All yoga teachers say the same thing--for some people, it's the laying off that is the challenge, not the muscling through. Big Me knows this is true for me. Little Me is sure glad that I'm never going to be some wussy who can't make it through a vinyasa with her knees lifted.

Ha! Says the Universe...we'll just see about that...

Otherwise, things have been great. My practice is expanding, I am trying to slow down more than speed up, and I have even (drum-roll please) started to develop an at-home practice with some real consistency. It's been necessary, as my schedule has been all over the place, folks have been visiting from out of town, and my job-job (I don't want to talk about it) has made it hard to fit in a class on the weekends.

We have an apartment big enough to practice in, and I look forward now to the times I can (or have to) practice at home (mostly), but I continue to run up against the following problems:

1. More often than not, all I want to do is like a million forward-bends and five minutes of standing on my head. And, though I know you're supposed to follow the wisdom of your body in these moments, I can't quite be convinced that this is a balanced practice. Child's pose for 20 minutes, anyone?

2. This is the big one...it is much, much, much, much, much harder for me to keep my mind from wandering all over the place when I practice by myself. There is something about the group environment and the teacher directing the flow of the class that gives me permission to Focus, in a way I can't seem to master when I'm by myself. Sometimes I quit early out of total aggravation because I am so far afield in la-la-land--who knew a yoga practice could actually make someone MORE fretful?

and,

3. If I'm not just being "restorative" (see #1) I am often doing pose after pose after pose, never holding anything for long, just sort of hovering around in one before catapulting myself into the next...a kind of "this is good enough" approach to practice. I would NEVER do this in class! In class I am like a focusing MACHINE! I also blame this (call a spade a spade, Lia) laziness on the absence of a teacher and, well...an audience.

That's right folks...if no one's watching, it doesn't count.

I'm not even going to do the work of extrapolating larger meaning from the above, as I'm sure it's pretty bleeping obvious, but if there was anyone who ever needed to learn to practice on her own, it's me! Right? Gosh golly, my mind wanders and I'm either doing too much or too little, and not doing anything quite well enough since I'm not getting the validation of an adoring crowd...I can't relate THAT to any other areas of my life (ACTOR ACTOR ACTOR ACTOR ACTOR). But, oh, holy bhagavad gita it's hard!

That's all for now...I just saw Julie and Julia last night and have made a vow to myself to blog more regularly. I promise. For real this time. Not like all the other times when I just say that and don't do anything about it.

Stay tuned for my upcoming project: Lia/Julia, wherein I teach Julia Child all of B.K.S Iyengar's "Light on Yoga"!

3 Ways of Practice

I am returned from my trip!

I did not write while there...my apologies. But, I am delighted to see that I have new readers here in Shanti Town in the meantime...welcome! I love you! (Seriously. I love you.)

My practice was minimal while away...a few stolen moments in the mornings at P.'s parents house, a beautiful vigorous practice on the cold wet deck of a shared house on the Oregon Coast (thank you, Heidi), and another on a different deck, this one shaded with fat green trees, watched by a white cat with wide eyes, in a beautiful house in Seattle. This last practice may have been my favorite...the air was warm but full of breezes, music quietly seeped from the outdoor speakers, and I felt--on the warm plank wood of the deck--that I was both indoors and out, and with P. and Jos working just on the other side of the windows, both solitary and with company (this, like taking a nap in the middle of the day when someone else is home and awake) being one of my favorite kinds of feelings...and every time I bent backwards, I could look up to see the sky covered with trees...

The trip, like these three practices, was broken into three major parts: A week at P's parents house in Eugene (where I stole bits of practice before the house was awake), several days on the Oregon coast (where Heidi and I practiced in the damp air of the morning), and our last week in Seattle (where I did backbends on the deck in Seattle with its fat cat and fat trees)...and I have to wonder if the practice matched the place...?

Perhaps it is right that the quiet solitude and spaciousness of the house in Eugene--itself standing solitary amidst acres of farmland, down a long dusty road to the peace of it--inspired a silent solitary practice, stolen on the gray rug that carpeted our bedroom. I remember how much my back ached that first day when I bent forward into a gentle seated practice, how I could feel all the muscles around all my vertebrae begin to stretch and call out, and how much patience I felt I had for my practice...the space to lean forward and rest my head in the cups of my turned out ankles...bereft of my usual need to push and move and accomplish, I spent a good portion of an hour rippling the waves of my aching back. And so it was at the house, where every morning P and I watched birds gather in the grass as we drank our coffee, and the buzz of New York slipped from our ears and the backs of our shoulders, a little more each day, as we took walks and ate long lunches and generally reee-laxed.

Perhaps it is right that on the coast--where for most days the sky was luminous gray and the air so cold both P and I had to go to the local outlet store and purchase jackets, where we were suddenly away from the solitude of the country and in the arms and eyes and conversations of a large group of friends, all gathered in pending celebration--that my practice became not just shared, but spoken aloud, as I led a chilly (but soon vigorous warm) practice on spread-out beach towels on the deck of our temporary coastal home. The addition of another yogi made my practice come alive in a way that I find difficult to achieve when practicing on my own. I wanted it to be good, damnnit! And we sweated and moved and bent and twisted and inverted, so well my legs quivered after with the exertion of it. (What is it about company, that can so easily obliterate distractions?)

And perhaps also it was right that in Seattle--the place of my youth and late-youth (heh), a place which I feel I am rediscovering, now as an adult, and which also swells with memories and nostalgia and my own longing to live in a place which is beautiful--that I practiced in a new house in a new neighborhood, but in a city I know so well, outside beneath the trees, with my love just on the other side of a window, and the smells of Lake Washington spilling over the dry leaves around my feet, and that the trees and the height and the space of the deck forced a kind of improvisation to my practice, and that the past, after so many days of family and friends and childhood neighborhoods, was deeply present, but also, after the revelry of a much-anticipated wedding and the silent reclamation of a city I have long loved, and, more importantly, the appearance of a Self--more grown, more solid, more flexible--in all these places of old, meant that the future was there with me as well.