Me and Yoga, Sittin' in a Tree...

The other day a friend of mine, and fellow yoga teacher, took me aside before class to tell me that she had been doing an intensive yoga training the week prior and that she had thought of me. She had thought of me because, while she knew she was supposed to be feeling in love with yoga and in love with life, all that she was actually feeling, toward the end of the week, was that she wanted to punch everyone in the face.

And so, she thought of me.

This, I will have you know, I took to be a great honor. 1. Because this friend/teacher is someone I hold in great esteem, and the fact that I would come to her mind in the middle of a day at all makes me feel sort of soft inside. 2. Because, damnit, if you feel like punching yogis and you just want to know that there is someone out there who understands...well, I am eager to serve. Because I get it, yo. I get it.

She told me that she had been feeling guilty, because many of her counterparts during this week had been going to class in the mornings before the training began, and then staying late after to do even MORE yoga, and/or to sit around cups of hot tea and talk about yoga. My friend, she confided in me, only wanted to go home and drink wine, and basically do anything other than think about yoga. And she was feeling a little guilty about it.

I, of course, would have been on the go home and have a glass of wine team right there with her. Also, the friend in question is thriving as a teacher right now, she's got a crazy class-load AND she's doing retreats AND taking classes herself as a student, so it's no surprise that she's a little yoga-ed out.

But, I've been thinking a lot about our conversation over the last couple days. I was thinking about what Steven Espinosa said in my podcast interview with him a few weeks ago, about how often people can get into this yoga frenzy when they first discover the practice, and try to set their whole life up so that all they're doing is yoga...which is great, except for the fact that yoga isn't life. Life is life.

And I started to think about how our relationship to our yoga--or to whatever it is in our life that calls to us--just like our relationships with other people, can either be an obsessive one, a (dare I say it) immature one, or it can be a grown-up relationship. Grounded. Balanced. Sanely committed. It's the difference between obsessing over every text the object of your desire sends you, and talking non-stop to your friends about how perfect/dreamy/sensitive said object of desire is--it's the difference between THAT kind of relationship, and the kind of relationship that evolves out of a true and deep devotion.

One that has ups and downs. One you might have to participate in, even when maybe you don't so much want to. One that has some regularity and stability and some give and some take. This kind of relationship, the grown up kind, it allows room for those nights when all you really want to do is zone out and have a glass of wine, instead of gazing at one another across a candlelit table.

The other, the relationship that's only all zip-zappy-happy and fireworks and oh my god I only ever want to do this one thing because I love it so? I think that it's bound to disappoint. I think it might not have the room for growth that a body needs, which means that someday, it will be outgrown.

So, Shanti-towners...if you're just not feeling it today, whatever IT is, I am here to tell you...it's alright. Go for a walk. Read some trashy coverage of the royal wedding. Have a glass of wine (I would wait until at least noon for this one, but you gotta do what you gotta do). And remind yourself that your life is BIG, and there is all kinds of room in there for you to grow....

Expanding in All Directions...

(This is the universe.  It is also expanding.)

Let me just say this...my man is out of town, I'm on the couch drinking wine and eating crackers, and on in the background is a reality show about someone named Aubrey. Who is this Aubrey? I have no idea. But something about the ting-y reality television sound is making me feel less lonely. Oh, and you. You, too, are making me feel less lonely...

Save me, Shanti-towners!

Okay, so there's this interesting thing that's happened--this becoming a teacher thing--which has, for me, taken my attention off of my OWN practice (which used to be the obsessive subject of all of my talking and writing and exploring) and put it more firmly onto the practices of my students and the people around me.  And as my relationships with my students grow, as people return to class over and over--and actually even among those students I'm meeting for the first time--I am starting to notice distinct patterns in their practices.  This type of student pushes too hard, this one has trouble focusing, this one is just naturally graceful and has no idea, and so on and so on.  All of these archetypes of people and practices keep making themselves known.

And there is one student in particular who I've been thinking a lot about lately.  She comes religiously to my classes at the gym where I teach, and she's sweet and attentive and always in the front row, and well...I like her.  And I have watched her, over the last many weeks, take some definite steps forward in her practice.

But...she could be taking LEAPS.

Because, every time I go over to her during class, she's "in" the pose, and I think that she thinks she's fully in the pose, but if I even begin to encourage her to open more or extend more...it's like she has just MILES of room in her body that she's not even near filling.  I start to roll her shoulder back, and instead of the half-inch most people have to play with, she's got feet of openness to expand into!  This is not the case with all students.  Many people, even beginners, know how to play at their edge.  They know how to expand.  In fact, many of them (don't look at me) have the opposite problem--they OVER expand and OVER reach and need to learn to sort of shhhhhhhhhhh, soften.

But we're not talking about me--um, them.  We're talking about my lovely half-extended student to whom I find myself saying, over and over, "you have so much more space than you're giving yourself."

And each time I tell her this she smiles, her lovely shy little smile, and opens up into all this possibility she didn't know was there before (and then immediately goes back to kind of...uh...half-assing it.)

But this is the thing!  I don't think she IS half-assing it...she's obviously interested and invested and curious...she asks questions and comes to class without fail...so it's not that she's not invested, she just doesn't know what it feels like to expand.

And as I watch her and encourage her and sort of bite my fingernails secretly about how much further I feel she could go, I can't help but think about how often in my own life I do a version of this same thing--how I can just sort of stop, right at the point of comfort, and assume it's good enough.  Okay, yeah, I'm here.  Or, well, I'm here-ish.  I'm here-looking.  I seem like I'm here.  That will suffice, right? 


No, imaginary self, no it will not suffice!  I mean if I'm not expanding...if I'm not filling up my life with my FULL self, with all of my extremities and my open-heart and open-throat and closed eyes and energetic toes...then what?  Then I just stay. Exactly. Where. I. Am.

And that, honestly, is what I think is going on--maybe not with this particular student, but certainly with the pattern she is caught inside of in her practice, and that is: we assume we are still where we once were.  We assume that who we were in the past, how open or strong or revolved our body may have been in the past is STILL how open and strong and revolved it is today.  And we forget to expand.  We forget that maybe we already HAVE expanded--that maybe our boundaries, which are constantly growing and shifting, have moved a bit further out then we remember them to be--and that it is our job to continue to fill all of that delicious space.

In my own life, in this time when so many things are changing and expanding, when in certain moments I really just want the ride to slooooow down--in this crazy time, it gives me some small comfort to remember that expansion is natural.  To remember that not only is it natural, it's imperative.  Because if we're not keeping up with our own growing pulsating boundaries, then we're only half-way making the shape of the pose, the shape of our life...but not really living inside of it.

So, Shanti-towners, what I want to say to you is, as I make ready to re-fill my wine glass and hunt for something less horrifying to watch...you have so much more space then you're giving yourself.

(And I think you ought to go and fill it.)

Trying On Some New Shoes...

Alright, Shanti-towners, bidnezz first.  Yogala, the coolest new studio in Los Angeles (that's right, I said it), is off to an AMAZING start.  If you're in the LA area and you haven't checked it out...dooooo it.  Besides myself, there are a ton of great teachers there, lots of class options, a beautiful light-filled studio, and just such a lovely vibe all around.  That beautiful bhav (mood) is due to the intrinsic loveliness of Yogala's founder, Samantha Jones.  (No, not the Sex and the City character, a different Samantha Jones.)  It's impossible for a place not to end up being a reflection of it's maker, and Yogala is definitely that--just like Sam it is full of sweetness and ease and hip-young-mom awesomeness.  Can you tell I like this place?  I like this place.  Come and visit!!

Okay, onwards.

I'm back in the saddle this week, and plowing my way through more of the Erich Schiffmann book I've been reading/half-reading since Christmas.  I love this book (and many thanks to my soon to be sister-in-law for getting it for me), but it's dense, and I can't seem to do more than a few pages at a time before I have to take a break to madly scribble down the best bits.

So, this week's best bits (which I robbed for a theme for a few of my classes) were about growth, and about how uncomfortable growth can sometimes be.  He used the metaphor of a child growing out of a pair of shoes that have become too small...

"It's not reasonable for them to continue wearing their favorite shoes when they no longer fit.  You get rid of the old ones and buy a new pair. The reason you need new ones is that their feet have grown.  Growth has occurred.   Their feet grew, the shoe became too small, their foot hurt.  Pain is not an inherent part of being a foot.  Nor is it an inherent part of growth."

I can't even tell you the number of times that I have found myself repeating an old way of being or thinking, even though I know that I've grown beyond it's hold, just because it's familiar and because I can't imagine myself really no longer needing that old pair of shoes.   We have to constrict in so many ways in order to stay where we are, in order to stay static.  And it's painful. The world around us is in constant motion.  Everything is changing, all the time.

I woke up this morning, and the sky smelled different, and I knew that it was finally Spring.  Change.  And even though I wake up, and I walk into the same living room in the same apartment every morning, nothing is really the same as it was when I went to sleep.  My cells have changed, the makeup of my body and heart and mind have changed.  The air has changed.  My breath, from moment to moment, is constantly ceaselessly changing.  And yet I have--all of us have--built so many structures and patterns that we use to approximate stability.  We build routines and relationships and patterns of thought about who we are and what we're doing, so that we don't have to feel like we're just living in a cosmic soup.

And also, I think, we're all just terrified that change means pain.  That growth means loss.  I've found for myself, that even the loss of negative patterns, things I'm so grateful to be free of, still feels like loss.  My heart still pangs a little bit with every shedding. Will I be the same once this is gone?

And I watch this in classes--both with myself and with my students--because as you get to know yoga, get to know the poses and your body in them, you start to make decisions about what you can and can't do.  How far you can and can't go.  And oftentimes, even when our body has changed and strengthened and opened enough to take us farther in some pose or another, we still stick with the version of the pose that we know. 

I've had moments in a class where, for whatever reason I decided to, say, roll my top shoulder open a little more, and I realize that I have SO MUCH more space than I used to have to complete that action.  And I don't know when that change took place, but in the moment of exploration I realize how often I am just stepping into the pattern I've already established, and no further.  This is what this pose looks like for me, it's pretty good, I'm happy here.  Done.  Which is fine...for a while. But eventually that pose is going to start to get...uncomfortable.

Which is amazing, because it means that even the places in our lives where we are trying to consciously open...if we're not being sensitive to the continual changes taking place...that thing that felt at first so free, can start to feel constricted.  And not because IT changed, but because YOU changed and you forgot to go with yourself.

So maybe, just maybe, if you're feeling constricted in some way--in your body or your heart or your mind--maybe it's not about something being wrong with you or your life.  Maybe it's just that you've changed, you've grown, and you've got this new version of yourself sort of...waiting.  Just waiting for you to step into yourself.  And maybe that stepping in, that stepping forward, maybe it's not a painful process at all.  Maybe it's the simplest thing in the world, and once you do it, once you slip into that new appropriately-sized pair of shoes, you'll realize that all the discomfort has been left behind.

Maybe...

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.

CLASS-IFIED

I'm in SNOWY (heavenly) New York for the weekend, taking care of business and, as luck would have it, yesterday I got to teach my second community class at my beloved Laughing Lotus.  This month's theme at the Lotus:  the Bhagavad Gita.

Confession:  I LIKE the Bhagavad Gita.  I do not loooooooooove the Bhagavad Gita.  I find it a little masculine and head-y and I always feel like I'm slogging through it, which is not the quality I'm looking for in my spiritual texts...I'm more of a gliding-through-the-sky girl when it comes to writing I love.  So, okay, so I slogged through it once again and marked a lot of passages that stood out to me, confident that if I just kept plugging away a theme would emerge.

Cut to, the morning of class.  I have left my beloved in our warm bed so that I can spend some quiet AM time meditating, practicing, and writing about the BG (in hopes of coaxing out a coherent theme).  I've settled on "I am not the doer"...a subject that is littered all throughout the book, and something I've been touching on in some of my classes this week anyhow. Good, I think, that's good enough.  And I put away my notebook and climb back into my still-warm bed.

On the way to class I'm feeling nervous, but the nerves have an underpinning of confidence.  I know what it means now to teach a class, and more and more I am learning what kind of teacher I am...what I need and what excites me and most of all, how to look for and respond to what it is my students need...how to be in the room with them and feel okay throwing away plans and coming up with new ones on the spot in order to best support them.  So, that feels good.  And I'm sort of rehearsing what I want to say about all this I am not the doer stuff, but I'm sort of leaving it alone...I don't want to overplan.  I'm good, I'm gonna be good.

So, here is what my there was SUPPOSED to sound like:

[Introduce BG, say there is a lot of this "I am not the doer" stuff in there], then say:

"A few months ago I got an email from a teacher in response to an update from me on all my goings-on which read, 'remember, you are not the doer'.  And I was sort of like "oh okay, right, so yogic, blah blah blah I am TOO the doer!  Didn't you read all that stuff I am DOOOO-ing?!" But it's been sitting with me for the past many weeks and I finally realized what she was talking about. Which is,  I better hope that I am not the doer, because the "I" in that scenario, is my overly-controlling, competitive, approval-seeking small self.  If "I" am the doer, whatever I just "did" is probably going to be pretty crappy.  Let's hope that "I" am not the doer, because if "I" am not, then it means that something else is working through me.  Something larger.  Something inspired.  Something so much greater and more skilled than "I" could ever be.  Etc., etc., etc."

But here is what it ACTUALLY sounded like:

[Introduced BG...with way too much detail.  Like someone recounting the plot of a movie to people who have already seen it, and including all the minor interludes and jump-cuts.  I think more than one person started staring off into the middle distance.  Oh my god, this is only an hour and fifteen minute class, Lia, let's get to the point.]  And, then say:

(I can't even begin to replicate what I actually did say on this blog, because I'm going to fall into a coma just trying to type it...but I definitely said something along the lines of, "because the I who is the doer, is not the I...it's the little I instead of the big I...in all spiritual traditions there is this contrast between the big I and the small I...and the I in the "I am not the doer" is the...ramble, ramble, ramble)

Argh!  Thank god the actual CLASS went really great. As soon as I shut my big mouth I immediately stepped into the class, for reals, as teacher (talk about not being the doer, sheesh).  I felt confident and light-hearted and we all had a lot of FUN, I believe, which felt good.   I even managed to reapproach the theme with a lot more ease throughout the course of the class and get to the heart of what was originally a totally convoluted point.

So, redemption was had, but still I've been thinking a lot since then about what happened with the ol theme-a-rating, and I've realized that two major things went wrong:

1.  I didn't get specific enough with MYSELF before class started.  The themes are usually effortless for me because, in one way or another, I have tapped into something--some question or idea--that I'm very passionate about, and so I don't have to think of things to say (I am not the doer)...I just sort of touch that little tender spot where the question exists in me, and the words flow (I am not the doer).  But, obviously, if that's not readily accessible to my conscious mind, it means I need to dig a little deeper.  (Or find another freaking theme).

2.  And this is the big one.  I. Wasn't. Being. Honest.  I'm NOT moved by the Bhagavad Gita, I DON'T love or even completely jive with everything it has to say, and THAT'S where I needed to start with my theme.  Instead I think I was subtly trying to sound a certain way...like a "yoga" instructor, maybe.

Note to self:  next time...less doing.

I Themed a Theme....

Whilst on holiday (no, I'm not British) in Seattle, I had the opportunity to finally visit one of that city's most esteemed yoga studios, about which I was super excited, having heard lots and lots of rave reviews about said studio, in particular, reviews about what a sweet ecstatic spirit it has (which are two of my favorite ways for a yoga studio to be).  So, I was prepared for a greeeeeeat class. 

But a great class I did not get.

I'm not going to go in to ALL of the reasons why this class was not great, a lot of that is just personal preference (and maybe a little snarky).  I'm only going to go into ONE reason why the class was not great:

(Well, two, actually):

1.  At the beginning of the class the teacher told us all that he was trying to learn names and would we please all go around and say our names and whether or not we had any requests? Alright, yes, okay, I'm all for teachers wanting to learn names.  I'm not all for having to say stuff out loud at the beginning of class, as it's embarrassing in that "when is it going to be my turn and I hope I don't say my name in a dorky way" kind of way.  But all of that, I can forgive.  What I CANNOT forgive, however, is that after aaaaaaaall that...

He. Didn't. Use. Anyone's. Name.  EVER! 

Not once, during the whole class did he refer to ANYONE by name!  Not once did he refer to anyone, period.  I mean...why?!  Why, Mr. Teacher Man, why would you make us doooo that, prefacing it all with your desire to learn names, and then not try to use any names?!  I mean, there has got to be one person in there whose name you just KNOW...can't you just take a sec to say, "Jimmy, that looks great"?!

Phew.  Okay, I'm done with that. That was really just venting. But I feel better, so thank you.

2.  After we were done with our (pointless) name game, he then moved on to his dharma talk, setting up the theme for class.  This, for those of you who haven't been to a formal yoga class, is the way most classes begin.  The teacher sets up a theme for the class, maybe it's a physical theme (our ribcage!) or a philosophical theme (the yamas and niyamas!) or a more woo-woo new-agey type theme, my personal favorite (surrender! connection! awesomeness!)...and then hopefully this theme is reflected in or woven through the rest of the class, either verbally or non-verbally (some of the best teachers can make a theme resonate all through class without ever having to reference out loud it again.  Suddenly you get to the end of class and you've had some deep EXPERIENCE of the theme, without your mind having to be involved at all.  That's the best.)

But, some teachers have not really mastered the art of theme-weaving.  Some teachers (I'll let you do the math) SOME teachers...okay, this guy...set up a theme, and it might even be a cool theme, they might even have something cool to say about the theme, but then the dharma talk ends, class begins, and the theme is never heard from again.  (Sort of like, I don't know...peoples naaaaaaaaames?)  No reference is made to any aspect of said theme, either with words or with representative poses or even via the general spirit of the class, and this, for me...is irksome. 

No, actually...I hate this.

It bothers me so much, that I have been in a bit of a nit about this class ever since, and so over the last week or two I have been doing a lot of thinking about this whole IDEA of a theme.

Why do we start classes this way?  What is the theme really for?  Why shouldn't it just appear once and then never come back again?  What's the dilly, yo?

And what I've come to is this:  The theme is not just about the teacher giving a kind of mini keynote on some yoga trope.  It's not just a preamble to the class...or at least, this is how I feel about it.  The theme is, for me, the backbone, the hinge-pin of the class.  It is the ground that the rest of the class is built upon.
Because...the beauty, the MAGIC, of the yoga practice is that it facilitates connectivity amongst the whole human system.  It links breath to body and body to mind and mind to heart and heart to breath and so on, and yes, okay, it's entirely possible to come at the practice with a sort of generic intention to yoke these things together, and to relax and surrender and all of the rest of it, but for most beginning practitioners (which I still consider myself, even after nearly 6 years), that vagueness is not enough.  To approach a class with just the clutter of mind and no unifying goal to cut through it all...I think it's asking for trouble. Or at the very least that becomes the makings of a "workout" and not a yoga class.

So, in comes a theme.  And maybe it's not even a very lofty theme.  Maybe it's going to be a class about your shins, but the mind, so hungry for direction, it can hang on to that.  The shins!!  There is so much to know about the shins!  (Suddenly).  Can I send breath to my shins?  What are my shins doing in this pose?  And this one?  Do I favor one shin above the other?  Can I even FEEL my shins or do they just seems like dead weight and if they dooooooo, then what is that about?

Do you see what I'm getting at here?

Just imagine, then, if the class is about softening the heart or expressing grace or non-grasping or any of the other gorgeous sparkly gems of themes that some of my teachers have blessed me with over the years...the right teacher can just open up the whole universe of even the most mudane of subjects (the pinky toe, aw yeeeeeeeah, a revelatory toe!)  And beyond all of that...even bigger and brighter still...a well-wrought theme can actually begin to open one's mind to the possibility of the expression of ALL THINGS via the body.  It only takes one time in class where all of your cells seem to ring with the deeper implications of your stuck shins (for example) to really begin to understand how deep the practice can go...

Keeping It Alive...

First of all, I hope you all had wonderful Thanksgivings! Mine was pretty awesome--my brother and sister-in-law and my two (ferociously fast-growing) nephews came for a visit, which made me feel like the coolest aunt in town.  The picture above is of the two of them, and has nothing to do with this post, but has everything to do with how ADORABLE they both are.

Okay, that's my proud aunt plug. On now to other matters...

So, I'm teaching...have I mentioned that I'm teaching? And I'm teaching more and more...everytime I get a phone-call to teach a class I feel like I've been sprinkled with confetti (p.s. if you're in the LA area and you want to come to class, I've put a little schedule widget on the ol' blog-o-saurus, just look down and to your right.)  Anyhow, it's pretty awesome, taking that seat at the front of the class and just trying to blast off in the hopes that I actually have something useful to offer.

And one of the unexpected side-effects is the way in which my focus has shifted, as this practice that has for so long been purely for pleasure becomes attached to more things...to money and to schedule and to some question about larger purpose...I have quickly become faced with questions about how it is that we keep things interesting for ourselves?  In particular, how do we keep things interesting for ourselves when that demon RESPONSIBILITY newly becomes attached to what we are doing?

Now, let me just preface this by saying that I am not at the moment having any trouble with lack of interest...everything is too new and too much like living in a brand new house for that to be a problem.  HOWEVER, what I have noticed, even in these first few months of teaching, is that my newfound sense of accountability in a world where once there was none, can impact the JOY of my practice, if I'm not careful.

What I mean by that is, I find myself forgetting and then remembering that I am ONLY doing this because I love it.  And if the "love it" quotient gets overrun by results-driven thinking (hello, acting career)...well, excuse my language but it just wouldn't be f-ing worth it.  For whatever reason in this field of doing yoga and writing about yoga and now teaching yoga, I am unwilling to give up the joy of the practice.  Just...totally unwilling.  I have never been that wise as an actor...joy has been often the first thing sacrificed on the altar of "I. Want. This." So, BECAUSE I feel a bit wiser about all this (I did just turn 30, you know), and because more and more work seems to be showing up, and probably also because there is a deeply personal component to my practice, this idea--this question of how it is we keep things fresh and alive is one that's been on my mind lately.

And in all my thinking, the thing I've realized, and the thing which has been reflected back to me over and over again is this:  (It's so simple.  Why is it always so simple?!)

1. In order for anything to have any lasting impact in my life, it has to have consistency.

2. In order for there to be consistency, there has to be (gulp) discipline.

3. If I don't like doing something, I'm going to quit doing it eventually.  Therefore:

4. My JOY will, without effort, equal discipline. (I.e., if I like it, I won't quit.)

This has been the case with my yoga practice, with my eating habits, with my relationships...with my burgeoning meditation practice.  I mean, seriously, I have been trying to start a meditation practice for YEARS, and always I've quit.  Over and over and over again I've quit.  Do you know whyyyyyyy? Because I've been trying to do it right, and I've found it totally and utterly SUCKY because of that.  Finally, finally, finally I have what I can call a meditation practice--at least the beginnings of one--and do you know whyyyyyyy? Because I finally decided that if I wasn't enjoying the actual act of sitting on my cushion for those 15 minutes in the morning, as it occurred, then what in the world was the point? So I found a way in that actually made me FEEL GOOD while I was doing it. 

And, voila!  Not only do I have a practice, but I miss it when I don't do it.  I find myself actually looking forward to it on a daily basis.  Which is...new.

This is one of those secrets, it seems, that some people just know intuitively (you know who you are) and others of us have to learn by repeatedly making ourselves miserable with trying and not making any headway until finally we just toss our hands in the air and say "I give up! I just want a little happy mojo in my life!" and Blammo! Forward movement.

Because, in the joy of doing there is openness...there is curiousity...there is relaxation.  There are all of the things that we label as attributes of successful work and living.  But most of all, there is just a deep steady sense of being alive.  Of having purpose.  And THAT is the thing we're hoping all the hours of sitting or moving or loving or chowing down are going to get us anyway, isn't it?
There is just this fundamental practicality which is: enjoyment (true, deep, skin-tingling enjoyment) is the best recipe for not quitting.  I think it must be the food that will power feeds on.

That's a t-shirt saying if I ever heard one: "Joy.  It's the food that Will Power feeds on."

Oh my god, I will give a million dollars to anyone who makes that a t-shirt and sends it to me.*



* not really.

Am I Allowed to Say This...?

This week I taught a--well, not a bad class, but definitely a mediocre class.  I taught a mediocre class and it was all my fault.

There was someone who was going to be in class who I wanted to impress AND I was using it as sort of a rehearsal for a class I'm teaching later on in the week at a studio I really want to work for.

Sound familiar, anyone?

And so I came to class with a PLAN.  A detailed, moment-to-moment, plaaaaaaaaaaan.  Which meant, that instead of being in my class, with my students, I was deeply involved in a relationship with my plan.  It was my plan vs. the class, a fight to the death.  Are they liking the plan?  Are they following the plan?  What comes next in the plan?  How is my plan working? 

And all of my natural attentiveness and joy went scrambling out the door in order to make room for MY. PLAN.

How many auditions have I screwed up using this exact same logic?  How many times have I walked into a room and instead of noticing who was there, what the temperature of the room was, and how I was feeling in that moment, was only thinking about how I had planned to do what I was about to do?

Many.  Many, many, times.

And if any of you have heard me talk about teaching yoga you know that I am determined not to make the same mistakes as a teacher that I find myself making as an actor.  Which is why (I assume) that halfway through the class some other voice kicked in, and the voice said:

"Throw your f-ing plan out the f-ing window."

And because I was having a miserable time up until that point, and because it seemed like everyone else might be too...I did.  I threw my f-ing plan out the f-ing window, and I arrived in class.  Yes, it was at least 45 minutes in at that point, and yes, I had some ground to make up for, but the energy in the room, the energy in my heart, the tightness in my chest immediately changed.  And POOF! There I was.  There I was with all of my knowledge and all of my desire to teach and all of my playfullness now fully (thank god) present.

And after the class was over, feeling mostly redeemed, I thought about how important it is to trust--to trust that we know enough, that we're smart enough and spontaneous enough to think on our feet.  To trust that we have everything we need--so much so that we can really just walk into a room, be there fully, and let what is going to happen unfold.  Without any additional help or worry or gripping from us.

The plan doesn't make me safe, I'm realizing.  The only thing that makes me feel safe is my full and unrestrained participation with myself.

So, Shanti-towners, if I could offer you one piece of advice today it would be:

"Throw your f-ing plan out the f-ing window."


xo
YogaLia

Why Perfection Ain't It...

I have some breaking news, I hope you're all sitting down...

I.  Am NOT.  Perfect.

I just found this out myself pretty recently and believe me, I'm just as shocked as you are.  But get this!!  Not only am I not currently perfect, but I will NEVER be perfect.  (This is the one that really knocked me for a loop...).

But folks, here's what I've been slowly discovering, about this whole "perfection" thing:  If you believe you either a. can achieve perfection, b. are destined to achieve perfection and therefore c. MUST achieve perfection, you will tend to feel...DISAPPOINTED ALL THE TIME.

I was in a class the other day, one of the extra-long "practice" classes, where the teacher practices along with the students and, depending on the teacher, goes yoga pose ca-ra-zay...and in this particular class, with this particular energetic (and lovely) teacher, I was BY FAR the least capable student in the room.  There were, just, oodles of poses I couldn't even attempt, but which everyone else could, and did...and my first response was a feeling of being...affronted.

How DARE they all be able to do these poses I don't know how to do...don't they know who I aaaaaaaam?!  I am one of the lucky few who drives herself to distraction with the deep ceaseless drive for perfection!!  No, better even...I am one of those rarefied ones who knooooows deep in her heart that she is destined for perfection and so deserves any present day misery in service of the larger goal, and how dare you screw that up by proving me to be only (argh!)...oooooordiiiiinaaaaaary!

And I remembered how the last time I took an acting class I had this feeling...this feeling that I was not (god forbid) the BEST in the class and that my imperfection was being displayed for all to see, and how just tormented I was by it.  And I remember that I was cleaning a bathroom one night after class, just scrubbing and ruminating, when this thought occurred to me...

"If I didn't think that I am supposed to always be the very best at everything I do...if I didn't HAVE to be best in class...what would happen?"

And I realized that I would be...well, I would be the actress that I actually AM.  That maybe instead of being ashamed and disappointed that I was not living up to my own expectations of total f-ing perfection, maybe I would actually be able to see IN REALITY what my strengths and weaknesses are.

And if...if I look at those actual strengths and weaknesses and I (horror of horrors) turn out to be just...human.  Just a woman with a career and a family and a...life.  Then what?  Does that mean I don't count?  If I don't turn out to be a world-changing media-shaking titan (which, I have to say, since I'm nearly 30 and have like $2 in the bank, doesn't exactly seem EMINENT)...what, I'm just going to be disappointed my whole life?  Not just disappointed, but robbed of my present day experience because none of it "measures up"?!  Never knowing or being able to feel good about the place I'm currently standing in?

And I went back to that class, determined to be my imperfect self, and things turned around for me.  I became...with myself.  And my work got better.  And the praise I wanted, the feeling of satisfaction I wanted, the feeling that good work was being done...all came, effortlessly.

And I watch myself in yoga classes now, and I watch my students in class with me when I teach, and I see how often (even though it's not supposed to be part of the game) there is this sense of embarrassment when we can't do something...like if only not for that, no one would know we're not perfect.  Or at least WE wouldn't have to be faced with it.  And that's just...missing the bigger picture. 

Because, no matter what it is...how we are as an artist or a partner or a mother or a child, I think it's all just an opportunity for us to experience ourselves and our lives as they actually are and not, as so many of us seem to use them for, one more opportunity to measure ourselves against our own impossible standards.

So, Shanti-towners, go out there and be imperfect!! Let your average flag fly!!  You might just notice yourself breathing a big sigh of relief...

xo
YogaLia

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?