The Creative Act. Step One: Just F-ing Do It.

When I first got back from my honeymoon, I was so overwhelmed with the desire to DO something, that I promptly bought a bed, a desk, two rugs and some curtains and went right to work rearranging our entire apartment.  (It looks good, y'all).  And when I got done with THAT...I had a minor meltdown about my utter lack of additional things to do.  

For about a week I decided I was going to quit everything.  

I was going to quit teaching yoga, quit this blog, quit most of the things I am currently doing, and get myself a nice well-paid job producing movies....  I even went so far as to start sending resumes.  Overly earnest resumes with doubly-overly-earnest cover letters, warning the recipient of said letter not to be swayed by my long and storied past as an actress...that I was done with all of that!  That I had gotten real!  That I had wised up and settled on this very sensible path of climbing the ladder from assistant to studio head. 

Heh heh.

Luckily, following some very wise advice from my very wise husband, I held myself at bay.  I was not going to quit anything, not right away at least...I was just going to wait.  Because maybe the desire and the fear and the anxiety about what I was and was not supposed to be doing with my life, would pass.  Or calm.  Either way, I was not going to quit.  (Yet.)

Had I been 21, instead of 31, I would have--as soon as I'd felt that fiery itch, as soon as I'd gotten even a whiff of the terror that I might be In the Wrong Place...I would have taken a giant hammer to the vase of my life and smashed it.  I would have closed up shop and scrambled my way into some new (and eventually equally fear-provoking) situation.  Thank god for age.  

But, because I didn't do that...because I wasn't going to allow myself to do that, I found myself...well...stuck.  Stuck with the feeling.  Unable to relieve said feeling by just tossing my life up in the air and giving it a good swift shaking.  And so I had to utilize some other skills, ones I didn't even know I had.  The main one being the ability to just keep moving.  I made a promise to myself (after wasting a few days feeling terrible about everything) that I would not waste any days feeling terrible about everything...that I would just continue.  I would continue to teach and continue to write and continue to live my life and I would not, as is my wired way, try to run away or fix or drastically alter...anything.  

And as I began to do that, this crazy thing happened.  I began to realize how much room I actually had in my life.  Without spending so much time examining and reexamining how things are going (All. The Time.) I could actually start to feel the mysterious forward movement of things.  And it felt--spacious.  And full of possibility.  

Maybe some of you don't have this problem, but I am the kind of person who needs to clean the kitchen in my apartment, before I can sit down and do anything.  And I try, almost always unsuccessfully, to apply this same way of working to my entire life.  MEANING, if my proverbial "kitchen" isn't "clean", I don't do anything.  This means, because I'm talking about a mind and heart and thought-kitchen (instead of a physical one), that what I end up spending all my time doing...is constantly cleaning the kitchen.  And always in my head is this imaginary someday, when the kitchen will finally be clean, and then I, finally, will be able to get to work.  

But that someday, never comes.

And so what I discovered, because I made myself leave the f-ing kitchen alone for once...was that, the problem isn't the mess.  The mess is never going to be clean.  The mess, probably, doesn't even exist.  What matters is doing what you want or love or feel compelled to do, in spite of the mess.  What matters is taking action anyhow. 

And I feel this way on a micro level, even about something as small as a yoga class...you know, there's a million reasons in a day, not to make it to class.  Too busy, too tired, too grumpy, wrong timing, wrong teacher, wrong outfit...etc., etc..  But what happens is, if you can just take that FIRST step, if you can just put your yoga pants on and get in the car or get on the train...the rest of it takes care of itself.  The creative act has its own motor.  So, as soon as you start the thing a runnin', it will just take you with it.  And suddenly class is over, you're lying there in savasana, and you did it.  And usually, you're so grateful to yourself for having done it. 

All it takes is the will and the courage, to get your pants on, and get in the car...

Whhoooooooosh! I love you!

Do I need to apologize for being so long in posting?  I don't know!  I'm sorry!

Ugh.

Sometimes I just, you know, run out of things to say.  And I figure it's best to spare you all my rummaging around for a straw to grasp, and just let there be these (sometimes) necessary silences on the ol' blog-a-roonie.

But now I'm back!  I've thought of something to say!  Hooray!

Okay, so, last week, as many of you know, there was a crazy weather event here in Los Angeles...on Wednesday night winds of many many miles per hour (up to 40 knots) hit most of the city.  It was very exciting.  All night long we could hear the wind shrieking outside, plants blowing over, furniture being dragged across the outdoor patio by the skinny fingers of mother nature--it was something else.  My husband barely slept.  I, who can sleep through anything (including once in middle school, feat of all feats, sleeping through an honest-to-goodness fire evacuation during an overnight in the school gym)--even I was a little tossy-and-turny due to the ferociousness of the weather.

Now, if you live in a place like Kansas or...New Orleans...or Texas...please forgive we inhabitants of La-La-Land for freaking the heck out about some blown down trees and broken street-lights.  We know not what we do.

But, it was, you know...a moment.

I remember, not long after I first moved to New York in the early 2000's there was that big Northeast blackout.  I was at the Crunch Gym in Union Square, fake-running on some kind of elliptical, when the whole floor just went quiet, except for the whicka-whicka sound of several people who tried to keep on running on dead machines. (Gotta get that burn!)  I went outside, still sweaty, and everyone on the street was gawking up at all the buildings around them...waiting.  9/11 was still very fresh for a lot of people, so I think there was this communal held-breath while folks tried to figure out exactly how worried they should be.

And it was August.  So it was hot.  Really hot.

I was subletting a little studio apartment in Chelsea, and I had no idea whether there were candles or flashlights or any of that, so made my way back home while it was still light out, and holed up.  Later a good friend stopped by with whiskey and some much-needed conversation.  I was in the midst of being heartbroken over a newly ended relationship, and I was new to the city and I had been feeling just so...alone.  It's the funny thing about New York...there are so many people around, all the time, but somehow, when you're lonely, the presence of all those strangers just makes you feel lonelier.  But, I remember, the morning after the blackout, I walked out my door, and instead of just pouring myself into the sea of nameless pedestrians as per usual...I felt like I was, for the first time, walking into my neighborhood.  The power was still out, the sun was still out, and people were gathered on stoops...and in little clusters outside of still-dark restaurants.  People wanted to talk to each other.  To find out "how was it for you?", "isn't this crazy?", "how long will it last?".

I remember that moment as the turning point.  The turning point of my broken heart mending, and the moment I felt like I had finally arrived in New York, as a resident, and not just a scared interloper.

And although Wednesday's weather-drama wasn't nearly so dramatic...the same feeling was in the air.  People were talking to each other.  People were marveling at trees and towers and checking in with their neighbors..."how was it for you?", "isn't this crazy?", and, if they happened to be one of the unlucky who lost their power..."how long will it last?"

I spent the better part of Thursday, the day after the storm, driving from client to class to class to client, and I marveled, the whole day at the traffic.  It was TERRIBLE, yes, there were dozens of blacked-out street lights, but still...it worked.  People, unaided by men in orange vests, in our individual and usually utterly separate cars...we all started working together.  Even at busy intersections, one in particular in my neighborhood where two giant streets split and merge, making for 10 individual lanes of traffic all trying to go and merge and turn and pass...even at those intersections, where people are normally giant a-holes trying to get their way first...we all turned practically nunnish in our deference.  You go, and then you go, and then I'll go.

And I was so moved by all of it...the way that (oh my god, nerd-out alert)...the way that Mother Nature or the Universe or whatever you want to call it, gifts us with these moments, where the curtains that normally hang down between us and everyone around us...get lifted.  Just for a second.  And we suddenly remember that we are in a community of people.  That we are connected to each other.  And that when shit gets crazy, when roofs are blowing off and trees are falling down...that we're not in it alone.  Now, obviously I've never lost anyone close to me in a disaster...and for those who have, I'm sure it's much more complicated than this.  But I hope that those people also, when the dust has settled, have felt held by their community.  I'm holding you, right now, in my thoughts...if that's any comfort.

It's easy to forget--mainly because our relationships with individual people can get so complicated--but we do, for the most part...we do all care about one another.  Or at least we do, when push comes to shove.   And I think it's worthwhile to remember.  Especially when we're grumbling our way through lines or through traffic or through whatever, that those jerks in the car in front of us, that they're the same jerks who are going to slow down and make sure we're alright if our car goes skidding off the road or if a tree falls on our house.

You get it.

I love you. (And I think you love me too.)  Namaste.

There's a Fireplace in Your Center.

Turkey Day is fast approaching! (Thanks-a-Chickie, as my dad likes to call it.) The time when we gather together with friends and family and try not to let them, and the giant meal, and the nearness of Christmas and New Years and oh my gosh, where has the time gone...drive us all to distraction.

I love the Winter...I love that it gets dark early, that it gets cold (even in LA), and that collectively we just want to snuggle up and spend our days in warm candelit rooms...it's so sweet. But, in addition to the dark-cave-like quality of Winter there is also this...holiday frenticism, that can make a person feel speeded up instead of slowed-ed down.

So, in the face of these cross-winds a blowing (one that is slow and steady and says, hey, just bundle up, drink some tea, fuggid about it, and the other which just kind of whips your hair around in your face), it's more important than ever for us to find the center...and to go there.

The center of what?

Well...in the yoga philosophy, the body is thought of as having these layers, these sheaths, all of which surround a constant center.  Right at the center of the body.  The sheaths are all the stuff that is NOT that center.  The sheaths are the physical body, the energetic body, the mind, the emotions, our wisdom, our bliss--and then, at the center of all of that is...um.  Just, uh.  Total Awesomeness.  What's at the center can be conceptualized in a lot of different ways. The yogis just call it the self, or Atman, but it is sometimes described as light, as pure awareness, as God, as source, as truth--whatever you want to call that big perfect divine A-HA! Which exists at the center of every single one of us.  (I like to call it Total Awesomeness.)  And the practice of yoga, is really just a practice of diving down through all these layers, through all these sheaths, until we can rest in this sweet center, and then try to live from there.  (Try to.)

And I feel like this image, of peeling away the layers, is particularly potent in the Winter.  As if, at the center of our body is where the fireplace is, and when we're stuck out in the cold, way out on the fringes of our experience, our job is just to start opening doors and traveling deeper and deeper in, following the trail of warmth, until finally we get to that fire lit parlor, way down deep inside.

What's so beautiful about this is that, yoga practice or no yoga practice, we can all be scavengers for our bliss.  We can all use our basic powers of deduction, to find the fire that burns at the center.  It goes like this: is this door warm?  No?  Wrong door.  Is this door warm?  Yes?  Open door.  Go deeper in.  Look for the next door.  Rinse and repeat.

That's it...just like a bunch of blind mice, following the scent of burning wood and charcoal, we can find our own way into the center of ourselves and our lives.  Without assistance.  Without books or tapes or teachers...we just have to reach our hands out, and look for the warmth.

So, if you're feeling the chill.  Or if you're feeling shut out...miles from the hot chocolate and s'mores that are waiting for you deep down in the center of your experience, just take your hands out of their mittens, and start feeling for a hot doorknob.  I promise, it's there.

Mouth-Hang-Open-Asana

Break ton Neck from Alex Yde on Vimeo.

Sneak Peek!

I had a super inspiring conversation with yoga goddess Meghan Currie of Vancouver, Canada for the next episode of the Shanti Town Podcast this week...and I can't wait to share it with you!  In the interim, as I get to work editing together our conversation, here's a little Meghan Currie gloriousness to whet your appetite (I hope to have the interview ready to go in the next few days).  Just try not to love her!

Read This Book!

Full disclosure:  I love Suzanne Morrsion.  There is evidence of this here, and here.

So, I was very excited to get her book in the mail (that's right folks, I got a reviewers copy, just like a real writer would!), and also very nervous to get her book in the mail.  Although I knew from being an avid follower of her blog that she was a good writer, there was always the off chance that her book wouldn't be very good.  And then I would have to lie.   Or just pretend that I had never received it.

Luckily, I didn't have to do either of those things.

Yoga Bitch; One Woman's Quest to Conquer Skepticism, Cynicism, and Cigarettes on the Path to Enlightenment, is everything it is cracked up to be.  Following here is the email I sent to Suzanne after finishing said book:

Yeah, um...notice the date stamp on that email?  That's right.  September 16th.  It's November, people.  I am a terrible book reviewer.  But, being of the "it's never too late" mind-set, I now present to you (drumroll, please): My Review of Yoga Bitch!!!

Ahem.

I remember when Suzanne went on her trip to Bali in 2002.  Well, I remember seeing her after she'd gotten back...or at least, I remember hearing from people say that she was IN Bali while she was there.  Suzanne and I went to college together...we were friendly, but not friends, so I have only foggy memories of her departure to Bali.  I didn't even really know what yoga was, when I heard that Suzanne was overseas, training in it.  I did remember being surprised, even with my paltry knowledge of yoga, since nearly all of my memories of Suzanne up to that point involved wine and cigarettes. I remember being impressed.  I remember thinking, well, maybe I've got this girl pegged wrong.

After reading Yoga Bitch I realized that, while Suzanne was clearly 11 million times more in touch with herself than I was during those college years (don't ask)...going to Bali for a yoga teacher training WAS as out of character for her as it seemed.

After 9/11, while preparing to move to New York from Seattle with her then-boyfriend, and sort of freaking out about all of it...Suzanne decided that going to Bali to study yoga with her favorite teacher and some fellow seekers, was just what she needed to infuse her life with some clarity.  Little did she know that she'd be shacked up with a bunch of yogis who thrived on journaling, hero worship and um, pee.  As in...urine.  As in...drinking it.  I can't even...this subject is well covered in the book, and in other reviews of the book, so I'm just going to leave it at that. 

(Would it be terrible to admit that while Suzanne was writing about all the myriad reasons that her fellow yoga-school mates were engaging in pee-drinking, that I thought, well, gee!  If it does all THOSE things....  Argh!  I'm a sheep!)

Anyhow, the book is funny and insightful and moving...it's a "yoga memoir" yes, but really it's a book about a woman who is probably too smart for her own good (hollah!) trying to find her way in the world.  It's about a woman who wishes she didn't need a little spiritual guidance, finding herself in a spot where nothing else will do, but a little spiritual guidance.  

And, it's about a woman who, while engaged in all of the above, has a serious earth-shaking moment of transformation.

This is the thing that I've not seen talked about in a lot of the other reviews of Suzanne's book, and for me it was the most riveting part of the book...I'll try not to spoil anything here, but whilst on her Bali adventure, Suzanne has a...what would you call it?  An awakening.  A real one.  For those of you not versed in yogic lore, there is something called a "Kundalini rising" that can happen to a yoga practitioner.  It is the Grand Prize of yoga.  The mythology goes that there is this coil of Kundalini energy that sits at the base of the spine, lying dormant, just waiting to be roused so that it can shoot up the spine and, well, make you enlightened.  That's right, dormant enlightenment.  And Ms. Morrison (lucky duck)...woke up her Kundalini.  Accidentally.  It's an amazing story, made even more amazing by the hilarious pot-shots she takes at herself while recollecting her time walking around Bali, acting like a saint.  

Yoga Bitch is a memoir, it's a love-story, and it's an incredibly insightful look at what it means to start down a spiritual path, even when you are the last person in the world who would ever use a phrase like, "spiritual path".  Suzanne is an incredibly gifted writer with a lot of wit and a lot of heart, who is able to delve into deep emotional depths, without ever being ooey or gooey.  In a nutshell, go get this book.  It's awesome.

Go to Suzanne's website for links to the myriad places to buy Yoga Bitch.  Or just go to your local Barnes and Noble and look in the "new non-fiction" section.  Last time I was there it was on the table right between Malcolm Gladwell and Kendra Wilkinson.  

Raaaaaaaawwwwrrr! Or; Dressing Up On the Inside

First, some business...the podcast is not over, folks!  I know it's been awhile, and for a moment there I thought it might have breathed it's last, but no!  I'm doing some revamping, I'm setting up some interviews, so look out for Episode 6 in the next week or so!  And, on that note...if there's someone out there you'd like me to interview...a yoga teacher, a yoga enthusiast, or just someone doing amazing work in the mind/body world...let me know!

Alright, so, yesterday was Halloween.  I know it was Halloween, because there was a woman in a skin-tight full-body leopard-print cat-suit in my local coffee shop at 7:45 in the morning.  There were also many fat adorable babies dressed as bugs and fruits and dragons being carted around by their proud mommas all day long.  This is the best part of Halloween...the fat dressed-up babies.

I have never been a dresser-upper.  I get sort of weird and shy and embarrassed when I have to put on a costume and I'm not in a play.  In college it was fun...but in college halloween (for the women, at least) is just an opportunity to look as sexy as possible.

Anyhow...I thought about leopard-print cat-suit woman a lot yesterday.

I thought about how often in yoga, or meditation, or art-making or whatever...the goal, stated or otherwise, is to remove costumes...to remove masks...to reveal.  Which is worthwhile, no question.  But can feel, sometimes, very heavy.  Very serious.  What is sometimes forgotten, is that there is a more aspirational way to approach a practice.  A way which involves trying on a version of ourselves that is not quite a reality yet.  A way which allows us to zip ourselves into our favorite cat-suit for a day, and see how it feels.

And what's interesting is that this spiritual "dressing up" can feel just as weird and awkward and potentially-embarrassing as getting your morning coffee in full Halloween garb.  I mean, once I got over feeling a little giggly about the cat-suit woman, my next thought was, "my god...she's brave."  I can barely leave the house in short-shorts without feeling a little flush-faced.  I can't imagine what kind of heavy sedation I would have to be under in order to wear a skin-tight body-suit out of doors!  And why is that?  Why is it so thrilling/scary to dress up?

I think, it's because people are going to look at you.  People are going to look at you, and they're going to know something about you.  You are going to be revealed.  You are going to be bright.  You are going to be taking up space in the world.

It's an old trope, I know...we're not actually afraid of the darkness, we're afraid of our own light, blah blah blah.  But, you've met those people, haven't you? The ones who are really standing in their full glory?  Who aren't apologizing for their existence?  Who are unabashedly reaching for what they want?  Those people are big.  They're bright.  They may as well be wearing a leopard-print cat-suit. (If we're talking about Beyonce, then it's possible that she IS wearing a cat-suit).

"Realized" people take up space.  And people are going to look at them.  And some people are going to look at them and think, oh my god, awesome cat-suit!  And some people are going to look at them and think, oh my god, you look ridiculous! And that is the risk we take when we're revealed.

And maybe it's just me, but I think that can be pretty f-ing scary.

So, if you didn't get a chance to put on a Halloween costume this year, maybe think about dressing up today.  No one has to know.  It doesn't even have to fit you exactly...you don't have to have the perfect thighs you've been waiting for in order to slip into that leopard.   Just, for one day, step into the fantasy of yourself.  Yourself as dynamic, yourself as bright and alive and unafraid.  And if someone giggles at you while you're ordering your coffee...just remember that they wish they could be as brave as you are.