Grounding Through the Sits Bones
Takes One to Know One - 31 Jan 2012, 10:33 pm
Last week I had a new student in class. She slipped in the back while I was still taking roll and I didn't notice her until we were about to begin, so I didn't get to do my usual spiel about how the class works, modifications, etc. So, as I do with all unfamiliar bodies, I kept a close eye on her to make sure my instructions made sense and she wasn't over-doing anything. It quickly became clear that she was doing just fine--more than just fine--and I had nothing to worry about.
Although, as I hope is the case with many of you, then my worries really began (Tell me I'm not the only one who falls prey to self-doubt in the face of stern, accomplished yoga). "Am I boring her? Is this too basic? Am I talking too much?" And then it dawned on me--she is probably a teacher.
And sure enough, after class, we had a lovely chat. She'd just moved to the area and had Iyengar teaching experience and found the class very familiar. Whew. She was delightful and warm and very yoga-teacherish.
Except, how did I sense that? A couple of other times I've come across people who turn out to be teachers, but I sort of already knew that. How Come? Do we give off a scent only discernible to other teachers? A glow? A secret handshake (well, I hope not, cuz I missed than in the training)? Is it something familiar in the demeanor? Or maybe in the practice--a carefulness or thoroughness in the execution of asana that suggests the prompts are being spoken in the head?
Is it the same with other disciplines? Do teacher just know other teachers? Why? I'm curious if anyone else has had this happen and why they think it does.
Is this what it feels like to be a Mason?
Although, as I hope is the case with many of you, then my worries really began (Tell me I'm not the only one who falls prey to self-doubt in the face of stern, accomplished yoga). "Am I boring her? Is this too basic? Am I talking too much?" And then it dawned on me--she is probably a teacher.
And sure enough, after class, we had a lovely chat. She'd just moved to the area and had Iyengar teaching experience and found the class very familiar. Whew. She was delightful and warm and very yoga-teacherish.Except, how did I sense that? A couple of other times I've come across people who turn out to be teachers, but I sort of already knew that. How Come? Do we give off a scent only discernible to other teachers? A glow? A secret handshake (well, I hope not, cuz I missed than in the training)? Is it something familiar in the demeanor? Or maybe in the practice--a carefulness or thoroughness in the execution of asana that suggests the prompts are being spoken in the head?
Is it the same with other disciplines? Do teacher just know other teachers? Why? I'm curious if anyone else has had this happen and why they think it does.
Is this what it feels like to be a Mason?
Eyes Wide Shut - 23 Jan 2012, 5:20 pm
We did ardha chandrasana last week. Against the wall. Most of my students are older and the strength and balance needed to hold the pose in the center of the room take it off the menu for them. It’s such a great pose, that’s it’s a shame to eliminate it, so we do it against the wall and it becomes a release pose. Really, it does, you should try it.Against the wall, it’s all the extension and expansion of Hand-to-Big-Toe--a lengthening, a stretch, a core/thigh engagement with a comforting presence at the back, except in Half-Moon you have a bit more of a gravity challenge, but not too much. Once every one gets past the “tipping-over” fear, it’s really quite nice.
People closed their eyes.
I love to close my eyes during a pose. To remove one more distraction and turn the focus inward. You have to really know where you stand when you close your eyes, because you lose all visual information that might assist balance. You have to depend on your sense of touch, maybe hearing, but sight is gone and the brain has to focus on the limited input to keep you in the pose. So you focus on the limited input and, as a result, your sense of the pose sharpens and you really feel it. And it starts to make more sense because you perceive the arrangement of your limbs from the inside, instead of just seeing what it looks like.
(Technically this is proprioception--a really interesting neural phenomenon in which the brain uses muscle and inner ear/balance information to determine the body’s position in space rather than sight--why you know your back arm is at shoulder height in Warrior II, without looking at it)
Emotionally, it feels like flying. As you remove one sense, the others intensify to fill the void...without the visual you float, without falling (once you get used to it). Anyway, I highly recommend it for Mountain, Tree, Headstand, Down Dog, Triangle. You need to feel safe and supported, confident in your skill, but the rewards are lovely.
“See” you at the wall...
Apples and Oranges - 10 Jan 2012, 3:43 pm
One of the things you learn right away in a class on experimental design, is not too include too many variables. If you want to test the effects of a certain treatment, better to test on organisms as similar as possible so you can be sure you’re measuring the effects of your treatment, rather than something else.
Apple trees may respond differently than orange trees to a certain fertilizer, because they are reacting to soil conditions, temperature, and insects as well as the fertilizer. Maybe one tree just grows more slowly than the other. So, when you want to discuss how much the trees are affected by fertilizer application, you also have to acknowledge all these other differences. Your experiment doesn’t tell you much, except that apple trees are different than oranges trees and we already knew that...didn’t we? Best to pick one type of tree in the same field with similar light and water and soil conditions and then look at fertilizer effects (and it could be compost, so don’t worry about this being an inorganic example).
Judging by revelations of the last week, including Yoga Dawg’s link of “average” yoga teachers’ salaries (and the vastly superior correction), and It’s All Yoga Baby’s discussions (here, and here) of the NYT article about yoga injuries (apparently, hour-long inversions are bad for your neck!), the notion of difference and variability is often forgotten when the topic is yoga. I’m not sure you can average anything or use blanket statements for yoga, but that doesn’t seem to stop the critics.
Skeletons are hooked up differently, joints have different amounts of mobility, digestive systems process fats differently, teachers have different hourly schedules, Iyengar is different that Bikram. Surprise! If you want to measure anything, discuss anything for comparison, how about controlling for a few of those variables, so your conclusion actually has meaning.
Of course if you do yoga consciously and participate in the yoga community, you know most of this stuff is pretty silly anyway. Generalizations make better press, and clarifying details make headlines and search terms so complicated and boring. It wouldn’t be half as compelling to discuss how a well-trained, carefully-taught class can be so beneficial (or not, studies seem to show that you have to believe yoga will help you, for it to actually help you). Or to show a break-down of teacher salaries based on region, or place of employment, or class size. Can’t sell as much advertisement.
So that’s my take. Yeah, people sometimes get hurt doing yoga. Sometimes they don’t. What’s really interesting is why...and if you’re comparing apples and oranges your answer is going to be a lot broader and have a lot less meaning than a look at what’s going on between those two Pink Ladies. Narrow the focus, people!
Apple trees may respond differently than orange trees to a certain fertilizer, because they are reacting to soil conditions, temperature, and insects as well as the fertilizer. Maybe one tree just grows more slowly than the other. So, when you want to discuss how much the trees are affected by fertilizer application, you also have to acknowledge all these other differences. Your experiment doesn’t tell you much, except that apple trees are different than oranges trees and we already knew that...didn’t we? Best to pick one type of tree in the same field with similar light and water and soil conditions and then look at fertilizer effects (and it could be compost, so don’t worry about this being an inorganic example).
Judging by revelations of the last week, including Yoga Dawg’s link of “average” yoga teachers’ salaries (and the vastly superior correction), and It’s All Yoga Baby’s discussions (here, and here) of the NYT article about yoga injuries (apparently, hour-long inversions are bad for your neck!), the notion of difference and variability is often forgotten when the topic is yoga. I’m not sure you can average anything or use blanket statements for yoga, but that doesn’t seem to stop the critics.
Skeletons are hooked up differently, joints have different amounts of mobility, digestive systems process fats differently, teachers have different hourly schedules, Iyengar is different that Bikram. Surprise! If you want to measure anything, discuss anything for comparison, how about controlling for a few of those variables, so your conclusion actually has meaning.
Of course if you do yoga consciously and participate in the yoga community, you know most of this stuff is pretty silly anyway. Generalizations make better press, and clarifying details make headlines and search terms so complicated and boring. It wouldn’t be half as compelling to discuss how a well-trained, carefully-taught class can be so beneficial (or not, studies seem to show that you have to believe yoga will help you, for it to actually help you). Or to show a break-down of teacher salaries based on region, or place of employment, or class size. Can’t sell as much advertisement.
So that’s my take. Yeah, people sometimes get hurt doing yoga. Sometimes they don’t. What’s really interesting is why...and if you’re comparing apples and oranges your answer is going to be a lot broader and have a lot less meaning than a look at what’s going on between those two Pink Ladies. Narrow the focus, people!
Honoring the Sleeve-Passions - 2 Jan 2012, 1:06 pm
I once went to a talk by members of the Pan-Asian Repertory Theatre. One of the actresses was recounting her career path from med school to the stage, noting her parents’ disappointment and eventual acceptance of her choices. “I think you know what you really want to be when you grow up, when you are a little kid. At that time in your life, you wear your passions on your sleeve,” she said.
I thought that was a brilliant observation, and I often consider it when making my next move. And my moves have been sort of disparate, but they still follow a me-specific logic that, I hope, stays true to those sleeve-passions: journalism, art history, costume design, yoga, more journalism, and, now, biology (in preparation for some sort of teaching/writing).
My mom gave me a priceless gift for Christmas. It is a neatly-compiled volume of much of the materials of my young writing life, all self-illustrated, self-published, and--as I’m about to relate--self-distributed. About 1974-78 is represented and all in print from, as this was about two decades before the Internet was introduced. Three decades before GTTSB went online.
The starring entry from among the Mothers’ Day cards, Narnia-esque stories, and haiku collections is Brenda’s Bugle, a two-page, monthly newsletter I typed and sent out to various friends and relatives from 1977-78. The articles range from interviews with my family, crafts fairs at my elementary school, book reviews, to ice cream drink recipes, comics (many lifted straight out of “Wee Pals” and “Archie”), and an obituary for my sister’s gerbil. I even invited this sister to contribute towards the end of BB’s run...I think because I was running out of ideas to fill the last page.
Of course, the content is hilarious (R.I.P. Sausage, the gerbil), but what kills me is the writer’s voice of the ten-year-old me. I don’t really sound all that different in tone and I’m really curious what I was modelling myself after:
I thought that was a brilliant observation, and I often consider it when making my next move. And my moves have been sort of disparate, but they still follow a me-specific logic that, I hope, stays true to those sleeve-passions: journalism, art history, costume design, yoga, more journalism, and, now, biology (in preparation for some sort of teaching/writing).
My mom gave me a priceless gift for Christmas. It is a neatly-compiled volume of much of the materials of my young writing life, all self-illustrated, self-published, and--as I’m about to relate--self-distributed. About 1974-78 is represented and all in print from, as this was about two decades before the Internet was introduced. Three decades before GTTSB went online.
The starring entry from among the Mothers’ Day cards, Narnia-esque stories, and haiku collections is Brenda’s Bugle, a two-page, monthly newsletter I typed and sent out to various friends and relatives from 1977-78. The articles range from interviews with my family, crafts fairs at my elementary school, book reviews, to ice cream drink recipes, comics (many lifted straight out of “Wee Pals” and “Archie”), and an obituary for my sister’s gerbil. I even invited this sister to contribute towards the end of BB’s run...I think because I was running out of ideas to fill the last page.
Of course, the content is hilarious (R.I.P. Sausage, the gerbil), but what kills me is the writer’s voice of the ten-year-old me. I don’t really sound all that different in tone and I’m really curious what I was modelling myself after:
Brenda’s Bugle Vol. 2, No. 5 (March, 1978)
Ah, ink (and White-Out)-stained wretch that I was...yet I hear some of the quality of GTTSB’s conversational tone in these early entries.
Reading these back issues of BB inspired a resolution to return to the blog and do some none-academic writing this semester. It’s hard to find the time for anything, but I’ve missed the exercise of working a thought out in print...and, of course, the exchange. The chance to interact with readers and other writers was tamped down this fall and I’ve missed it (even the editor of BB had a survey every once and awhile...my paternal grandfather “loved” the articles, but felt the puzzles were “not for me”; my great aunt “read it from start to finish--enjoying everything in it”).
Maybe this week of reflection and looking forward is a good time to revisit “sleeve-passions.” Was the young you onto something that the current you has forgotten or ignored? Or maybe the young you was the inspiration for your present endeavors? Either way, it makes a good story and I’d love to hear it...
Reading these back issues of BB inspired a resolution to return to the blog and do some none-academic writing this semester. It’s hard to find the time for anything, but I’ve missed the exercise of working a thought out in print...and, of course, the exchange. The chance to interact with readers and other writers was tamped down this fall and I’ve missed it (even the editor of BB had a survey every once and awhile...my paternal grandfather “loved” the articles, but felt the puzzles were “not for me”; my great aunt “read it from start to finish--enjoying everything in it”).
Maybe this week of reflection and looking forward is a good time to revisit “sleeve-passions.” Was the young you onto something that the current you has forgotten or ignored? Or maybe the young you was the inspiration for your present endeavors? Either way, it makes a good story and I’d love to hear it...
Brenda’s Bugle Vol. 2, No. 7 (May, 1978)
More things yoga ruined... - 16 Sep 2011, 3:17 pm
It was fun to think about things that yoga ruined. You all came up with a good list and now, with some continued thought, I've come up with some more...
Long To-Do Lists I've tried to get all digital with my lists but, instead, I still keep a piece of paper with tasks organized by due date and a little square drawn by each, so I can cross it off when I finish. Instant gratification when that X marks a chore. And, it helps me clear my mind so a lot of random obligations aren't tumbling around getting in the way of Cell Biology (yes, the fall semester has started with its demanding science classes hogging up all the room in my brain).
However, it has come to my attention that making a daily list that is achievable is a far preferable action to just listinglistinglisting everything. I don't need any additional help to feel overwhelmed, so the list stays short. A wise friend (and mother of three) said, "What needs to get done will get done." Why deny the lovely sense of accomplishment that comes from a completed list?
Rage Now, I'll admit, sometimes its fun to get mad and make up clever arguments or insults in defense of whatever you're mad about. I suspect it burns more calories than feeling good about finishing your to-do list, but that burn comes at a price. Sleeplessness, distraction, tension, gritted teeth (and the attendant dental bill). Please. Surely there is a better use of time than getting all lathered up about fictional match-ups?
I think it's why I tend to avoid the Yoga Wars these days; how can you argue with some one about their beliefs (and that's fundamentally what all that is about--what everyone believes their yoga to be)? There's no mind-changing when it come to faith, at least not from an external force, and it usually degenerates into name-calling.
There's a place for anger if it leads to constructive action but, again, it's not the act of anger itself that is useful. Feeling superior gets you nothing. I'm trying to take the deep breath, put the lady down, and let some one else do the fulminating. I need my shut eye.
Wasted Energy In parenthood, endurance sports, daily life, there's no place for wasting energy. Some things are compelling to engage in--like over-swinging your arms when you run or trying to predict the future--but do they actually contribute? Does the excess worry, annoyance, confrontation, or drawn attention actually help, or is it just a distraction from the really important stuff--a good meal, an interesting conversation, playing soccer with a kid. 8 hours of sleep (probably, biologically, the most important of all). Sort of like balancing chemistry equations (Monday's quiz), you want the two sides of the reaction to be even; don't load the one side up with molecules of rage if you're not getting a useful solution on the other side.
(Okay, the last metaphor was a bit of a stretch. But you get my drift.)
I still engage in mental sparring and get agitated when it seems like there's too much to do. But I'm trying to get better about pulling back and looking at the big picture. Or not looking at the picture at all. Maybe it's age, but I feel like I'm starting to get it...the "life is too short" kind of thing. Unfortunately, yoga hasn't completely ruined these things for me, but it certainly has made them less appealing...
Long To-Do Lists I've tried to get all digital with my lists but, instead, I still keep a piece of paper with tasks organized by due date and a little square drawn by each, so I can cross it off when I finish. Instant gratification when that X marks a chore. And, it helps me clear my mind so a lot of random obligations aren't tumbling around getting in the way of Cell Biology (yes, the fall semester has started with its demanding science classes hogging up all the room in my brain).
However, it has come to my attention that making a daily list that is achievable is a far preferable action to just listinglistinglisting everything. I don't need any additional help to feel overwhelmed, so the list stays short. A wise friend (and mother of three) said, "What needs to get done will get done." Why deny the lovely sense of accomplishment that comes from a completed list?
Rage Now, I'll admit, sometimes its fun to get mad and make up clever arguments or insults in defense of whatever you're mad about. I suspect it burns more calories than feeling good about finishing your to-do list, but that burn comes at a price. Sleeplessness, distraction, tension, gritted teeth (and the attendant dental bill). Please. Surely there is a better use of time than getting all lathered up about fictional match-ups?
I think it's why I tend to avoid the Yoga Wars these days; how can you argue with some one about their beliefs (and that's fundamentally what all that is about--what everyone believes their yoga to be)? There's no mind-changing when it come to faith, at least not from an external force, and it usually degenerates into name-calling.
There's a place for anger if it leads to constructive action but, again, it's not the act of anger itself that is useful. Feeling superior gets you nothing. I'm trying to take the deep breath, put the lady down, and let some one else do the fulminating. I need my shut eye.
Wasted Energy In parenthood, endurance sports, daily life, there's no place for wasting energy. Some things are compelling to engage in--like over-swinging your arms when you run or trying to predict the future--but do they actually contribute? Does the excess worry, annoyance, confrontation, or drawn attention actually help, or is it just a distraction from the really important stuff--a good meal, an interesting conversation, playing soccer with a kid. 8 hours of sleep (probably, biologically, the most important of all). Sort of like balancing chemistry equations (Monday's quiz), you want the two sides of the reaction to be even; don't load the one side up with molecules of rage if you're not getting a useful solution on the other side.
(Okay, the last metaphor was a bit of a stretch. But you get my drift.)
I still engage in mental sparring and get agitated when it seems like there's too much to do. But I'm trying to get better about pulling back and looking at the big picture. Or not looking at the picture at all. Maybe it's age, but I feel like I'm starting to get it...the "life is too short" kind of thing. Unfortunately, yoga hasn't completely ruined these things for me, but it certainly has made them less appealing...
A Not Un-familiar Metaphor - 9 Aug 2011, 10:28 am
I've been Xtreme gardening lately. After about three years of benign neglect (courtesy of little boys who need close supervision outside), I've been able to turn my attention back to massive prairie weeds and runaway ferns. Cathartic, if exhausting.
The neglect was not completely without engagement. I've been watching--sun patterns, aggressiveness of certain perennials, wet and dry spots. So even though my garden is a bit scraggly, I feel pretty aware of what's going on--what and what not to introduce. Some of this knowledge just comes from waiting and observation, some from internet research, some from talking to other gardeners. I'm not a Master by any means, but I know what I know.
I am struck by the similarity of gardening to teaching. No, I'm not going to draw a parallel between nurturing and mentoring or guiding immature seedlings or creating something beautiful from dirt. I've been teaching about as long as I've been seriously gardening (that'd be seven years) and, though I still feel pretty immature myself, I'm starting to get a sense of what makes me better at each discipline.
That would be experience. Not more trainings, more classes, more workshops, or more instruction. Sure, all that helps and gives you more information to work with (see the discussion at Linda S's house). But what I think I really pushes a teacher/gardener to the next level is actually doing the work itself. Having to be there in the moment and make choices on the fly, instead of endlessly discussing the options.
And then there's the peripheral knowledge that just comes with life experience--things picked up along the way that are relevant eventually. In fact, that's what I love about using the blog to figure out my yoga; often these connections don't become obvious until I'm thinking about them while writing. Which eventually leads back to the classroom. Or the dirt (so that's why you prune lilacs early).
Of course, useful life experience is impossible to quantify. How do you make an exit test? What does it certify? You certainly can't design a new revenue stream around it. But I guess, to me, it is the most useful instruction of all. It's why I prefer older teachers, especially in yoga (prejudiced, I know, but that's what works for me). Experience gives you a framework to understand all the subsequent training and makes all the information that much more relevant.
Get out. Dig in. Feet first. Just Do. Then you can step back and think, but first, Get Dirty.
Thunderstorms and Leeches - 29 Jul 2011, 10:46 am
There's nothing like a week in the North Woods (Boundary Waters in Minnesota, to be exact) to give one a nice sense of perspective. A sense of the Sublime, to get all art historical about it--meaning that witnessing the majesty of nature (or a worthy reproduction) can give one a sense of awe or a sort of pleasurable terror at the beauty and power of it all.
In other words, sitting through a nighttime thunderstorm in a tent. It didn't help that the island across from ours had been burnt to a cinder from a lightening strike in the spring. There I lay, listening to the thunder roll and echo across the neighboring lakes like flopping sheets of metal while the tent lit up with green-white flashes, wondering where you go if a forest fire starts around you--into the lake? into a canoe on the lake? how much time do you have, anyway?
And at the same time these survivalist thoughts rattled around, I sort of enjoyed the immensity of the sound. Unmuffled and continuous. It was a feeling of awe or pleasurable terror, if you will.
In the morning, with the sun glistening on everything, I marveled at the loveliness. None of it had anything to do with me and was not arranged for my enjoyment, but it gave me a nice feeling of connectedness. Just another little mammal who made it through the storm. Later that day I had to pluck a leech off the toe of another little mammal--Son #2--an activity that also required a bit of detachment so as not to have an unseemly gross-out, or take the blood-sucking personally.
Yoga in the forest, right? This is why I like camping and geology and astronomy--because it reminds that me most stuff is pretty fleeting and not all that important. That I'm at the mercy of forces far bigger and more powerful than I (...realizing that, in this case, I am very lucky that I can marvel at these wonders, rather that suffer their results).
Terrible and Sublime. Beauty and Awe. Namaste and, well, Namaste.
In other words, sitting through a nighttime thunderstorm in a tent. It didn't help that the island across from ours had been burnt to a cinder from a lightening strike in the spring. There I lay, listening to the thunder roll and echo across the neighboring lakes like flopping sheets of metal while the tent lit up with green-white flashes, wondering where you go if a forest fire starts around you--into the lake? into a canoe on the lake? how much time do you have, anyway?
And at the same time these survivalist thoughts rattled around, I sort of enjoyed the immensity of the sound. Unmuffled and continuous. It was a feeling of awe or pleasurable terror, if you will.
In the morning, with the sun glistening on everything, I marveled at the loveliness. None of it had anything to do with me and was not arranged for my enjoyment, but it gave me a nice feeling of connectedness. Just another little mammal who made it through the storm. Later that day I had to pluck a leech off the toe of another little mammal--Son #2--an activity that also required a bit of detachment so as not to have an unseemly gross-out, or take the blood-sucking personally.
Yoga in the forest, right? This is why I like camping and geology and astronomy--because it reminds that me most stuff is pretty fleeting and not all that important. That I'm at the mercy of forces far bigger and more powerful than I (...realizing that, in this case, I am very lucky that I can marvel at these wonders, rather that suffer their results).
Terrible and Sublime. Beauty and Awe. Namaste and, well, Namaste.
Things that Yoga has Ruined... - 13 Jul 2011, 9:30 pm
Let me start by saying there are a lot of things that yoga has NOT ruined: yoga has not ruined my ability to focus and calm myself down; it has not ruined my sense of well-being or self-esteem (can't say that about yoga advertising, but never mind); it has not ruined my flexibility or strength; it has not ruined my sense of humor or love of irony. But there are several things that it has completely fouled up:
1. My need to keep the feet covered. Get 'em out of the shoes, get 'em out of the shoes! I realized this during class last month, when I had a new student with flat feet who wanted to keep her sneakers on because bare footed was painful with her fallen arches. I was so distracted by her shoes (not aesthetically), because I couldn't conceive of a well-balanced Trikonasana in shoes. She was fine--and has continued coming to class--but it made me feel so unsteady that I realized that I'm undone by the idea of something coming between my foot and the mat. (Take that toesox)
2. My interest in racquet sports. A few years ago I spent a month or two meeting a friend for introductory racquetball. It was fun, but I soon realized how frustrating it was to only be working one arm. One shoulder was warm and glowing, but the other seemed limp and useless. Same thing after soccer or catch with son #1. One leg/arm felt strong and flush, the other--underutilized. I'm so used to doing everything on both sides, that activities giving one limb preference over the other seem cock-eyed. (Not that I'm going to stop backyard sports, but I'm working on my left-hand throw which, surprisingly, is much better when playing football).
3. Heels. Yes, they're sexy and very appropriate with some outfits, but when I try on a pair of high heels and go tottering down the hall I feel like a 13-yr-old getting ready for her first dance. I can't handle all that weight on the balls of my feet and the tightness in my calves. My toes resent getting squished and my knees knock. A mess, to be sure. So I've adopted the kitten heel, which is an attractive silhouette and doesn't throw my alignment off. (When I actually get dressed up, which is probably two times a month, max)
4. Slouching. It's not that I had such rotten posture before yoga, but it ruined draping myself across my favorite chair and watching a movie. I'm super-aware of unsupported parts of the body (lower back, knees) and now have a whole routine with pillows and rolled blankets to support the drape. Very conscious of shoulders when knitting in front of the boob tube--which is probably a good thing, but makes that activity something of a production. Plus, it annoys cats who are trying to snooze on the aforementioned blankets. Popcorn is often spilled. Spouse is crowded.
5. Ignoring discomfort. Sometimes it's easier to pretend you don't notice something that's bugging you, but I can't do that anymore. Why does that shoulder hurt? Where exactly is the pinch? How does that relate to arm position/posture/angle of head/etc? Do I need to do homework in a different chair (see #4)? Can I take an Advil, or is that just delaying the inevitable? What pose helps? Heat or ice? I've never done well with discomfort and now it becomes the source of a great investigation--discoveries filed away for later pedagogical use. It would save time to just grit my teeth and bear it.
And so on. I try to keep my fussing to myself and not force these issues on others (altho it takes great restraint to walk past poorly-executed stretches at the Y or ignore ill-fitting sandals). Some folks just haven't had the pleasure of being ruined by Yoga...
Has it messed you up?
1. My need to keep the feet covered. Get 'em out of the shoes, get 'em out of the shoes! I realized this during class last month, when I had a new student with flat feet who wanted to keep her sneakers on because bare footed was painful with her fallen arches. I was so distracted by her shoes (not aesthetically), because I couldn't conceive of a well-balanced Trikonasana in shoes. She was fine--and has continued coming to class--but it made me feel so unsteady that I realized that I'm undone by the idea of something coming between my foot and the mat. (Take that toesox)
2. My interest in racquet sports. A few years ago I spent a month or two meeting a friend for introductory racquetball. It was fun, but I soon realized how frustrating it was to only be working one arm. One shoulder was warm and glowing, but the other seemed limp and useless. Same thing after soccer or catch with son #1. One leg/arm felt strong and flush, the other--underutilized. I'm so used to doing everything on both sides, that activities giving one limb preference over the other seem cock-eyed. (Not that I'm going to stop backyard sports, but I'm working on my left-hand throw which, surprisingly, is much better when playing football).
3. Heels. Yes, they're sexy and very appropriate with some outfits, but when I try on a pair of high heels and go tottering down the hall I feel like a 13-yr-old getting ready for her first dance. I can't handle all that weight on the balls of my feet and the tightness in my calves. My toes resent getting squished and my knees knock. A mess, to be sure. So I've adopted the kitten heel, which is an attractive silhouette and doesn't throw my alignment off. (When I actually get dressed up, which is probably two times a month, max)
4. Slouching. It's not that I had such rotten posture before yoga, but it ruined draping myself across my favorite chair and watching a movie. I'm super-aware of unsupported parts of the body (lower back, knees) and now have a whole routine with pillows and rolled blankets to support the drape. Very conscious of shoulders when knitting in front of the boob tube--which is probably a good thing, but makes that activity something of a production. Plus, it annoys cats who are trying to snooze on the aforementioned blankets. Popcorn is often spilled. Spouse is crowded.
5. Ignoring discomfort. Sometimes it's easier to pretend you don't notice something that's bugging you, but I can't do that anymore. Why does that shoulder hurt? Where exactly is the pinch? How does that relate to arm position/posture/angle of head/etc? Do I need to do homework in a different chair (see #4)? Can I take an Advil, or is that just delaying the inevitable? What pose helps? Heat or ice? I've never done well with discomfort and now it becomes the source of a great investigation--discoveries filed away for later pedagogical use. It would save time to just grit my teeth and bear it.
And so on. I try to keep my fussing to myself and not force these issues on others (altho it takes great restraint to walk past poorly-executed stretches at the Y or ignore ill-fitting sandals). Some folks just haven't had the pleasure of being ruined by Yoga...
Has it messed you up?
Reflections from an Old-Timer - 6 Jul 2011, 10:12 pm
A. Durer, St. Jerome in his Study, 1514
...well, not that old. But the combo of Carole's question last week about long-time blogging, coupled with my 44th birthday on the 3rd (officially in my mid-forties, whatever that means), I've been thinking about what I've learned over the last five years of GTTSB.
It seems there are two levels of change: macro and micro. Macro is the level of sophistication in the process-both in the software and the bloggers themselves. Vlogs, audio, video, beautiful graphics, bold templates; everything looks and runs so professionally (remember how long it use to take to just get one dinky photo uploaded?). And the authors: marketing savvy, cross-platforming, multiple technologies. Tweet, tweet. People are much more skilled at drawing attention to their work and themselves (for good and bad). Reading blogs is much more of an event, and I like all the interaction across these platforms and the humor and wit that bubbles up to the surface. Writing them seems to be a lot more work, tho, to stay abreast of all the technology.
The micro is how I've changed. It's funny to look back at the oldest posts--so earnest and helpful. More didactic than personal. I thought this would be more of an infomation clearinghouse: sequences, explanations of poses, lists of resources...a place to refer students who were asking for suggestions. I got a chuckle out of a post from November '06, when I speculated about the possibility of yogis all over the world communicating on the internet. Who knew?
The first few months I pined away for comments from non-relatives (altho I was very grateful for relatives who were actually reading), and finally figured out how to hook up with statcounter to measure hits and see where people were coming from. I began writing for Yoga Journal.com (Thank, Erica!), which was a wonderful opportunity to take a closer look at some topics I'd written about and also interview various notables about said topics. This also increased readership and invited more commenting.
In March of '07, I started to include more links on the page (good ole' Yoga Dawg gets a mention), which encouraged me to interact more with other bloggers. Son #2 was born in August of '07, and this seems to have given me a more personal focus. Maybe I was tired of "teacher voice" and wanted to start using my own "writer voice."
By '08 the topics sound more like what we're all used to: teacher training, hot bods vs blissed-out bods, what's authentic, etc etc. I can't go back to my "old" blog rolls, but it would be interesting to see who was on the scene at that point and how that affected the conversation (Y. Dawg, Nadine Falwell and Linda S. all commented, so that crowd is very familiar). In February of '09, I joined facebook...it seems wild that social networking wasn't really on the scene until three years after I started. I project all the back and forth onto earlier memories.
By the middle of '09 the conversations were just that--chatty, sharing experiences and ideas (I cracked up re-reading a discussion of some one's "problem student" who always ended up with an erection during savasana. Gracious!) By October of '09, we were venturing into more controversial territory and many of the same conundrums (conundra?) that face us today; more people were responding on their own blogs and it was nice to read carefully thought-out arguments. By 2010, it was all-out, perhaps culminating in l'affaire toesox.
So I like this new vein that we seem to be in--the evolution of yoga and how it serves us on an individual basis. Maybe we can finally put the "maybe you just need to do more yoga" suggestion for those who question hierarchies and tradition out to pasture. Waaay out. Do away with angry, ungrammatical commenting. We are thinkers who write (obviously) so of course we want to explore these ideals out loud. I'm all for it. Svadhyaya is its own niyama, after all, and even the ancients encouraged some self-reflection.
That's what I see from my perch of a half decade. But enough about me...what do the rest of you oldies have to say? What do you think is the biggest difference? The best improvement? Worst development? What's next? What have you learned during your tenure on the blog rolls?
Yogito Ergo Sum... - 1 Jul 2011, 1:17 pm
I like this. I like this very much.
As I emerge from my post-semester malaise (after a false start in May), having lost all my mo to math and science classes, I would like to give a giant shout out to my ever thinking, ever provocative Yogging (new moniker?) Catalysts: Carole, Roseanne, and Bob W. Carole, of course, laid it out here and Roseanne blew back into the blogosphere here, and this all made me feel like I ought to step up and get back on the feed. It seems like a new energy is building and I'm really looking forward to their panel on yoga blogging in August at the Yoga Festival Toronto (transcripts? video feed? a crumb for your fans?).
During my state of blog-ennui, I missed the five-year anniversary of GTTSB. Dang, half a decade of this. And, truly, I can't imagine where my practice or teaching would be without it. My writing is totally part of my routine (until last month) and all the svadhyaya it engenders completely informs the rest of my yoga.
This public--if you will--svadhyaya is what keeps me tuned into the online community: I'm not as interested in the discussion of yoga itself, as much as I am fascinated by how each individual writer processes the lessons of yoga through his/her own experience. Maybe it's the art historian in me, but I want to read how a creative person's back story informs the present story. What do you bring to the practice that is different from everyone else? How do you express that difference? Yoga through the political science/burlesque/prison workshop/curvy/ex-teacher/new teacher/tail-wagging lens.
And I can't emphasize enough how much I love good writing. And humor.
So, as Roseanne sez, here we are on the cutting edge. Awesome. Writing about a yoga of service and engaged living. Thrilling.
I can't wait to see what the summer holds....
As I emerge from my post-semester malaise (after a false start in May), having lost all my mo to math and science classes, I would like to give a giant shout out to my ever thinking, ever provocative Yogging (new moniker?) Catalysts: Carole, Roseanne, and Bob W. Carole, of course, laid it out here and Roseanne blew back into the blogosphere here, and this all made me feel like I ought to step up and get back on the feed. It seems like a new energy is building and I'm really looking forward to their panel on yoga blogging in August at the Yoga Festival Toronto (transcripts? video feed? a crumb for your fans?).
During my state of blog-ennui, I missed the five-year anniversary of GTTSB. Dang, half a decade of this. And, truly, I can't imagine where my practice or teaching would be without it. My writing is totally part of my routine (until last month) and all the svadhyaya it engenders completely informs the rest of my yoga.
This public--if you will--svadhyaya is what keeps me tuned into the online community: I'm not as interested in the discussion of yoga itself, as much as I am fascinated by how each individual writer processes the lessons of yoga through his/her own experience. Maybe it's the art historian in me, but I want to read how a creative person's back story informs the present story. What do you bring to the practice that is different from everyone else? How do you express that difference? Yoga through the political science/burlesque/prison workshop/curvy/ex-teacher/new teacher/tail-wagging lens.
And I can't emphasize enough how much I love good writing. And humor.
So, as Roseanne sez, here we are on the cutting edge. Awesome. Writing about a yoga of service and engaged living. Thrilling.
I can't wait to see what the summer holds....
Recuperation - 18 May 2011, 2:09 pm
Well, I think I've finally decompressed enough from the spring semester to reenter polite society. Funny how you can teach yoga for years, practice for decades and still be laid low by the double-whammy of mental stress and over-scheduling. Am I just not listening to myself, or is this kind of thing inevitable when expectations are high and you want to do well?
As April, with its requisite tests and final projects and papers, rolled around, most perspective was lost. Sleep was interrupted by whirring thoughts, exercise fell to the wayside, and I started eating more carbs. Everything that I know I'm not supposed to do, but there it was. I could see the effects in my mood and ability to think clearly (and skin--acne, ack!). It wasn't until two of the three classes were complete that the knots started to loosen.
Lesson for next semester? Maybe the secret is in the scheduling I do control...perhaps it's time to do the rooster thing and rise every morning at 5 to do my work, when I'm still fresh and ready to crow. Only one cup of coffee a day. At least one Down Dog a day. Bedtime at 9:30.
Don't get me wrong, it's been exhilarating as well as exhausting. Learning all new things is really energizing and I suppose that's where the drive to do well comes from--I'd like verification that I am learning and comprehending, even when that verification is as superficial as a grade. But it's fun to think and it's fun to think about something different and that--more any caffeinated beverage--has kept me going through the blur of not-enough sleep and advanced math.
So now, it is time to embrace the summer, when my primary responsibility is applying sunscreen and keeping fresh iced tea in the fridge. (*sound effect of clinking ice cubes and sloshing liquid pouring into a tall glass*)
Aaaahhhh.
As April, with its requisite tests and final projects and papers, rolled around, most perspective was lost. Sleep was interrupted by whirring thoughts, exercise fell to the wayside, and I started eating more carbs. Everything that I know I'm not supposed to do, but there it was. I could see the effects in my mood and ability to think clearly (and skin--acne, ack!). It wasn't until two of the three classes were complete that the knots started to loosen.
Lesson for next semester? Maybe the secret is in the scheduling I do control...perhaps it's time to do the rooster thing and rise every morning at 5 to do my work, when I'm still fresh and ready to crow. Only one cup of coffee a day. At least one Down Dog a day. Bedtime at 9:30.
Don't get me wrong, it's been exhilarating as well as exhausting. Learning all new things is really energizing and I suppose that's where the drive to do well comes from--I'd like verification that I am learning and comprehending, even when that verification is as superficial as a grade. But it's fun to think and it's fun to think about something different and that--more any caffeinated beverage--has kept me going through the blur of not-enough sleep and advanced math.
So now, it is time to embrace the summer, when my primary responsibility is applying sunscreen and keeping fresh iced tea in the fridge. (*sound effect of clinking ice cubes and sloshing liquid pouring into a tall glass*)
Aaaahhhh.
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