Magic

I am a huge Harry Potter fan. Huge. I read them as a young adult and it was perfect escapism for me. I love magic, I love witches, I love quests. Love all of it. Huge fan.

When I was pregnant with my first son my best friend told me, “You are so lucky, you get to do this all over again with your kids! Imagine what it’ll be like to introduce them to Harry Potter!”

And she was right. Reading Harry Potter to my kids has added a whole new dimension of love for me. My kids notice things I don’t. They ask questions about things I wouldn’t have been interested in. And reading these books as a mother is different. A neglected child living in a cupboard under the stairs takes on a whole new meaning when you have your own warm, little nugget snuggled next to you.

Yesterday, my older son said, “I know why I haven’t gotten my letter to Hogwarts yet. It’s because I am an American. I would get a letter from the American school! Maybe they don’t start sending out their letters until you are 13. We do education later here you know.”

My son is 12 years old. He is growing up, but the shine of kiddom hasn’t worn off yet. He’s in the in between. He was joking, but also kind of not. He was wistful, hopeful. Sure, I know Harry Potter is make-believe, but I would also really love to be wrong. Maybe it is real? I mean, anything is possible, right? We don’t know all the rules of the universe!

This interaction made me think of the difference between growing up with something versus coming into something. When we grow up with something, it becomes a part of our personal narrative. We accept certain “truths” implicitly. We may pull the curtain back at some point, but there is still a part of us that at least remembers what it was like to wholeheartedly believe.

When we learn about something as an adult, we come with our own biases. We grew up with a different set of truths. We always juxtapose this “new” against the backdrop of our own upbringing. The new is compared and judged against what we already know.

This made me think of Gadamer’s hermeneutics. (This is going to get a little academic, but stick with me.)

Hermeneutics, broadly defined, is the study of methods of interpretation. For Gadamer, the limits of human understanding are key to understanding. We cannot escape the fact that we are beings with a past. So, rather than discount the limitation of our understanding, Gadamer embraced it. He believed our limited understanding played a pivotal role in creating new meaning. Our prejudices, however ill-informed, bring us to the table. They are like our assigned seating at the banquet, and the springboard for polite conversation. Our past directs our inquiry. Truth reveals itself through working with alien/foreign concepts. One must first use one’s own preconceived ideas and then, by engaging in interpretation, we rewrite our perceptions. Since this is an ever-evolving process, the barometer is always in flux. Therefore, there is no end to “truth.”  Truth becomes an understanding that arises from the work of people communicating with each other.

In order for all of this to work however, each person must be willing to play. Play means a willingness to let go of preconceived notions, to listen, to be desirous of understanding. If one is seeking understanding, one is engaged in the act of play.

When we look at the question of cultural appropriation, we need to remember that anything we study is juxtaposed against the backdrop of our bias. And no matter how we interpret it, there is a whole body of bodies that have grown up knowing a different truth. They grew up reading the books, doing the practices. In order to come to a better understanding, we have to agree to interact appropriately. We have to be willing to listen to each other, to accept that the bias we have is a bias, and maintain an open acceptance of play, a willingness to engage…

“I know why I haven’t gotten my letter to Hogwarts yet. It’s because I am an American. I would get a letter from the American school! Maybe they don’t start sending out their letters until you are 13. We do education later here you know.”

“Yeah, that must be it. I surely hope you do get your letter. I would love to have a wizard in the house!”

We went on to fantasize about what it would be like to go to a school for magic. Then he said, “Some of my friends don’t believe in magic.”

“They don’t? That’s crazy! I think magic is real.”

“I know! I do too! I mean who knows, maybe it is real!”

“Maybe it is. The universe is vast my friend.”

“Yeah, it is. Who knows!”

“Who knows.”

I think my son was using Harry Potter, the story of the forgotten boy who finds out he’s special, as a way of telling me that he didn’t feel special. That he wants to be special. He wanted me to assure him that there is a place in the world for him. He wanted to know if I believed in his magic.

Which, of course, I do.

But, then again… I don’t actually know what he was trying to tell me. Maybe he was having a rough day. Maybe there was some funky social situation at school and he needed to retreat back into the world of make believe. Maybe he was just feeling wistful. Maybe he was actually wondering if there was an American school of magic.

I don’t know.

But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we were connecting around a shared love. My connection to Harry Potter is different than my son’s. It means something different to me. When we talk about the stories, we don’t relate on a “purist” level because there isn’t one. Engaging in a purposeful life means that we must first work within our own experience, to circumvent our experience, to hopefully yield a better experience. We have to be our own kindergarten teacher, teaching ourselves how to play nice. Our flawed understanding is necessary to learning. It makes no promises for a perfect resolution. It simply extends an open invitation to play and asks that we enter the game with an open mind and a willingness to investigate.

And that my friends, is how we make magic.

Confidence is Overrated

I fell off the emailing this past few weeks because we had the good fortune to graduate one group of students and then start right away working with another. It has been a whirlwind turn around, but it is worth it. As our sangha grows we become increasingly blessed with more and more wonderful, talented and exceptional people.

Working with aspiring teachers is a lot like working with new yoga students; there is a palatable tension, a heightened level of self consciousness. They are both vulnerable and scared. It is not often as adults that we put ourselves in new situations, ask ourselves to move outside our comfort zone, or force ourselves to learn a new skill. And entering a room of “others” is a daunting task at the best of times. We hope it’s going to go OK, that we won’t be judged harshly, that we’ll make friends. Add to that the fact that you are going to be forced to do some public speaking and try to instruct others and - truly, it is  enough to make any grown-up cry. Anyone who gets up in front of people and tries to teach them is, to me, a superhero. It is a courageous act.

Even if they are bad at it.

When getting feedback, teacher trainees often get this one one piece of advice, “be more confident.” Yet, asking someone to be “more confident” in this situation is like asking a blade of grass to be more like a tree. A blade of grass has no more knowledge of how to be a tree than a new teacher knows how to “be more confident” (whatever that means).

Your lack of confidence isn’t the problem. The advice is. Like many well meaning mentors, teachers will often fall back on old tropes like “be more confident.” But, that advice is not helpful. How can you be more of something you are not?

It is OK to not be confident. It is OK. You do not have to be more than you are. Be nervous and jittery. It is OK.

Confidence comes with competence. The more I understand, the better equipped I feel. The better equipped I am, the more I can offer. I gain confidence as my competence improves. My competence improves through study and practice. You know… yoga.  

So truly, the best advice is; get comfy with being bad. Because, doing something well is not a matter of doing it right. It is about allowing yourself to be bad. Truly it is.

In each new training cycle I tell our students, “Get up here and fail spectacularly, please. This is the best place to be really, really bad at what you do, so jump in with both feet and blow it!” Because, you will find that, despite your discomfort, you will live to see another day. And you are teaching yourself a vital skill; how to try again.

If you are not confident. That is OK. You are here and you are trying. That will be enough for today.

This is loving kindness.

And isn’t this what we want for our students? You can’t teach what you don’t know. Accepting your discomfort and doing it anyway will help you help you find the tools to help others do the same.

That way, when that very new, adult, student comes to you and says, “I’m no good at yoga,” instead of falling back on, “that’s OK, yoga is for everyone!” you can confidently say, “that’s OK, I’m learning too.”

Welcome back to school yogis.
 

The Trail or the Road

This weekend we took a troop of boys to a cabin the size of a postage stamp. The adventure was maddening, sweet, fun and exhausting. My kids and their friends are not super rambunctious, so we don’t fall into that stereotype of house full of boys but, they are still children. They still have no idea what an “indoor voice” is. They still get amped when given the opportunity to spend days in the woods together.

When I am stressed I find their noise and chaos unnerving. The constant energy of children can overwhelm me. I have to work really hard to not be annoyed and irritated with them. I need moments of silence. I need respite and space.

And sometimes I am just an asshole parent.

Luckily, I am blessed with a mate who, when I reach my limit, sends me away. I can comfortably say “I need a minute” and without judgement or shame, he just nods, waves and says, “I get it.”  

This weekend I needed one of those breaks so I hopped on my bike and went up the road. In the woods I have two options for bike riding; trail riding or road riding. In my judgey mind, people who trail ride are the real deal; hard-core nature bikers. Road riders are softies.

I am a road rider. The road is my jam. That’s how I like it: a manageable, challenge. I just want to ride. I don’t want to think about avoiding rocks and trees and ruts in the road. I don’t want to have to turn on all my awareness feelers. I want to turn them off.

This got me thinking: I wonder if people choose their exercise based on what their mind needs. Team sports demand a kind of hyper awareness. You try and anticipate what the other team is going to do, you pay attention to what your teammates are doing. If a person doesn’t use those observation skills in their day-to-day, then turning them on would be stimulating, relaxing even. On the other hand, if you are the kind of person who spends a lot of time observing, and anticipating actions, choosing a sport that demands the same kind of mental acuity will be taxing.

Or maybe I just like riding on the road.

As a younger woman, I measured my comfort zones against an imaginary ruler that always said, “you do not measure up.” My boundaries were, for the most part, representative of my cowardice, my rigidity.

But, boundaries are not limitations. They are an understanding, an acceptance of self. A good, healthy boundary gives us a feeling of security and safety. It allows us to explore our landscape without distraction. Understanding our boundaries is an imperative to learning how to endure the discomfort of being alive (and it keeps us from becoming monsters to the people we love).

This is why, when we are teaching, we need to be respectful of people’s boundaries. We need to set up the conditions where our students can say “I need a break!” without fear of judgment or recrimination. Therefore:

• Always give your students permission to come out of a pose if they need to.
• Offer options.
• If you are stuck and can’t think of an option, be honest with them. Be a flawed human and say, “Oh I am stuck too! How about you and I take a moment and breath together” and then wait and see what you can come up with.
• Let them know they can leave the room at any time and they can come back when they are ready.
• Model good boundary setting. In your day to day life, practice setting good, healthy boundaries.
• Find practices that allow you to explore safely and purposefully.
• Do it for you. Do not pick practices that you think you “should” do, pick the ones that click.
• Advocate for yourself in your own practice. Tell your teachers what you need.
• Give yourself permission to leave a class and leave if you need to.
• We cannot be all things to all people. We cannot always be the hard core or the soft touch. We are what we are. Honoring our boundaries celebrates who we are. Practicing this for ourselves helps us celebrate it in our students.

A Heated Argument

Ah summer... The time of year when we slow waaaaay down and enjoy lazy days. We should just give in and enjoy being slow and sluggish. It’s hot. It’s muggy. Don’t fight it. Just have a drink and relax!

I hate it.

It is not in my nature to not do things. Summer is counterintuitive to me. It saps my energy, frustrates me. I know I should just give in and just go with it, but…  it’s a battle I mostly lose.

For example; this year I gave into my kids’ request to not sign them up for camps. We planned; they would help around the house, they would be responsible for entertaining themselves and they would not rely on TV and video games to fill the time. At the beginning of the summer things were going great. They planned to build a gaga ball pit. They drew up plans for a fort. They weeded the flower beds and helped around the house. I was encouraged. This summer was going to be great!

Then, of course, everything started to unravel. The yard was neglected, projects abandoned, chores forgotten, video games played excessively. I tried to get everyone back on track. It culminated in an angry fight between myself and the tween. It was a classic, heated, mid-summer yelling match. I hit the roof and then blew right through it!

Parenting is like adulting on steroids sometimes. You are basically adulting twice. Not only are you trying to figure out how to get your own house in order, but you are training someone else how to do it too. And, you hope that you have done your job so well that they will be better at adulting than you are. But, most of the time, the pre-adults don’t really want to learn the super important, scintillating lessons you are trying to teach them. For someone like me, who thrives on order and process, the messiness of a child’s learning curve and the obstinance - oh lord the obstinance! - can be truly crazy making.

After the tween and I simmered down, we had a reconciliation conversation. Lots of tears were shed. There were a lot of hurt feelings.

I realized – oh wait, he has no idea that I am trying to prepare him to leave me. He just thinks I am being mean.

I had to back up. I explained that I am trying to help him become independent. I told him that, although I don’t want him to ever leave, I know he needs to. When the time comes I want him to feel confident, comfortable and excited about it.

After that, his whole demeanor changed, softened.

What seems perfectly obvious to me, i.e. I am teaching you how to do for yourself, was not perfectly obvious to him. No matter how organized and structured I think I am, I still missed this critical step: let him in.

A relationship is a two-way street. We are always coming and going. If I don’t let my son know I am making a left-hand turn through his lane, we are going to crash. Letting him in on why I am doing the crazy making things helps him understand me. He may not like it, he may not agree with it, but at least he knows a left-hand turn signal means he needs to slow down and pay attention. Likewise, I have to learn to slow down before I turn. I have to wait and see what oncoming traffic is doing before going into his lane. We both have to actively participate in the flow.

This communication side of adulting is always a work in progress. We say terrible things, assume things when we shouldn’t, we forget.

But the most important thing is to keep trying. Because what we learn, we can teach.

Seems perfectly obvious I know, but sometimes the simplest lessons, like slowing down and enjoying the summer, are the hardest to learn.

Blessing and Curses

I currently commute from the west coast where I have family to tend to, to New York City where I teach. I am fortunate. I’ve been able to arrange a temporary fix that allows me to be here for my family on the west, while still maintaining my business on the east. That’s the boon of being my own boss.

The downside is I fly a lot.

Flying is a drag.

But, it isn’t all bad. I have a dedicated six hours of quiet, uninterrupted time to work. I get to watch “chick flicks” sometimes (which, living in a house of boys, I usually have to do after everyone has gone to bed or camping).

Flying a lot means I have “medallion status.” Medallion status means that whenever possible, they pull me from the pleeb seats and put me in the sweet seats.

I’m not gonna lie - the sweet seats are nicer.

That’s the boon to flying a lot.

Nevertheless, I am still on a plane. No matter how nice the upgrade, or the movie, it is still flying. I still have to go through the security routine, pack my bag so that it will fit in the overhead bin and under the seat in front of me, and in such a way that I have the proper clothing, which is always a bit of a mystery because the weather on either coast is very different, and make sure that all my liquids fit in a quart size bag. There are a million little and large annoyances that come with flying.

None of that changes when they upgrade you.  What I am trying to say is this; everything we do is a combination of boons and curses. Subconsciously we may know this, but sometimes it helps to break it down.

This week I am taking a much-needed break from travel. My family has a small cabin in the woods (you can read a little more about it here). I’m going to escape to the woods and unplug a little.

The upsides are obvious; a cabin in the woods near a lake. Duh.

The downsides; I have to pack AGAIN. And this time I am packing for a family of four. And I am not just talking about packing clothes and toothbrushes. Packing for the lake is like packing to move to a new house. There is the food, first aid, books, board games, bikes, the dog stuff - the list goes on and on and on. And I do all this while to listening to swooning songs of the boy band Bored Kids Eager to Hit the Road who replay their greatest hits of “Can we go yet?!” and “He hit me!” over and over and over again.

Getting out of town to go to the woods is an endeavor. You gotta really want to go to get there.

And isn’t that the whole point of doing anything? If we really want it, we have to do a little work to get it. It makes the getting all the sweeter.

This week everyone’s off from training. All the students are getting a well-earned break that I know they will use to work on practicing all their new-found skills (wink, wink ;)).

I hope you get a break too. And if you fly, I hope you get an upgrade. Those seats really are a lot better.

See you on the flip side!

Messages with Friends

I talk to Kate multiple times almost every day. Sometimes it is about work, but many times it is about current events, our families, or she sends me pictures.

We’ve grown so accustomed to talking to each other all the time that we often forget the other person isn’t walking around with us. The other day, Kate texted me, “he told me not to paint with it on!” and I had no idea what she was talking about. Her response, “Oh wait, I forgot you weren’t in the jewlers with me.”

Her response reminded me of my first experience working with a close friend. In my 20s I worked second shift at a corporate law firm with my friend, Alix. At the firm we went from “friendly” to best, best, besties because the job enabled us to constantly talk to each other. We talked all the time. Our work day didn’t start until 4:00pm, so we’d spend all day calling each other to talk about what was on our minds, what were were doing, what we saw, who we saw, and anything else that crossed our minds. When we weren’t talking, we were leaving voice messages. We left long, stream of consciousness messages about everything and nothing. I would call Alix and say, “OK, so I was walking by that coffee shop, on 5th, the one where we saw that famous guy, remember? And…” and on the other end, maybe 2 hours later, Alix would respond, “Uh-huh, yeah I remember…” as if we were having a conversation in real time.

When we got to work we would get coffee, recap the finer points of our day and then carry on talking. I assume we got some work done at some point because neither one of us got fired, but I have no memory of it. I remember spending many hours sitting across a desk with my best friend unraveling the mysteries of the universe and fashion trends.

It felt so normal. Alix was my other self. We joked that we shared a brain. We had so much to talk about it never occurred to me that our habits might seem odd to the outside world.

Eventually, an outsider discovered our GalPal Gab-a-Thon. Alix’s officemate overheard one of my messages and asked, “is that a voicemail?”

Alix replied, “Yeah.”

“It is? What! Why?”

Alix did not understand. She said, “What do you mean?”

He said, “Dude, why is Jen leaving you a five minute message? Does she understand that you aren’t there?”

“Yeah, of courses she does. She’s just leaving me a message.”

Her office mate shook his head and said, “Oh my god, you guys are so weird.”

To hear Alix tell it, she just sat there, blank faced. She had no idea this would seem weird to someone else and she didn’t understand why. We were friends. We had thoughts we needed to share. We liked to talk. What was the problem?

Such is the nature of true love. It blinds and binds us.

Having a friend you relate to so well you almost forget they are not running errands with you is a rare, special gift. The fact that I have had the opportunity to experience it twice in my life is truly, spectacularly, indulgent.

But, that is the boon of doing something with people you love. Working second shift at the law firm was not a great career move. It didn’t pay well and there was no chance of advancement. But, it was a great lifestyle choice. I had my days free and my nights were spent goofing around with people I loved. I had a lot of laughs at that job.  

The same can be said of TSY. Most of the time we are crossing our fingers, hoping and praying we make our ends meet. Our tuition is so low we often wonder just what the hell we are doing and why, but then Kate sends me a message like “Fi is crawling!” along with a picture of her cherubic niece smiling and then I remember why; TSY is not just a business, it is a family. We’re a group of people looking to create a community that extends beyond yoga teacher trainings and yoga classes. We love each other. And we enjoy each other’s company.

I’ve been told that my emails are supposed to offer teaching advice, leadership advice, etc., but this week I don’t want to. What I want to offer you is a piece of advice my dad gave me when I left Spokane for New York City at 18; do not worry about what will happen if you fail. Think instead about what you will lose if you don’t try. Some things cannot be measured by the amount of money you spend, sometimes the experience and the friends you make along the way, is worth so much more.

You Get to Choose

You get to choose too.
 
I have to remind myself of this a lot. When someone doesn’t choose me, or has a different way of doing things, my default is to think that there is something wrong with me. Their way is better. I am doing “everything” wrong.
 
We all have The Joneses - the people we compare ourselves to. These are the friends, the social media contacts and neighbors we choose to self-flagellate with. Our successes are either propped up or diminished by them.
 
For example; yesterday we hosted a “last day of school” party for a bunch of tweens. It was six hours of 12-year-olds rough housing, and video gaming. Fun and exhausting. This party was for the kids, but it was also a way for me to see how they interacted, what the social pecking order was and how my child fit into it.
 
It was also an opportunity to meet the parents connected to his friends. There was the usual exchange of pleasantries; thank you for having him, thank you for coming, etc. Some parents lingered a little longer to chat, some whisked their kids away in a hurry. We all communicated something specific about ourselves and our children. I am in a hurry because we have another engagement; our child is very popular. I have time to kill and feel like talking; I’ll linger a little longer and tell you the great things about us. I am late because my job kept me; I am very busy! I am relaxed and welcoming; hey, don’t worry about it.
 
Each interaction is the Story of Us; a tale of the family that we want others to not so much know about us, but to believe about us. We embellish. The Stories of Us is us at our best. It is our domestic fairy tale.
 
Every time I have one these interactions, I walk away feeling like a failure. My kids are often rude and unhelpful. I have to remind them to say “please” and “thank you” all the time. They are picky eaters. They pick on each other. They do not like sports.
 
I am not nearly as good at this parenting as this guy!
 
That is when I have to remind myself, “Jen, you get to choose.” I get to decide if that way of parenting is the “right” way, or if I am OK doing it my way. I decide to self-flagellate or not. We don’t just get told what we are doing is wrong. The final decision comes down to us. We either agree with them or we don’t. We decide.
 
We write our own story.
 
Yoga teaches us that power is not just forceful dominance. It is also receptive yielding. Accepting oneself is an act of yielding. It is often uncomfortable. Being able to sit in that discomfort is brave. It is also the source of acceptance.
 
As you head out to teach your classes make a brave choice to never, ever compare yourself to other teachers. Write “I Choose THIS!” this on the cover of a teaching notebook and fill that book with what it means to be a good teacher, what you need to do to make that a reality and what your next steps will be. Sit down after each teaching experience and figure out what worked and what you will do differently next time. Be honest with yourself, be critical and always write “next time I will…” Make sure you leave that door open. And never, ever compare your work to someone else’s. Unfollow your peers on social networks for a while if you find that you are getting too distracted by their stories. Go into your own experience and trust that your story is worth telling too.
 

Video Games & Philosophy

I picked up my son yesterday from a sleepover and he was strangely content. Usually when I pick him up after a sleepover he is a grumpy, overtired, hungry train wreck. But yesterday he was calm, happy, introspective. He said to me, “You know, right now I don’t want anything. I don’t need anything. I am fine. It’s such a strange feeling. I’ve never felt this way before.” 
The sarcastic adult in me said to itself “Wait five minutes kid, it’ll pass.” 

Thankfully, I kept my mouth shut because he went on talking. He talked about how we’re all the same, that basically nothing separates us; we’re all the same particles of space dust, a further iteration of the Big Bang, and that the only thing that separates us from each other is thought. 

For an armchair philosopher such as myself, it was glorious. He went on to talk about these videos he watched about a video game (he is obsessed with video games and videos about video games). In this game, a robot gains sentience. He endures slavery and prejudice, grapples with free will and emotions, has to choose between right and wrong, etc. When I asked him, “wait, this is a video game?” he confirmed that yes, it is a video game and it hasn’t come out yet, but he can’t wait to play it. 

A video game does that? 

I was shocked! 

Screens are the bane of my parenting life. I hate, I mean really deeply, hate video games. My kids would spend all day, every day on screens if I let them. But, screens make them moody zombies. Screens turn them into these creatures addicted to instant gratification. After playing games, they can’t do anything on their own. They just mull around waiting for something to stimulate them. 

Yet, this game had this weird effect on my kiddo. He’s calm, introspective, thoughtful. Because of these videos, we had an amazing conversation about Descartes and the nature of consciousness. 

We connected because of a video about a video game about sentience. And he can’t wait to play it. 

Wow.

We often think that this way of doing something is bad or that way isn’t “the way” and yet… beauty can come out of anything. 

Even a video game. 

This is something I have to remind myself of constantly. The thing I think I know, the thing I think is right is only a perspective. We really have no idea. There is no one way of doing anything. There are ways. They either work for us or they work against us. And what that “thing” is, is up to us to decide individually. 

Just something to think about on your way to your day today. 

Practice Selfishly

I recently read an NPR article re the first government agency dedicated to the health and wellbeing of children. There is a line "women..., arguing to lawmakers that children are a national resource, and that if America's leaders didn't soon do something to help the next generation thrive, the future of the still-young country was at risk."

This idea - that people are a national resource - has stuck in my brain. A resource is a stock supply of something you draw upon to function well. It is always positive. That is why healthy, well cared for people create stable, healthy communities. They create great ideas. They innovate and elevate. Taking care of us is an imperative to creating a great nation.

Yet, taking care of each other is often reduced to an economic argument; I either believe in spending money to help others or I am against spending money on others. Simplifying the argument this way is reductive. It is also destructive. It ignores the actual, physical, mental and emotional benefits to oneself when we take care of each other. Ensuring our neighbors have clean, safe drinking water, access to health care and education, adequate support for joblessness, homelessness and hunger, means we are also improving our own lives. It decreases communicable diseases and infestations, social isolation, and improves public safety. Our lives improve despite the fact that we have less money.

The same can be said for our personal lives. When we believe our self-worth is linked to our financial status, we are over simplifying. We fail to take into consideration our need for expression, connection, play. We limit our ability to be resourceful, creative and engaged.

And while this may seem perfectly obvious, it is often forgotten when it comes to our efforts as a yoga teacher. Because, let’s be honest, teaching yoga is not always lucrative. Especially when we are just getting started. 

So why do it? I mean, I took that training because I hate my job. I want to change my career, I want to be able to do this professionally!

Because, while I know we all need to make a living to pay the rent, doing something you love doesn’t have to be lucrative to be worth it. Tying your teaching success to your economics is too reductive. It thwarts your chances for future success. It keeps you from seeing a class of two people as an opportunity. You will walk into that class and think “only two people showed up, damn.” Instead of, “Oh wow - TWO WHOLE PEOPLE showed up! What a gift!” 

Every opportunity to teach is a chance to build up your resources. Every teaching moment is a chance for you to practice honing your craft. It may not be lucrative, but it is rich with opportunity.

As you start teaching, think of your efforts like your yoga practice. Effort is not wasted. You need the practice. And practicing is a selfish endeavor. You practice for you. You practice learning, to become better skilled, more acquainted with yourself. You practice filling the tank. As the tank fills, you will have more resources to grow your business.

Yoga teaches us that momentary experiences are transient, that initial perception are often wrong, that loving oneself is an act of faith and determination, and that all of life is changeable. Learning these lessons over and over again as a teacher moves us from the selfish act of practice to the self-less act of sharing. Learning these lessons over and over again make us better teachers and being better teachers means we will be better suited for a life of teaching. 

Do not cut out before you get a chance to cut your teeth ;)

I hope this helps. Feel free to below with your thoughts.

Freedom & Leadership

I have been spending a lot of time lately thinking about the concept of freedom and our perceptions of it. I think we are often told that being free is akin to eternal happiness. When we are truly “free” we will feel blissful, comfortable and calm. From an esoteric perspective, this is what freedom promises us; a life free from suffering. However, freedom from suffering doesn’t necessarily mean a life of happiness. The presumption that the other side of suffering is happiness is a human construct. It is based on the assumption that happiness in and of itself is a preferred state and that it is sustainable. It ignores the fact that unhappiness sits on the other side. Just like there is a sun and a moon, happiness and unhappiness are eternal bedfellows. If you have one, you will most definitely gain the other at some point. Therefore, the absence of suffering is not happiness. It is merely the absence of a state of being. What that looks like is truly anyone’s guess!  
 
What we consider our own, personal freedoms are often misconstrued in the same way. Freedom as a concept invariably comes with the subtext of “happiness.” I enjoy freedoms; therefore, I am happy. Yet, human freedom is not always joyful. It is not always fun. In order to ensure my own freedom, I must confer freedom upon others. In conferring freedom upon others, I am going to be subjected to their differences. Their differences are going to make me mad, sad, uncomfortable. I will then have to grapple with the concept of what it means for everyone to be free, including the people I don’t like. I have to grapple with myself. Personal freedom is personal responsibility. We have to take ownership of our choices and their consequences. Personal, human freedom is, by its very nature, suffering. It forces us to look at our own nature and choose to either rise above or give into it. 
 
Freedom isn’t a guarantee of safety. It never promises you will be safe from harm. We are not safe because we are free. We are free; and we may or may not be safe. That is why fighting for and accepting freedoms comes with risk. It is an act of courage and bravery. Not because we have to fight everyone who doesn’t think like us, but because we have to accept that everyone doesn’t act like us. We have to be big enough, bold enough, strong and brave enough to be OK with the shadow of the unknown, the “otherness” of others.
 
After 9/11, permits were filed to build a mosque next to the World Trade Center. The buildings were still in rubble and emotions were raw. There was a public outcry. I remember saying that I felt that, if the zoning laws permitted it, they should be allowed to build their mosque where they wanted. Someone snapped back “You do? Why?!” My response then, is my response now; freedoms don’t just apply to the dominant group. They belong to everyone. If I am pro this and you are anti that, you aren’t wrong because I think I am right. And the fear of “other” is not a sufficient reason to deny someone their humanity. 
 
Accepting the freedoms of everyone is an act of bravery. It is a step off a ledge into the abyss. It is an act of faith and humility.

Leaders take that leap of faith first. Leaders survive the free fall of uncomfortable otherness and live to tell the tale. 

Therefore, in your yoga practice, in your life, be the one to leap first. Others will follow.

Yoga for Everyone?

When I started teaching, “yoga is for everyone!” was a mantra I assumed was true. The fact that my “everyone” happened to be middle to upper-middle class white people, mostly women, was just circumstantial. It just reflected the neighborhood I taught in. Surely, anyone who walked in the door would be welcome. 

Of course, we know that is not really the case. Ask any person of color, a larger bodied person, anyone non-gender conforming, etc. if they have had an uncomfortable or awful experience in a yoga studio, and you will hear a story of feeling not welcome, being subjected to racism, micro-aggressions, or out-right hostility. 

Yoga is a $16 Billion[1] industry. The most aggressively marketed yoga image is that of the young, fit, attractive, white women. Yet, 36.7 Million Americans, or 25% of U.S. adults, practiced Yoga in 2016. How did a practice, that was originally designed for men, become such a “chick” thing? 

There are many theories. Here are some of my thoughts:

Whenever the less dominant group attaches to something, it will immediately be denigrated by the dominant group. This is especially true when that thing is healthy or empowering for the less dominant group. The history of hip hop[2] is a perfect example. 

Yoga is about power. The root word is often mistranslated as "union," but that is incorrect. It actually means "to yoke/bind." Yoking and binding something is distinctly different from uniting it. I yoke or bind things in order to create focused, controlled effort. Yoga practices are designed to yoke the body and mind; to reign them in. By controlling the body and mind, one is able to use them like a plow. I till the soil of experience, thus planting the seeds of enlightenment. The practice makes one's experience fertile for transformation. When one is very successful, one gains power over their own experience. We can decide what to react to, what not to react to, what to engage in and even, if successful enough, manifest supernatural powers. 

I believe that when someone practices yoga, they feel better, healthier, etc., and they also feel more powerful. People regularly talk about how the practice helps them control their reactions to things. They will talk about how it helps them get over toxic relationships. When I tell a student that they can stand “this tall” or take up “this much room” they are initially shocked. It is often startling to them to realize that they are bigger, taller, more substantial than they thought. Then, then they are delighted! Delighted to take up space, to stand tall. That is power. We don't talk about yoga in those terms because, women in particular, are not allowed to say, "I do this because it makes me feel powerful." That is not socially acceptable. 

The United States is a patriarchal society. Anything that is feminine is worth less in the patriarchy. Because the first people that "got" yoga the United States were primarily women, the obvious response from the patriarch is to belittle it. Making yoga "chick stuff" lessens its exposure to a wider range of people. It lessens its potential to upset the apple cart.

Second, the best way to denigrate anything in the United States is to hyper-sexualize and commodify it. This is a standard market-based/economic strategy for control. One of the most hyper-sexualized commodities marketed in the United States is the myth of the Young-Fit-Pretty-Affluent-White-Women. Thus, the creation of the mass marketed “perfect” yogi is: she must be must be young, thin, fit, wear something revealing and do something extraordinary (preferably on a beach). Narrowing the scope of the practice like this worked. Not only did it grow the market substantially, but it also ensured that the population, scope and reach of the practice remained small. It created a closed loop of control and commerce. For years yoga was primarily the practice of upper middle class white women; a group who already has the market share of female power in the United States. 

Thirdly, as the earnings went up, the prices also started to rise. I paid $1100 for my 200-hour training. It was a large investment for me, but doable. I had to save and budget, but I could make it work. Over the course of my first five years of teaching, I watched the cost of trainings go from “investment, but doable,” to “expensive and unattainable.” The market became flooded with a very specific demographic of yoga teacher; one who either thre caution to the wind and leveraged the farm to attend the training, or, one who could afford to spend a lot of money and never recoup their investment. 

This development forced many people out of yoga. Not only financially, but culturally as well. As the costs skyrocketed, the pool of viable teachers became increasingly narrow. The “welcoming” aspect of yoga decreased. As yoga progressed into a pastime for a specific demographic, it ceased to be for everyone else. Sadly, that is often how that works. 

This frustrated me. Being able to study yoga changed the course of my life. It made me a better person. I would never have been able to make that transition if I had to pay what the market was demanding. Classism was my impetus for starting Three Sisters Yoga. I wanted to break the rules and offer what I had access to; an affordable, skills-based training.  

My second impetus happened as a result of the first. When I started TSY, our trainings were filled with the “stereotypical” yoga student. Then something shifted. Without really trying, we started getting a more diverse student base. A recent study through Rutgers University[3] found that when an organization makes accommodations for one under-advantaged group, it can make other disadvantaged people feel safer and more welcome. 

I think this is what happened at TSY. We set a tone that acknowledged the inherent bias in the current yoga market. This opened us up to further explore serious social issues because, as the demographic in my classes started to change, the stories started to come out. We started to hear first-hand what it was like to study yoga if you weren’t the “norm.” I was deeply uncomfortable when confronted with this information. But, more than that, I was heartbroken. I love my students. I do not want them to suffer. 

What I learned was that I what it means for me to practice, to be a white woman in this country, is not shared. For me personally, the logical step was to start educating myself about what it means to be a minority in the United States. Racism, bigotry and sectarianism is rampant in this country. The only way out is listen to and believe people’s stories when they tell us what it is like to be them. As the privileged group, I need to be willing to be uncomfortable. I must control the impulse to deflect and say, “that does not happen!” Controlling this impulse is a yoga practice. It is a yoking of mind. Sutra 2.1 says, “Accepting pain as help for purification, study of spiritual books and surrender to the Supreme Being constitute Yoga in practice.”[4] Accepting “pain as help for purification” has been interpreted in many ways. What it essentially means is that, in doing this work, we accept that we are going to be uncomfortable a lot of the time. 

And we do it anyway. 

This has been the second greatest gift yoga has given me. It has taught me yet again, the power of allowing oneself to be messy, uncomfortable and flawed. While I am by no means a poster child of being “woke” or even an “accomplished yogi,” I am deeply committed to doing better. TSY is a manifestation of that work. We are a welcoming and diverse community. And I am very proud of that. 

[1] https://www.yogaalliance.org/Portals/0/2016%20Yoga%20in%20America%20Study%20RESULTS.pdf

[2] https://www.npr.org/series/4823817/the-history-of-hip-hop

[3] http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/1948550617737601

[4] Satchidananda, S. The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali: Commentary on the Raja Yoga Sutras by Sri Swami Satchidananda (Kindle Locations 1434-1435). Integral Yoga Publications. Kindle Edition.”

Thinking like a Tween

I am going out on a limb here, but stick with me. I often hear people say that we should be more “childlike.” The reason being that children are pure of heart. If we connect to our inner child, we too will become pure of heart. This has always irritated me. Yes, children are blissfully, wonderfully, naïve. They are pure of heart. They often speak little pearls of wisdom. When they are happy and full of wonder, it is a joy. This is true. 

Children are also needy. They need. They need adults to guide them. They need a world that protects and provides for them. They are dependent on outside forces to create the conditions for their bliss. And this is why this analogy annoys me. The work of coming into consciousness isn’t about living in a blissfully unaware state that depends upon the world to take care of us. Consciousness demands action. Consciousness demands that we become aware of ourselves in the world. It is accepting that, should we desire transcendence, we have to do the work of transcending our “self.” 

That is why, I think we should all try to be more like middle schoolers. 

Middle school is a liminal age. It is a great ball of hormonal fire hurtling towards adolescence at a snail’s pace. It is slow and awkward and often painful being a tween. They are awakening to adulthood, yet still comfortably nestled in the safety net of childhood. Tweendom is the bridge between Christmas Past and Christmas Yet to Come. They are more aware of themselves, but they are still so goofy. As they struggle to come understand life’s limitations, they are open to possibilities. They struggle with being sentient, with self-identity, and yet they are still very playful. They have amazing insight and are not afraid; but, they are also extremely self-conscious and totally afraid. 

Tweens are, in many ways, the embodiment of present mindedness. They are becoming more aware of themselves, they are interested in the possibilities of an awakened life, but they still want to be tucked in at night. They still believe in fantasy, but are also weirdly practical. Funny, goofy, stinky, emotionally all over the place; middle schoolers are basically every one of our internal lives living outside our bodies. The other day my middle schooler turned to me and said, “being alive is so hard!”

Welcome to the big leagues, kid.

And this is not to say that little kids aren’t their own emotional wrecking balls, they are. But, toddlers have little to no control over their emotional lives. They are basically the Id in small shoes, daring you to try and make them feel better. A tween’s awareness, however, is dawning. They are trying to get comfortable with their burgeoning consciousness. They struggle every day with how to accept that they are small, insignificant, different; yet, they remain confident that a fantastic journey is just around the corner.

That is why I recommend that we be more like a tween. Don’t give up the thrill of make believe, hang on to the beauty of imagination, but channel it through the angst. Our angst is our longing. Longing is our consciousness’s urge to connect to something greater than ourselves. It’s the twitchy, itchy nerve that is only satisfied when we are truly connected to the beautiful. Our separateness creates the longing for connection. Longing, when directed and focused, draws us into the experience of beauty, into Pure Consciousness, Jiva, God. This experience teaches us how to be a good friend, a good neighbor, a good, global citizen. It moves us beyond the self and into the Self. 

I know this may be way out there, but I stand by it. Tweens for the win! What about you? Do you remember what it was like to be a tween? Do you have a tween in your life now? If you had the chance to do it all again, would you? 

Your Big Toe

by Jen Whinnen

My older son recently spent a day touring his brother’s art based school to see if he liked it better that his current school. He’s never been that into the arts but his interests have changed this year so we asked him to check it out just to be sure. Throughout his day at art school he was surly, sullen and bossy. He was mean to his brother and blatantly rude to the teachers. Half way through the day he texted his dad, asking to go home. When we tried to talk to him about it his only response was that he hated it, that it wasn’t what he wanted.

We’ve moved a lot in the last six years and he’s been to several different schools. Each time he’s moved to a new school he’s approached it with gusto and optimism. He had the faith of a child; he was going to be accepted and liked because this is a well ordered universe and that’s how things work. But, he’s older now. He’s entering into the world of  “tween-dom” and the resilience of “just wait until they see how slick I am at Minecraft!” is waning. He’s becoming self consciousness. The idea of starting all over again was too stressful. It was clear that no matter how great the school may be for him, we needed to respect his wishes.

This is an important distinction, one that is often hard as a parent to make. Parents are supposed to make decisions for their children. We are supposed to figure out what is best for them, tell them what to do. However, as they mature, we also have to take into consideration their burgeoning sense of self. We have to allow them to make their own decisions and respect that they may actually know their own minds.

As a teacher however, I do not have to toe this line. As a teacher I have to do the opposite. I must accept that my students are fully in charge of their own experience. And believe it or not, this is often hard to do. In fact, one of the most common thoughts my student teachers begin their training with is “I am going to teach the yoga that transformed me so that others will be transformed the way I have been.” On the surface this sounds like a lovely, well intentioned idea. However, it is terribly misguided. A belief rooted in the assumption that everyone wants what we want, or conversely, if they don’t want what we want they are wrong, is a recipe for conflict and disappointment. 

Like a specialized school designed to address the talents of specific children, yoga isn’t meant to convert or change others. It is meant to clear the lens to whatever degree that lens wants to be cleaned. Yoga will absolutely allow one to expand one’s consciousness beyond the mundane experience of being in a body, but yoga’s validity is not hinging upon that happening to every student of yoga. 

The teacher’s role is not to save. It is to facilitate. The teacher provides guideposts and opportunity, but the experience, whatever it is, depends entirely upon the student. Understanding, transformation, if it takes place at all, arises from one’s own effort and will. 

B.K.S. Iyengar once said “How can you know god if you don’t even know your big toe?” What a great question this is! How can we know anything about anything when we don’t even know our own minds? To presuppose that you know what someone’s motivations are, is to grant yourself an omniscience you do not have. We teach our children to share and tell them not to bite because they literally do not know any better. But when it comes to the motivations of adults, we have no real way of knowing what’s going on. Any time we step into the arena of deciding the emotionality of “why” someone is doing something, it’s a distraction. We’ve stepped out of the arena of our knowing our own big toe. 

So, how can you know god when you can’t even keep yourself focused on knowing your own big toe? How can you say what is good or right for someone else? 

You can’t.

When we sit as judge and jury on anyone, even if we are literally being called to serve on a jury of our peers, we don’t actually get to define their experience. We can cast a judgment on someone’s life, prescribe a punishment for a crime, we can look at the physical body and make suggestions based on what we see, but the internal life of that person will always be in their hands. What they choose to do with their punishment, what they do with our instructions, where they go in their mind, is up to them.

“Why would someone do that!?” Oh how I regularly find myself asking this question! And each time I do I take myself away from the work of finding right action. 

If you are called to teach, do it. You don’t need a reason to do any more than you need a justification for learning or loving.  That pendulum swings both ways – you can’t know what motivates others and they don’t get to dictate what motivates you. 

Work to understand your big toe.

That my friends, is a full time job.

The Forgiving Meal

by Jen Whinnen

One morning over winter break I found Jack with his head buried into his Dad’s chest, choking back tears. When I asked him what was wrong, he said “Jai said he wishes Z was his brother instead of me.”

Ouch.

These are harsh from any sibling, but it’s especially harsh coming from a little brother whose adoration has always been absolute. My boys have, for the most part, enjoyed a pretty close friendship. The bedrock of this friendship is Jai’s unwavering belief that Jack is the world’s greatest big brother. Jai identifies himself as “Jack’s Brother.” That’s how he introduces himself, how he knows himself. To Jai, Jack knows every good thing in the world, has shown him every good thing in the world, and always has his back. Because of this, Jai has always been happy to step back and bask in his brother’s glow. 

That is, until recently. Lately they are like two little tributaries, diverging off in different directions. Jack sometimes just wants to be left alone. Jai never wants to be alone. Jack finds himself annoyed and frustrated by his little brother. Jai is constantly being hurt by the rejection. My hope is that some day they will merge back into the same river, that they will find the same flow, but right now they bicker. They pick on each other. They yell and fight a lot.  

Over the break Jack’s best friend spent a few days visiting us. Jack didn’t want to share his friend.  He was mean, telling Jai to go away, not including him. To someone who’s always been included in every activity, who sees Jack as his best friend, this hurt. It hurt a lot. So, Jai went for the jugular. 

“I wish you weren’t my brother! I wish Z was my brother instead!”  

Jack was crushed. And then, of course, he got mad back. “Jai is the worst brother in the world! I will never forgive him! Never!”

My older son is at a (highly dramatic) crossroads. He can choose to retaliate, to say something cruel, to punch his brother. He can go on excluding him, tell him he’s a terrible brother, that he never wants to see him again. All the anger options were on the table. And they all looked pretty good. Anger and Revenge always come ready to party. They bring the dishes with the best sauces and most delicious toppings. Dripping in buttery pools of contempt and sugary indignation, they are so very, very appealing. 

That is why, when I pointed out the small, steamed, unadorned plate of empathy and forgiveness, Jack gagged. Where’s the sweet satisfaction of retribution in a small plate of humble pie? I want to carbo load on gooey piles of hot, steaming anger! Where is my righteous heartburn if I put myself in someone else’s shoes? 

I tried to reason with him, “Try and understand where Jai is coming from. How would you feel if you were being excluded?” 

As Jack railed against my logic and I continued to try and reason with him I thought “oh man, I sound just like my dad!” and I groaned a little inside. My dad had this “empathy and forgiveness” lecture/sermon that he usually delivered after I’d had a fight with one of my sisters. I would sit on my bed, staring at the bedspread patterns, twirling a loose thread around my finger, and meow out while he droned on and on and on about how important it was to let go of your anger, to try and put yourself in someone else’s shoes, to forgive. 

Of course he wasn’t wrong. To give in to rage, passionate anger and indignation is a kind of suffering. We are the ones who have to struggle through it and if we don’t let it go, it stays with us. It compromises our peace. It wears us down. 

In my years of recovery after my dad died, I spent many a bitter thought lambasting my dad’s philosophy. I saw it as his manipulative way of not taking responsibility for his past, for forcing us into “forgiving” him and never taking responsibility. But, what I understand now is that he wasn’t telling me “just forgive me so I feel better about me,” but “forgive so you feel better.” He was trying to tell me that he couldn’t do it for me. I had to make that choice. I could hold tight to my anger forever, nurse it for as long as I wanted, or I could chose to forgive. Either choice is viable. But, either way I must choose. 

My little pep talk with Jack yielded exactly zero empathy result. (I totally get why my dad held me hostage for so long – kids are stubborn!) I let him go and an hour later all the boys were playing together just fine. Such is the memory of a child! 

However, I am still here thinking about anger. Anger is a force, a power. It’s not bad per say. There are times when it can be useful. But it is a powerful force. It can rule us or we can choose to master it. I know that I often use it to distraction. I get mad for petty reasons, I punish unnecessarily. I use it as a default in many ways for dealing with the day-to-day mundane things I don’t like. 

And that’s an abuse of power.

With the inauguration less than 24 hours away many of us feel pretty angry. Understandably so. It’s important that we remember why we’re angry and remain vigilant in our support of those working for social justice and our public health. 

It’s also important to remember how much that anger and frustration taxes us, how much it takes from us. 

So what to do? I’m not entirely sure. I do know that I need to lean into my practice more. Yoga teaches us to be comfortable in the uncomfortable. It shows us how to engage while disengaging from the ego. It helps us remain calm and practical. These practices are going to be vital in the years to come. 

Since I can not control anyone other than myself, I will offer you my own personal “treatise” for the coming administration in hopes that it might help you too:

1. I will continue to try and engage in political discourse with those who do not share my views respectfully and with an open mind. 
2. I will continue to resist social injustice and support those organizations that align with my morals and values. 
3. I will continue to teach my children the importance of empathy, sympathy and compassion (whether they like it or not).
4. I will try to do all of this with as little anger as possible. 

When I step up to the emotional table and take a look around at all of the offerings, I will try and remember to choose the healthier, lighter options. I will aim to take small portions of the gooey stuff and go easy on the gravy. Hopefully by the end of the meal I will be able to walk away from the table less bloated and a little lighter. 

I hope the same for you.

Resilience Training

by Jen Whinnen

Whew, what a season this has been!

I’ve sat down a dozen times to try and write the opening of this newsletter and I keep getting stuck. I find myself just sitting, staring at a confused screen full of jumbled thoughts and messy sentences. I don’t have adequate words for what’s been happening in this country and in my own personal life. I am entirely inadequate. I feel completely incapable of completing the tasks set before me. Where do we go when we feel there’s so much to do, and so many people to protect, and we’re so full of worry and doubt that we just want to flee? I don’t actually have an answer for that. Oh how I wish I did!

However, I do know that we have to keep plugging along. We have to keep trying to be the best, most loving, most supportive people we can be. And to do that, we have to refine our resilience skills. Because resilience, the ability to accept that things are going to be hard and uncomfortable, but to keep doing it anyway, will fortify us.

Resilience can be learned. And I know this because I was in my late my 20’s before I had any resilience skills. Before that every time something got uncomfortable, I quit. I simply didn’t know how to be uncomfortable. When I was “bad” at something, I assumed that meant I was bad at that thing forever and gave up.

So how did I learn otherwise? Yoga, of course! The routine of a regular yoga practice, of teaching myself to just show up regardless of how “bad” I was at it, slowly changed my mindset and taught me how to try again. This seemingly basic skill, learning how to start all over again, created the conditions for success and wellbeing. Thanks so much yoga!

Now, I’m not going to say that yoga will fix the current state of affairs. It won’t. We can’t fix community problems by going to a yoga class. But, yoga can calm the mind. It can help unbind bound emotions and give us a moment of pause. And in those moments we find a path, a way of being of service, a way to hold down the fort, to protect others. The practice itself won’t do the big things, but it will direct us to ways that we can. So, get on your mat again and again. Use it to reveal the path you need to take to muddle through these murky waters.

And then, get off the mat and do the things. Use the practice to teach you to be flawed, but dogged in your pursuits. Don’t give up, but also know that you are going to have bad practices. And then get up and do it again. Be redundant in your effort. Show up every day and stick with it.

You are proficient, powerful and have so much offer so get to it!

Entitled to Our Yoga?

by Jen Whinnen

Several months ago New York Magazine published an article that opened with a seasoned teacher that had lost her studio and now works in retail. The reason for her loss was the commercialization of yoga. The glut of corporate yoga studios and teacher trainings churning out poorly trained teachers, combined with the trend towards turning yoga into an entertainment industry, pushed her out of a job. Then, another article popped up on my feed just last month decrying much the same thing; that modern yoga has become a wasteland, a glut of teacher trainings pooping out poorly trained teachers and a relatively worthless credentialing system to govern the lot of them.

Every time I read an article like this I bristle. One, because, as the director and owner of a yoga teacher training school, I am the accused and the accursed. It’s irresponsible people like me that are creating the glut in the market. And two, because, while I think this is an attempt to shed light on how yoga is being taught and passed on to the next generation, it’s actually a commentary on the changing economics of pedaling yoga. The commerce of yoga is not the same thing as the study of yoga. And lumping the two together is, and always has been, the problem. 

Both the teachers showcased in these articles were “successful” yoga teachers. Meaning, they made good money. They had their own studios, they were given products, featured in magazines, etc. Then the waves of economy shifted, there was a ground swell, and they got swept up. When something like this happens there is questioning and inevitably that questioning is answered with a lot of finger pointing, shaming and recrimination. Such is the way of the world.

But here’s the thing; when you create and participate in a culture that glorifies your beauty and your physical prowess, one day you aren’t going to be the prettiest girl in the room. Some day there is going to be a new, younger, prettier thing and she is going to take your place. That is how that system works. 

What happened to the economics of yoga (which again, is not the same thing as Yoga)  is something that has been in the pipeline for a long time. This “commercialization” was not an amorphic sneaky force that popped up suddenly. Putting beautiful and highly accomplished athletes on the covers of magazines and on products, offering swag to teachers and promoting them as “rock stars” has been the norm for over 20 years. And we, the generation of 40+ year old yoga teachers, are the ones who created and perpetuated it. It didn’t happen to us. It happened because of us. The mirror reflects. 

The idea that yoga teachers are entitled to a good job because we have a lot of years of experience is hubris. Since when was our education and experience a guarantee of anything? Sure it can be helpful, but it is by no means a guaranteed ticket to ride. Yoga owes us nothing. We are here to serve, to participate, to do, to be. The choice to make teaching one’s sole means of income is one’s own. If I commodify my experience I have decided that my self worth is driven by a dollar amount and I am responsible for that decision. This is not to say that we are right or wrong for doing so, but no one owes us the right to make it so because we want it. 

Allow me to provide a very different kind of “yoga career” narrative; I’ve been practicing yoga for 22 years, teaching for 18. I have thousands of training and teaching hours. I am both a skilled and qualified yoga teacher and I constantly endeavor to become better at my craft. Nevertheless, of my 18 years of teaching, only 4 of them have been spent without another job. Four. Fourteen of the 18 years of teaching I’ve supplemented my income with another, non-yoga related job. 

Teaching to me is a gift, a blessing, a chance to share something I love. Because of this, I don’t look at the commercialization of yoga as the reason I had to work a second job or why my little school has remained little. In fact, I feel the exact opposite. Yoga is more popular today than it has ever been. More and more people are discovering its benefits. The huge money machines that pump out the silly, glitzy, over priced products are creating a steady stream of curious students. People who might not have ever been exposed to yoga are interested in this topic because the corporate machine has normalized it and I think this is a good thing. 

Are there piles of bad teachers and terrible classes? Yes, of course. This is the United States of  America. Excess is our calling card. But scratch beneath the surface and we find so many people who are interested in this subject, craving connection to others, looking for a way to experience health and wellbeing. They are seeking more information. One of the teachers in the above articles spoke about how, in each of his “bad” teacher trainings, he was routinely confronted with a room full of people with little or no yoga practice. He was forced to un-train bad habits, and basically recreate the wheel. While I understand objectively how frustrating that might be, I personally find it delightful! I love sitting down with a new group of curious and eager students, helping them figure out proper alignment, to engage in meaningful discourse, to facilitate loving relationships with themselves and others. To me, a 200 hour course is, at it’s best, a primer, a first step into deeper learning. It should teach you how to study, to pique your curiosity and inspire you to keep learning. It is a platform, a learning tool. And it is in no way sacred. 

The demise or sanctity of modern yoga isn’t really an issue. Yoga will continue beyond this iteration. These teachings survive because they are Truth. And Truth is not affected by commercialism. 

It’s not yoga’s job to support me. It’s not yoga’s job to ensure that I am able to continue doing what I’m doing. That’s my job. And we are not entitled to a life just because we desire it to be so. As I’ve mentioned before, one of my favorite stanzas from the Bhagavad Gita is “You are only entitled to the action, never to its fruits. Do not let the fruits of action be your motive, but do not attach yourself to nonaction.” (2.47) So do the work. If you are successful, so be it. And if you are not successful? 

Find something else to do.

Failing Well

by Jen Whinnen

On the last night of winter break my son got out of bed to make a confession. He needed to tell me about something he’d done. It had been eating away at him all break, torturing him. He hoped it would go away, but he couldn’t take it any longer. He had to come clean.

He failed a test. His teacher had given them a pop geography quiz before the break and he only got 1 out of 7 correct. Other kids in the class knew all of the answers and were going on the next round of a geography bee, but he was not. He “didn’t even know where New York was!” In front of his entire class, he failed.

Watching him paced the floor like a caged animal while choking down tears broke my heart. What a small thing to be so tortured over! A pop quiz? Geez, I’ve probably failed thousands of those!

But, Jack never fails tests. Learning has always come easy to him. He was reading novels before he lost his first tooth and he understands abstract concepts and complicated math better than most adults (present company included). He’s a brainiac who goes to smarty pants school with other brainiacs and has no idea what it’s like to struggle to learn.

He was at a crossroads. If he’s not smart, what is he? How can he live in a world where he fails at the one thing he’s really good at?

Jack’s feelings of worthlessness and identity-lessness in the face of a small failure are not unusual. In a job market that is increasingly competitive, our children are being raised to believe that they have to be the best at all times or some terrible impoverished fate will befall them. Likewise, our social media driven world glorifies a glossy, photoshopped perfection. Success is, more than ever, measured by a very outward display of accumulation. We succeed when we are well groomed, eat well prepared meals and can do handstands in the sand. When stacked up against cyber perfection, it’s not uncommon for most of us to feel defeated by our flaws.

And while I don’t find social media good or bad, it’s also not the whole story. Social media is the equivalent of our living rooms. It’s the place to show the nicest, most “successful” sides of ourselves; our family photos and vacation slide shows, cyber nic nacs and tastes. But, it’s not the whole house. We don’t show our closets or cupboards on social media (nor should we) and our ability to be resilient, pliant, flexible or agile in mind and measure don’t photograph well. Nevertheless, each of our lives are filled with clogged drains, closets we are trying to sort through and unfinished projects. Our life houses are stacked, top to bottom, day in and day out, with little and big failures.

That’s why for the New Year, I suggest we get good at failing. We need to get big and bold about our failures!

Using failure as a New Year’s resolution theme may seems tragically defeatist, but I don’t really think so. It’s important to learn how to fail well. Learning how to fail is key to unlocking a truly bountiful life. Learning to fail means that we trust that our self worth is not diminished when what we set out to do does not go as planned. It is understanding and believing that we are OK regardless of the outcome of our efforts. It’s the faith that we are allowed to try again. It’s the way in which we make it past week two in our resolutions and how we get busy doing the work of doing. In order to be successful, we need to get comfortable with being “bad” at things.

In yoga we talk about the idea of accepting where you are. I’ve often misinterpreted this as “where I am is OK, because sticking with this will make me better.” This is not the same thing as allowing myself the option of falling flat on my face, of looking stupid and feeling silly. Detachment is not being attached to the fruits of our labor. That means not being attached to getting what I want to happen, as well as, not getting attached to the things I did not want to happen.

Getting good at being bad teaches us that the discomfort we feel isn’t the whole story. It is a chapter, a passage, in the novel of our lives. It brings us back to knowing our intrinsic beauty. When we allow ourselves to be in process, to be efforting, when we know we are not diminished when we do not accomplish goals, we afford ourselves grace. We give ourselves permission to try again. We continue to grow. And growth is our birthright.

No matter what happens, we are perfect, beautiful and allowed to be here. When we provide a consistent, reliable do over button for ourselves it creates a groove. It teaches us the language of forgiveness and love. It reaffirms that this moment isn’t any more important than any other. When I know I am “good” at something I identify with it and I can no longer be. If I can hang onto “I am” then I can “be” anything. I can try. I can fail. No matter what happens, I am. Messing up, failing tests, failing at relationships, crashing the car, breaking a bone, going bankrupt, saying unkind things, cheating on a lover, none of these things is the sum total of who we are. Because we are. I am. Flaws and all.

Medicated Yoga

by Jen Whinnen

As a yoga teaching community it is important that we know that depression and anxiety are two very popular reasons people come to the practice. Yoga is an effective tool in managing many illnesses, depression and anxiety included, so this is not unusual. It is imperative however, that we understand that when someone comes to the practice looking for tools to manage their illness, they are not served by our opinions about how they “should” manage it off the mat. 

In each training I ask my student-teachers about how they feel about “western medicine” because I’ve found that people’s feelings about this subject are similar to their political beliefs; they do not change easily. How they feel about about medications, namely antidepressants and anti anxiety medication, will often dictate how they intend to talk to their classes. If they fall into the “no meds” camp, they are running a great danger of creating conditions for suffering in their students. Therefore, it’s important that we as a learning community suss out our feelings before stepping into a classroom. 

The United States is a melting pot of split personalities when it comes to our relationship with mental health. We have the best medications on the planet, the best psychiatric care, we know more than we ever have about potential causes and triggers of mental illness, yet we persist in stigmatizing it. Psychotherapy is still the butt of cocktail party jokes and medications are largely condemned as the means by which Big Pharma gets richer. If you need help and accept help, there’s something intrinsically wrong with you. A kind of wrong that makes you “less than” those who don’t need help. Accepting help is often seen as a flaw, something to overcome. If you go through a rough patch and come out the other side, you are a hero, a warrior. If you need this help the rest of your life, you have somehow failed as a person. It separates you from the rest of humanity. It keeps you from being able to make friends, from getting a decent job, it isolates you. It can be a twisted, painful situation for someone suffering from a mental illness. A dirty little secret you can’t tell anyone. Just imagine what it is like to live in a world that says “here are things that can help you, but if you need them you are bad. Oh and don’t tell anyone you are taking advantage of these things because they won’t want to hire you or be your friend.” 

My family’s mental illness pedigree goes back many generations. It is a colorful patchwork quilt of alcoholism, anorexia, depression, suicide, bipolar disorder, mania and PTSD. Each of us contributes to the quilt in our own special way, but some of us add more squares than others.  One of the greatest contributors has been my dad. He suffered from type 1 bipolar disorder. Diagnosed when I was six and in and out of institutions, hospitals and prisons for most of my childhood, his life was a roller coaster of manic highs and debilitating lows. He would regularly take his medications and regularly throw them out, both with varying degrees of success. At the time of his death he was being weaned off one medication and onto something else. This caused him to slip into a hypomanic state. In his hypomania, he walked into the woods, got lost and died from exposure. 

His meds basically killed him. The first medication made things worse, the second didn’t fix it. If he’d never started on that one he wouldn’t have had to move him onto something else. If the second had been more effective, he never would have had the anxiety attack that caused his brain to switch over into hypomania, etc. He died because of the drugs. 

So, I am violently anti-meds right? No. I am 100% pro meds. GO meds! 

Why?

Because, although my father’s case is extreme, I still believe modern medicine saved his life. Because, I have other bipolar family members who have done amazingly well on meds. Because, without meds, these family members would be dead by now. 

Because, no matter what I think about the pharmaceutical industry or about healthcare in the United States, no matter how many close family members and friends I’ve seen suffer, I still do not know what it is like to live with a chronic mental illness.

And because of all this, I know that I can not judge someone else’s life.

My student-teachers will often say “yeah, but you are talking about extreme cases. Those people are really, really sick. What I am talking about is the person who just feels sad and can’t deal.” And no, I’m not. I’m also talking about the sad guy who “can’t deal” and goes to his doctor and asks for Zoloft. Him too. We don’t get to pass judgement on the degree of someone’s pain any more than we get to decide someone’s sexuality. Their choice is not a reflection of our hurts or our recovery, it is not related to our friend who was on meds and successfully got off them or about the family member who committed suicide because of them. No matter the belief; whether it’s that we are an overmedicated society that is too dependent on drugs, or everyone should be on something, we are not the judge and jury of someone else’s mental health. 

Yoga teaches us first and foremost that the practice is personal. The first sutra of The Yoga Sutras says Atha Yoganusanam (1.1), Now the exposition of Yoga is being made. Now, meaning this moment, we chose to take this audience. We chose to sit at the feet of the learning right now. Not “when you are ready, turn to page six” or “next week we will cover this topic” but we do it in the present. We make a conscious choice. The doing is done by us. We chose. The second sutra, Yogas chitta vritti nirodhah (1.2), The restraint of the modifications of the mind-stuff is Yoga, means to practice yoga, we control our mind’s chatter. We learn to reign in our mind and focus it. 

Now I choose to control my thoughts.  

Not; “Now I choose to control the thoughts of others.” 

Even when I am sure I know what everyone else should do, I must come to grips with the fact that that conviction is a distraction. A distraction that keeps me from doing the work of knowing my true Self. 

If you have a visceral reaction to medications, if you feel strongly that everyone can and should get off their meds, that the world is overmedicated, that is totally, totally fine. You are free to believe whatever you want. Go for it. But, know that how you feel about medication is just a feeling. Feelings, even strong ones, don’t make us right. They just makes us opinionated. Opinions are not facts. Opinions are not truth. They are distractions. 

Whether Prozac and its brethren are a deplorable representation of the state of life in the modern age, a reflection of our inability to cope, or a need being filled, doesn’t matter. Because yoga teachers are not preachers. We teach yoga. That’s it.

Teach yoga and practice Ahimsa by holding your tongue. As Satchidananda says “If by being honest we will cause trouble, difficulty or harm to anyone, we should keep quiet.”  

And if you can’t hold your tongue, then don’t teach yoga. Your visceral feelings about meds will not help someone decide what’s the best course of action for him/herself. 

Each time you think about commenting on psyche meds or making a statement like “you don’t need that crap” try and remember that there is a human being on the receiving end of that statement. A person who showed up to the mat. They showed up. That’s enough. 

That’s all we can ask of anyone who comes to our class.

The Schism of Yoga and Capitalism

by Jen Whinnen

I am a professional yoga teacher. This is my career. I use my philosophical and spiritual practices to make a living. As such, I live in an irreconcilable paradox. By profiting from my spiritual work, I willingly participate in the system of capitalism. Capitalism is in direct contrast to the principles of yoga. Capitalism is an economic and political system that is interested in profit, in gain. Yogic practices aim to free oneself from the things capitalism relies upon to thrive; desire and attachment. Capitalism aims to produce an experience in the material world. Yoga aims to release the consciousness from the material world. Capitalism does not care about yoga. Yoga cares not for capitalism. They are irreconcilable.

However, I do not feel the need to bring these two systems to a peace accord. I do not believe, as is often touted in yoga circles, that I can make my capitalistic career yogic. “Conscious Capitalism” is an oxymoron. It places morality upon a concept, a thing. Things are not moral or amoral. They are things. A natural disaster is a disaster in name only. Nature shines and produces, rages and destroys. That’s what it does. Our feelings about destruction are not shared by nature. Capitalism produces and consumes for profit. That’s what it does. Therefore, conscious capitalism is a distraction. It takes the responsibility of consciousness off me. It anthropomorphizes a thing, giving it a moral compass it does not have. This is the antithesis of the yoga practice. I can not rewrite the terms of capitalism because it makes me uncomfortable.

I can, however, get comfortable with the fact that, in terms of my yoga practice, choosing to participate in capitalism is an imperfect choice. I, being a sentient being with a mind and body to govern, must acknowledge that I am making an imperfect choice.

Imperfect however, does not mean “bad.” It simply means not perfect. Perfect Love, Universal Consciousness, the Ultimate, is a concept that is nearly impossible to conceive, let alone achieve. How many of my day-to-day actions reflect this kind of experience? Very little. Probably none. But that doesn’t mean I am bad. It simply means I am not perfect. I am not fully realized.

Ironically, this imperfection is the thing that assists in revealing the Perfect to me. This is the yogic paradigm. We have to be in the world, to use the world, to reveal the truth that is beyond the world. Accepting my imperfection, my limitedness, accepting that my experience is skewed by my misconceptions is the thing that will afford me an opportunity to change. Understanding my actions as being imperfect calms down the constant babble of “Oh no I am right for doing this because I want it. And because I want it, it must be the thing I need to do!” These thoughts keep me furiously racing in the hamster wheel.

However, when I start to think “Wait, do I need this? Do I want this? Does the thing need to change or do I need to change?” then I slow down. Once I slow down, I see that I can also moderate my pace. I can get off the wheel if I want. It’s not until I come to the point of realizing my imperfection that I can even conceive of the notion that I made a choice. I choose to run fast or run slow. I choose to stay on or get off. The wheel is just a thing. The wheel is there, but I choose my participation. If I stay, according to the yogic paradigm, I am doing so consciously. I am here of my own free will. I am participating in my own experience. I can not change the storms or stop the rains, I can not change the wheel. But I can change my relationship to the wheel. I can change the way I think. That is the only thing I can do.

Making money as a teacher is not a yogic act. Giving away my teaching for free is not a yogic act. I can be just as invested in my generosity as I can in my greed. Both are actions. What is yogic is how I manage my mind when I act. Krishna tells Arjuna “You have the rights to action, but not its fruit” (2.47). How easy is it to act without wanting a reward? This is No. Small. Task. This is a Big Idea. A big concept to wrangle with and work on.  In order to do so I must accept that I willingly make imperfect choices. In doing so I become aware of my desires, my attachments to the fruits of my actions.

As a “householder,” a mother, a wife, lover of chocolate and cheese, a teacher, a writer, I work trying to let go of my desires for romantic love, praise, stuff and try. Invariably I fall short, but that is not a reason to bemoan the effort. The efforting is the thing. Consciously accepting that I miss the mark keeps me from getting distracted with useless attempts at justifying my choices as valid or invalid. It liberates me. It allows me to be forgiving of myself and forgiving of others for doing the same stuff. I am in it too. Being imperfect opens me to the Perfect because I see that we are all, everyone one of us, doing the best we can.

I often joke with my students that I have no misconceptions about my place in the cycle of samsara (the cycles of reincarnation). If reincarnation is real, I accept that I am coming around again. I tell them, “So, I’ll see you next time. We’ll get together and have a coffee!”

My treat.

Refining Your Teaching; What’s Going on in the World Around You?

by Jen Whinnen

A significant part of my work is spent teaching my teacher trainees how to “see” better, meaning how to look at each class as a real time event that needs to be tended to in the present moment. Classes need to be organized around our understanding of what is going on around us, but to do that effectively, we need to cultivate better vision.  Part of cultivating better vision is simply learning what goes where and how. This is the grossest form of teaching.  Beyond that a teacher must become competent at discerning if what I say either improves or compromises the class. To do that we first look for misalignment, for grunts and groans, for caught breathing, for lags and peaks in the classroom energy, then modify our teaching from there.

To refine our teaching even further, we can work towards cultivating awareness by observing the world around us and creating classes that take into consideration the experience of our students in the world.  To do this well, it’s best to start with the basics.  Remember that human beings are both organic and social creatures.  As such, two of the biggest contributing factors in our lives, either consciously or unconsciously, will be the seasons and culturally significant events.  It has been my experience that these two things are the greatest classroom temperament gauges. The season and culturally significant events influence how we function together.  One dictates our biological response to the world the other significantly influences our interactions with each other.

Let’s take our current season, winter, and its correlating holidays. In the winter, the days are shorter and the nights are longer. In many places, the ground freezes and growing stops.  For some plants and animals, this season is required for them to reproduce or gestate.  The “death” of winter is often a necessary period of respite that allows for rejuvenation. The body, being bound to the earth, often wants to obey this rhythm. When the days are shorter and colder, the body metabolizes slower because it is striving to conserve energy and stay warm. Additionally, because there is less light, people may find that they feel blue or crave more sleep. This is a natural response to winter. No matter how modern we are, how completely turned into electronics we may be, when winter is upon us we feel the effects of it, especially when we are in a group environment. This, when approached with understanding and acceptance, is the boon of being born in a body, of being a part of the natural world and part of community. When we attend well to the effects of the seasons on us we will be comfortable and successful. We will be embodied.

Additionally, it is no coincidence that one of our most significant holidays is connected to the lessening and lengthening of daylight. Winter rituals at their heart reflect our desire to be close and cuddle. They represent our need to become more reflective and introspective. They represent our hope that we will move through darkness and back out into light. And, because Christmas in particular tends to be one of the most hyped holidays, expectations high, the push for spending is high, and over indulgence is expected, it is also one of the most stressful times of year for many.

Our classes should take these factors into consideration. Winter practices should be forward bending practices. Forward bending is a turning in, a folding and refolding. It’s the image of the earth during its death. It’s introspective and restorative.

Does this mean we take 3 – 4 months of only forward bending? No, that is silly. It means we create balanced classes with an emphasis on those practices that enhance our relationship to what’s going on around us. This is a tantric practice, an entering into the world to work through the world. In the Iyengar system classes are taught in a series. Each week has a different focus. One of the weeks is back bending. The back bending week would not be skipped over in the winter, however, the backbends are going to be different in the winter then they are in the summer. This is a good example of conscientious sequencing.

I recently attended a series of classes at a studio where their December “practice of the month” was back bending. Deep, intensive back bending and a month of deep, intensive back bending is not a winter practice. Of all the pose categories, back bending tends to be the most allusive to people because it is the least natural of all our body’s movements. In order to backbend well all the other parts need to be prepared. You need good vertical extension, a very open front body and the spine must be protected and strong. Additionally, there needs to be an understanding of the basic mechanics of the spine to back bend well lest the student take the brunt of the work in the lumbar. Back bending must be worked up to and warmed up to and therefore we need the long daylight hours, the open warmth of summer to bring us into the open mindedness of continuous, deep back bending.  When we are in a season of conservation, when the body is “hibernating” asking it to work against that is counter-intuitive.

Of course, the counter argument may be, “but back bending is enlivening! It opens your heart and wakes you up! It gets you out of that funk of winter!”  Who says winter is a funk? It’s a funk when we identify too closely with summer. That attachment, like all attachments, creates suffering. The practice teaches us to accept life as it is, to be receptive to things rather than working to bend it to our will.  Asking students to back bend aggressively during the winter season is too much of a “good” thing. It stresses out the nervous system and causes injuries. In fact, one of the teacher’s at the above mentioned studio commented that she’d noticed decline in class size as the month went on.  Her rational was that it was because people are afraid of back bending and so they were avoiding it. This is a common teacher mistake.  The student must be doing something wrong. It’s not them. It’s us. A decline in a class size during a “pose of the month” means we are not paying attention. We have missed the cues that our students are giving us and failed to modify our classes accordingly.

When students come to your class they come to be in community.  They come to be seen. One of the surest ways of guaranteeing that students know we see them is to acknowledge the greater influences around them. As teachers it’s important that we are mindful of that. In your on-going efforts to learn and grow, try and remember that life is playing a part in how your students arrive in class.  There is a teaming mass of activity going on outside the doors of our yoga space and although we want to be able to put that aside for the hour or so, class doesn’t exist in a bubble.  Our students are organic, social creatures who pulse with life around them. Work to see this, respond to this and you will be pleasantly surprised at how your students respond to you.