You Write Your Own Story

My son was picked on a lot at school last year which led to a lot of negative self talk. He had lists of all the things he was not and why these things made him less worthy, less lovable.

He was sure this was true, the die had been cast because someone else said it was so.

But here's the thing; no one gets to tell you who you are.

Your story is decided by you.

And the way you talk to yourself matters.

If you listen on others' assessments of you, if you adopt them as your own, they become "real" to you.

So listen my friends and listen well:

Unless the assessment of you is glowing, and supportive, and helpful, do not accept it. Do not believe someone else's story about you.

Write your own story.

And then rewrite your story.

And then make drafts, and more drafts.

And then rewrite it again, and again, and again.

You are a story left untold, an adventure waiting to unfold!

Don't let someone else write your story for you.

Love you!

On the Topic of Support

My father was bipolar, a fact he was deeply ashamed of. Mental illness was deeply stigmatized back then, and he was raised in a patriarchal household where a man’s self-worth was narrowly defined. His diagnosis made him feel impotent, he thought it prevented him from being a “real” man. Relying on medications and therapy for the rest of his life was unacceptable; it meant he was weak, that he’d failed. The only way to be a real man was to be free of all “crutches;” to be free of mental illness. He would try to cycle off his treatments at regular intervals. Every time he cycled off it resulted in tragic, heartbreaking consequences. He died a month before my 23rd birthday because he did not want to admit he needed help. 

My father’s narrow definition of health and manhood wreaked havoc on our family. My childhood was a series of fires I either helpless watched rage out of control, desperately tried to put out, ran from, into, or planned escape routes around. By the time I reached adulthood, my psyche was a tinder box - one spark could set it ablaze. 

Lucky for me, about six months before my dad died, I discovered yoga. The class was taught by an Iyengar teacher in a gym. At the beginning of each class she would wheel in a tall, wobbly, metal cabinet full of props; mats, blankets, blocks, straps, bolsters, wedges. It even had folding, backless, metal chairs. We were constantly getting things out of, and putting things back in, the cart. We had to learn how to manipulate them, how to use them, how to care for them. The props were as much a part of the class as the teacher was. The message was; “These props are a part of your experience. They support you. The props are yoga.”

Before that class, I do not believe I had ever experienced “support” as a part of day to day life. The idea that support could be a mundane, routine aspect of living was truly wild to me. Support was a dirty little secret we kept behind closed doors. No one was supposed to know we needed things! 

I asked my teacher, “The props - we don’t use them all the time, do we? I mean, we’re just using them because we’re bad at yoga, right? We eventually outgrow them, that’s the point, right?” 

She looked confused and said, “The props? No, the props just - are. I mean maybe you don’t need them, but we always use them.” 

What a novel idea that was! I could show up and, if I needed support or not, support was there. It was just going to be there. Support was this open, plain, condition-less, restriction-less, requirement-free thing in the room. There was no value judgment. The props were just a part of the practice; maybe we don’t need them, but we always use them. 

That class opened a window of possibility; maybe, if I choose things that supported my overall well-being, I could fortify my life. Maybe there were ways to build a firewall, add some flame retardant, dig a fire line around my brittle, dry, flammable life. I stuck with the class and, by the time my dad died, I had started to build a foundation of support for myself. I had a small reserve to draw from, something that would eventually help me out of many dark and desperate times in my life.  

We need to stop stigmatizing support. Humans are social creatures. We need each other to survive. We need to support each other. We need to ask for and give support. In every training there is this “the crossing over” – the time when our young student-teachers move from awareness of themselves as the teacher to realizing teaching is about being there for someone else. This is not an easy thing to come to grips with. Most people start taking yoga because we have a need, something we hope will help us manage.

We stay with the practice because it supports us. 

When we feel pulled to teach, we have to take it a step further; we have to move from what yoga does for us to think about what we can do for others. Teaching is an act of supporting people. It is meeting them as they are, celebrating them, and working to discover how to best support them as they are. Take the “shoulds” out of your practice. If a person needs support, don’t just give it to them - celebrate them. Model support by using support and celebrating your use of it. Show gratitude and grace for support. It is necessary and it is good; both on and off the mat. Take and give support and remind yourself, “this is part of my overall my life, an aspect of my health and well-being. It is a blessing. Thank you for being there for me.”

A Yoga Christmas Story

My younger son is ten years old. Ten is a liminal age, the beginning of the tween years. Being a tween is hard because their whole “thing” is that they are straddling a line between here and there, and not being anywhere. It is confusing, sometimes lonely, and often scary. 

This year has been particularly hard for Jai because, not only is he entering his tweens, but he is also mourning the loss of his grandmother. Jai was very close with his grandma. They were kindred spirits; sweet, loving, carefree artists. Losing her was like losing a piece of himself. 

Jai has also decided this year that he no longer believes in Santa Claus. For weeks he has been hounding me with forlorn questions like, “Santa’s not real right? I know he’s not real.”

I didn’t really know how to respond. Conventional wisdom says we parents are supposed to take our cue from our kiddo. When the child is ready to move on, they ask. When they ask, we are supposed to give them the “Santa is within” speech. That speech is supposed to help them transition from “gift-getter” to “gift-giver” with grace. It is supposed to make them excited about their new role in the whole Christmas Experience universe. 

It is nice and neat, and, when it works, it is a parenting win. I gave the speech to my older son and it worked. He was excited to be in on the secret and embraced Phase II of Christmas Magic with enthusiasm and pride. But with Jai, there was no joy in the big reveal. He was sad and heartbroken. His chin dropped to his chest and he choked back tears. He struggled to articulate why he was taking it so hard, but eventually said, “It was just nice you know? The idea that someone out there was looking out for me.”

Of course, this wasn’t about Santa. It was about his grandma. If Santa was real, then maybe his grandma might not be gone either. Maybe she was out there somewhere, looking out for him. Or, if grandma was gone, it was tolerable because Santa, an old, magical being, was still out there, checking on him. Santa understood his inner most heart. Santa understood what he liked. Santa would reassure him that he was seen, that he was loved. 

But now, that fantasy was shattered. Santa wasn’t real and his grandma was gone. And, no matter how heartbreaking it was, no matter how badly Jai wanted to believe in Santa, he didn’t. His maturing sense of self demanded he accept it. Despite the pain, he had to accept a new reality.

This is one of the hardest parts of being a parent. I want to shield my children from every heartache. But, of course I can’t. I can’t mourn for Jai. The best I can do is offer support. I can sit with him, hold him, let him cry. I can help him find words and hold space for him, but I cannot do the emotional work for him. That burden is his. And sadly, the emotional labor is his as well.  

Sutra 2.1 of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, states that we must “accept pain as purification.” We must accept that the work will be difficult and uncomfortable. In taking on the practice, I understand that it will not be easy, and it will be painful, but I do it anyway. 

Basically; I choose to grow up. 

What a miracle choosing to grow up is! As his parent, I would have happily let Jai spend another year in “Santa Fantasy,” - hell, I would have shielded him forever! - but he forced my hand. I think he needed a new narrative for loss, a way to mourn the loss of two beloved friends. We sat together for a while, discussing how “Santa Magic” still exists, but just in a different way, and then Jai said, “I know you have Santa Magic in you mom… I think I do too.” 

We often glorify youth and say things like, “I believe!” as a testament to our blissful ignorance, but I think we should celebrate our successful maturation too. Yes, growing up comes with uncomfortable, hard moments - that is the “emotional burden” of being alive. We don’t get out of bearing that burden by running away from it. When we choose to do our own emotional labor, it moves us from the child-like “gift getter” to the adult “gift giver” – it makes us more empathic, compassionate and loving. 

And those are wonderful gifts to give and receive. 

May you love and be loved, 
give and receive support, 
and care and be care for.

This Side of Thanksgiving

Welcome to the other side of Thanksgiving! As you know, the rest of the year tends to fly by. It is classically a time to reflect on the year behind us and adjust our goals and plans for the New Year. Joining the gym, improving our diet, spending less, reading more... you know this story.

Because we are human, we tend to drop these goals shortly after the New Year starts (we all know that story too:)). It is a nice idea, but we all know there is no magical fresh start in January. We are still us and our lives are as busy and challenging as they were a month ago. Plus, the winter days are short and dark, and instinctively we want to curl up against the cold.

Dedicating ourselves to wellness does not happen overnight and sometimes is not very exciting or fun. Work, consistent action, allowing ourselves to fail and keep trying, requires new tools and new ways of approaching ourselves.

Yoga teaches us to be patient, to manage boredom, and to tune in to the beauty and joy in the mundane maintenance of being human. Yoga teaches us to enjoy simple self care: sleeping well, eating foods that nourish us, moving our bodies and making quiet time for our minds. It teaches us to notice our constantly shifting emotions, wants and needs and decide what actions to take and what thoughts to dismiss.

In our yoga teacher training program, you will find a supportive community that celebrates your decision to take time out for you, and supports your desire to focus your energy towards creating your goals. Whether you go on to change your career, or take the training as an investment in yourself, your time spent learning and growing in your yoga community, will be time well spent.

We have two intensive trainings in January 2020. One over the weekends and one during the week. Click here for more information and here to apply.

We strive to keep our trainings intimate, inclusive and affordable. TSY is dedicated to keeping our tuition reasonable and will continue to do so. Historically we have offered deep discounts for students who get their tuition in early. These “early birds” allow us to make budget projections. We now have three tuition prices: the early bird discount, the pay-in-full tuition price and payment plans. Click here for more information.

Join us on Wednesday 12/4 at 4:30pm OR 6:00pm for a free Sample Class & FAQ sessions. Come to see our studio, learn more about the training and practice together. To reserve your spot, email Kate. (Also counts as makeup hours for our alumni!)

We hope you have a successful, joy-filled end to 2019 and we hope to see you soon in the New Year!

-
Love, TSY
A Jen & Kate Collaboration

Thanksgiving Thoughts

Despite my best efforts, there are days when it all goes downhill. The coffee spills, the bag rips, I hurt myself, there is a need I cannot fulfill, complaints, disappointments… no matter what I do, the day cannot be turned around. 

Yet I still try and remember I am fine.

I currently live in a city where one fifth of the population falls below the poverty line. 2nd Harvest, a food charity, serves 55,000 meals a week. They serve more meals in one week than runners running the NYC marathon. To put that in perspective; think of five people you know. Now imagine that one of them feels food insecure every day. 

That is why, no matter how upset I am at the day, I try and remember that my fellow man, literally that fourth person over, is suffering too. It is a cold, but necessary comfort. A way to keep from wallowing in my own petty self-pity.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because, at the heart of it, it is just a meal. It is a chance to practice gratitude and break bread with friends and family. Such a simple idea. 

But, for some of us, it is a reminder of what we lack, of what we cannot provide. For me, Thanksgiving is bittersweet this year. It marks one year from my mother’s diagnosis. In a week, it will be one year from “Five Days and Everything Changed.” 

Holidays like this are fraught because they are simple, yet complicated. We get a chance to reflect and practice grace, yet we also don’t stop being ourselves. We show up as we are. And if we are struggling, if we are suffering, that will not change because we made a big meal. 

And that is the point; there is so little that separates our suffering. We are all suffering. So, rather than isolate, we really need to reach out; try and help each other out. 

As the holiday season ramps up, my hope for you is this:

May you feel loved, 
May you be blessed with good food and care, 
May you know joy, 
and may your burdens be lightened. 

With love,

Jen

Social Media: Stay in the Light

I know the dangers and pitfalls of social media. I know I will go into the vortex of “sosh meed” and it will most likely leave me feeling… meh. Yet, I also know that each day, at some point or another, I will end up on social media. I have accepted that at some point in every working day, I will feel the "meh" impact of social media.

Which is why I was so surprised today when I actually felt uplifted after being online. My feed was filled with graduations, and babies, and birthdays, and people who have survived surgeries, and people who are cheering themselves on as they battle with their demons. Today, I needed a break from my worries and the most unlikely of sources -  social media - jumped in and gave me a little taste of sweetness.

Miraculous!

Now, I am not going to say we should all go and indulge until our eyeballs fall out, but I do want give credit where credit’s due, so to all of you who:

• Are meeting with family and friends, getting to go on that once in a lifetime vacation, or adopting a pet - that is so wonderful.

• Graduated, retired, or newly promoted - you did it! I am so proud of you.

• Gave birth. I can smell you from here baby, and you make my heart sing!

• Had a Birthday! You made it another trip around the sun! I celebrate you.

• To those of you who survived your surgeries, who are working on managing your mental illness, and sticking with recovery, looking for a new job - thank you for sharing your story and your vulnerability. You give me hope. You make me want to be a better person.

Summer is classically the season of fruitfulness. It is the time to allow life to sweeten and flourish. We go to the beach, we stay up late, we check out for awhile and it is wonderful. But, today I was reminded that no matter the season, we need lift each other up, celebrate our successes, share in our grief and support each other. We need each other.

So thank you for being you! You deserve all the good things. And I wish you all the best in the days ahead.

Five Days

The week after Thanksgiving I was supposed to go with my mom and sons to the Nutcracker. I have been going to the Nutcracker with my mom for as far back as I can remember because she loves theater. She bought tickets for everything; big productions, local productions, community theater, high school musicals - she loved it all. The Nutcracker held a special place in her heart because it was Christmasy, and traditional and just... because. 

This year my mom called on Saturday and said she couldn’t go to the Nutcracker, because she had the flu. 
On Sunday, I went to see her and thought, “maybe she had a mini stroke...”
On Monday she went to the doctor and he thought, “yes, mini stroke.” 
On Tuesday I spent the day with her eating soup, flipping through catalogs, watching PBS Kids. 
On Wednesday she was rushed to the ER.  

She never went home again. 

Five days. Five days and everything changed. 

This is the story I have been telling over, and over, and over again for the past 3 months. It is the story I repeat in my head. Five days and everything changed. Five day and she never went home again. 

How quickly we went from the Nutcracker as usual, to terminal brain cancer.

How does that happen? 

I think about all the things I didn’t get to say, all the things we didn’t get to do. I think about all the things I should have done. 

There are the tropes we say when someone is losing a loved one. We say, “love your family and hug them as if it is was the last day.” We say, “live each day as if it is your last.” 

It is a nice idea, but it is not practical. How do we live in a heightened sense of “pending end” every day? What would that even look like? 

If I lived every day as if it was my last, I would not do laundry, eat healthy, or do the things. I like being neat and healthy, but let’s be honest - I would not do laundry on my last day of life. 

I do the things because I have to live each day as if I was going to see tomorrow. I need to live with the expectation that there will be a tomorrow because I cannot sustain a sense of immediacy. It’s too much. It’s too intense. 

And hugging someone as if it is their last day is gut wrenching. It is sad. It hurts. It is one of the most painful, awful things we ever get the opportunity to do. 

And it is an opportunity, it is a gift. It is. Even though it sucks.

We say, “love them now for you might not get to love them tomorrow.”  And that is true. Love each other now, but not as if you will never see each other again, but because you have the opportunity to do it now. Love and trust that there will be another Nutcracker. And, if another Nutcracker doesn’t come, if you are given the opportunity to love someone through their passing, do that too.

Do both.

Look to this day:
For it is life, the very life of life.
In its brief course
Lie all the verities and realities of your existence.
The bliss of growth,
The glory of action,
The splendour of achievement
Are but experiences of time. 

For yesterday is but a dream
And tomorrow is only a vision;
And today well-lived, makes
Yesterday a dream of happiness
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Look well therefore to this day;
Such is the salutation to the ever-new dawn! 

- By Kālidāsa

Small Moments of Grace

This holiday season, my mom was diagnosed with brain cancer. Her tumor is inoperable and advanced, so she has decided against treatment. She is now actively dying. 

My mom has always been a sweet, endearingly charming, and, at times, maddeningly positive person. Throughout this ordeal, these delightful qualities have endured. Her essential nature is hanging on as she slips away. This is a blessing. She is beloved by everyone who works with her. They all gush about how nice and easy she is, how much she brightens everyone’s day. 

But the side that gave her sweetness depth is gone. We will never have conversations about politics, world events or anything philosophical. Her shameless cheating in cards, her sarcastic wit, her frankness; gone. 

I am grateful for the sweetness, but I miss the sour.

I mourn the person I didn’t know was leaving me. Parts of her were swept out of my life before I was ready. It is as if I donated a bunch of clothes but, now, after the van drove away, I am yelling, “Wait, wait, wait! I think my favorite sweater is in there! I need to look through that bag again!”

When my dad died, he was taken suddenly. It was an immediate wound. But this is like a bruise I keep re-injuring. It is a recurring, painful, ache. Each incremental loss needs to be mourned but, I also need to get to know the person she is now. This means mourning and celebrating at the same time. I have to find a way of holding her close, while simultaneously mourning the loss of the person she was. Sudden death robbed me of an opportunity to love. Slow death has given me an opportunity to love more. 

And that opportunity comes with responsibility. I have to be purposeful. If I am not purposeful, I could easily put my head in the sand and hide. I could easily just think “tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow” instead of today. The doctors say “months” and it feels like an invitation to drag my feet. As if denying the bruise with stop the pain when I smack it again. I have to get sharp with myself and say, “Hey! This thing is happening now!” and then I have to work on loving that person better than I did and being kinder to myself than I was. Because time is up.

We always have to ask ourselves. “Do I step up now, or do I hang back and hope?” Hanging back and hoping is not an option for me. It is a false hope. My mother chose to not take treatment. My job now is to honor her choice and do this living/dying thing with her.  

What I have learned thus far is that grace is often just this small little thing. It is seeing the sweetness in my mother and enjoying how pure and beautiful it is. It is in seeing the world through her eyes. Enjoying how she sees art and beauty in everything. It is seeing how much grace comes simply by being grateful, by seeing the best in people and expecting that they will do right by you. It is this small, daily dose of nativity and sweetness that is… encouraging.

Friends, I don’t have any decent advice here... Just a wish that you look for the small moments of grace in your day and embrace it. Empower yourself and others to be their very best, most loving self. You might be surprised at how well it goes.

I know I have been. 

With love,
Jen

Questions are Never Stupid. Answers are Stupid.

As we head into the final series on managing holiday stress, I have two things to offer you: 

1.     The importance of questions
2.     The importance of self-love

There is a scene in the yoga docudrama, “Enlighten Up!” between Guru Sharan Ananda and Nick, the film’s protagonist. Guru Sharan Ananda sits on an elevated seat. Nick sits at Sharan Ananda’s feet, looking up. Nick’s guide lists all of the Guru Sharan Ananda’s qualifications which intimidates Nick. When prompted to speak, Nick apologizes and says, “If I ask you any stupid question or am in any way offensive -” Guru Sharan Ananda interrupts him and says, “Questions are never stupid. Answers are stupid.”

Questions are never stupid. Answers are stupid. 

As a teacher, Guru Sharan Ananda immediately recognizes Nick as the most important person in the room. His questions, whatever they are, are the spark for understanding. And that spark, is the most important ingredient in the knowledge soup. 

Questions are the pivot point for all learning. In a Socratic dialogue, the discussion happens not from Socrates just pontificating on something, but because a student asks a question. In the Bhaghavad Gita, Krishna teaches Arjuna the Dharma because Arjuna asks him questions. In our quest for understanding, the need to know is primary. I mean, without curiosity, what use is knowledge? 

This is an important distinction between what makes us learners and what makes us teachers. A teacher is not just someone who knows. A teacher is someone who can answer a question well. Each time we teach we are being tested. The student is always pushing us to see not only what we know, but how well we can convey it.

Knowing stuff is great. It is empowering. But knowing is not teaching. Being an expert is not teaching. Experts pontificate. Teachers illuminate. 

After this week, the earth will start to shift towards warmth and light. It is a predictable, arduous process towards illumination. Like learning, this happens, not just by brute force of the sun, but by the effort of the earth yearning towards the sun.

The art of teaching extends well beyond the classroom. It is a daily practice of awareness. This week think of what it means to be a teacher in all aspect of your life. Are you listening well? How do you illuminate? Are you appropriate? Are your answers relevant? Is it kind? 

Which leads me to my next point; when you are not, forgive and love yourself regardless. 

This past couple of weeks I have made many mistakes. I have not been my best self. 

And that is OK too. 

The other side of the teaching coin is that you must always, always be a student. A teacher that gives up their desire to learn, is not a teacher. Therefore, treat yourself the way you would the student who is struggling most in your class. Be gentle, be loving, be encouraging, be kind to you.

This time of year is wonderful and hard. It is fun and stressful. And we are humans being, not humans done. So, forgive yourself. Trust that you are enough, that you matter and know that there is a place at the table for you. I know there is a place for me. 

And, if there is a place for me, there is most certainly a place for you. ;)

Wishing you much love warmth and joy.

The Power of Three

We are heading into deep winter folks! Deep winter means the holiday season is upon us. And with the holidays we can look forward to fun, merriment and stress!  

I have always found this time of year a bit of a struggle. The natural inclination is to turn inward. It is a time to slow down and be cozy. It makes sense that we would seek the comfort and companionship of friends and family. But sometimes that drive feels antithetical. There are days where I would prefer to be left alone with my dreary, winter self rather than make merry. Plus, for me, living with four different people with four different thoughts, wants and needs means there are going to be clashes. And being cooped up indoors for days on end is going to throw wood on that fire no matter how much yoga I do!  

Chances are, like me, you are going to find yourself in closer than normal quarters. This intimacy may come with challenging personalities. That is why, over the next few weeks I am dedicating my emails to sharing tools I have found for managing the “season of togetherness.” My hope is that it will help you manage your togetherness, help you feel more in control of your experience, and find genuine joy. 

A couple of weeks ago I talked about listening (click here if you want to read that one). This week I am focusing on triangulation. 

Three is a magic number. Religions, philosophers and marketers all understand that three is where it’s at because one is an anomaly, two is a mistake, but three is a pattern. And we love patterns. We count on them to give us boundaries and perimeters. They help our “brain hole” function better. When we learn a new skill or start a new routine, it is as if we are trying to sprint through a dense forest. We have to use more brain energy to forcefully navigate the terrain and stay upright. Like a sprint, that brain stuff burns out quickly. Routines, however, create a trail in our brain forests. When we step on the trail the pitfalls are minimal, the mental fatigue lower. 

Routines are coping mechanisms as well. They help us feel secure and help us relate to one another. This is one of the reasons why triangulation is so seductive; like the number three, triangles, with their three points, three angles and three lines, tend to be satisfying. Triangulation taps into our love of threes, it creates dramatic swings in emotions and it relies upon familiarity and pattern to yield results. 

So, what is triangulation? Triangulation is a form of manipulation where a person uses at least two other people to control the narrative of a situation with the “triangulator” at the center. It is a means of maintaining power and control by creating divisiveness. Although it is largely viewed as a tool of narcissist, it is not exclusive to narcissists. 

Gossip is the most common form of triangulation. For example; someone in your job gets a promotion that someone else wanted. Rather than go to the hiring manager and ask, “why didn’t I get the job?” The triangulator will go to a colleague and say, “Sally only got the job because she is a suck up! I can’t believe they fell for it, I thought they were smarter than that!” As long as the other person continues to talk to the triangulator, the triangulator retains power and control. The triangulator is both the messenger and the creator of the message. 

Most likely we have all found ourselves in, or been the perpetrator of, this dynamic. And while this behavior is absolutely toxic, it is important to note that this behavior has created a connection for the triangulator. This choice, feeble and toxic though it may be, allowed the triangulator to feel connected to another person. And that feeling, the feeling of being seen and heard, is satisfying. 

So, what should we do with triangulators? First of all, it is impossible to change anyone. The only control we have is over our own reactions. Therefore, we must change the message. 

For me, yoga has been very helpful with triangulation because yoga teaches us compassion, patience and possibility. Triangulation is generally caused by trauma. It is born from pain and suffering. I try and remember that when I am confronted with a gossip. This is not the same thing as excusing a person’s behavior. Pitting people against each other is never OK. But it does help me remember that everyone is doing the best they can. 

And I have compassion for that. 

With these three (there's that number again) tools, compassion, patience, possibility, I use this formula (note the 3’s!):

1.     compassion, 
2.     sympathy and/or option, 
3.     leave

Let’s Role Play!

Triangulator: “I can’t believe they gave the job to Sally! She is the worst suck up I have ever seen! How can they not see that?!”

Target: “You are upset that Sally got the job.” 
TRI: “Yes! I feel completely betrayed.”
Target: “I am sorry you are so hurt.”
TRI: “Yes, she is the worst! She – “
Target: “I’m so sorry you are so hurt. That is hard. I hope you are able to speak with the hiring manager about this. It sounds like you need closure. Excuse me.”

Then LEAVE. 

It is important at this point to extract yourself. By not allowing the triangulator to continue, you are changing the message. You are telling this person that you are interested in them, sympathetic to their pain, but not interested in this conversation. ​

Of course, this is harder when dealing with family members or friends, because triangulating family/friends is intimate. We have been participating in that triangle for a long time. When dealing with triangulation with a loved one, it is important to discover for ourselves what we get out of the triangulation. What need is being “satisfied” by both the triangulator and by me? Often it is a fear of abandonment or shame. Once we understand our triggers, we can address them, i.e. “Mom, it sounds like you are upset. I love you. I am not going anywhere, but you need to talk to them about this, not me.” Compassion, sympathy and/or options, leave.

The key to this technique’s success - you need to actually feel compassion. When I say “I am sorry you are hurt” I mean it. I do not wish anyone to suffer. Likewise, I sincerely do not wish to participate in this destructive behavior. That is why I am comfortable with leaving. It is not working for me. And a conversation, if it is successful, needs to work for both people. 

Yoga is practical and applicable. As you head onto your mat in the coming weeks, I encourage you to practice these steps on your mat. When you find yourself saying “why can’t I balance today!” offer yourself compassion, give yourself sympathy and/or options and, if necessary, give yourself the room to take a break. Sometimes loving is hard work, so start with you. 

Good luck out there yogis! I believe in you!

Listening Well

I recently attended a 3-day immersion program studying attachment theory. At one point we were asked to draw a circle and plot how we were raised to deal with nine “core” emotions. If we were allowed to have/express that emotion in our family, it went in the circle. If not, it went outside the circle.

Without thinking about it, I plotted the emotional map of my childhood as “before” and “after.” “Before” was life with a bi-polar father before he accepted care. “After” was life after he accepted care. This was not a dramatic choice. It was a very banal choice; almost clinical. I had grown up with two distinctly different experiences, both were valuable insights for me. As such, they both had a place in the circle.

We were then asked to break into small groups and share our circles. After sharing mine, the conversation immediately shifted from “oh that is interesting” to curiosity about the mentally ill. I was peppered with questions like, “What was that like?” and “What did that do to you?”

I felt very exposed, vulnerable. I backpedaled. “Oh, no it’s fine. I’m totally fine! I am fine now. It’s totally fine!” 

When I was finally able to break away, I had a good run, then a good think. Why was I so disturbed by their reaction? I am familiar with people’s curiosity. I usually anticipate it. Why was this so upsetting? 

Because, to me, mental illness wasn’t a focal point of this exercise. I was on a different trajectory. And for them, the only thing they heard was “bi-polar.” They just heard the “before.” They completely ignored the “after.” They were so interested in the juicy tabloid bits of bi-polar that they ignored the fact that I also talked about an after - a point at which many of those core emotions were sitting comfortably inside that circle with a bi-polar father.

They missed my point. They didn’t hear me.

There are a lot of reasons why we misunderstand each other. Maybe it is because the other seems foreign and that makes us scared. Maybe because it peaks our curiosity. Maybe it is because we are distracted. Maybe we are clinging to preconceived notions and stereo-types.

Maybe it is because we are not listening well.

Listening well requires that we turn down the volume on our own internal conversation. We have to focus on the “hear” (see what I did there?) and now.

This week, if we are lucky and blessed, we will be sharing a meal with people we love and who love us. That often means we will be breaking bread with people we don’t ideologically agree with. This can cause a contraction. It can make us mad. How do we share space with people we don’t agree with?

There are no easy answers. Your best option may be to walk away. It may be to avoid the conversation entirely. If, however, you are endeavoring to turn down your own noise and be a better listener, I recommend trying the “2 second pause then reflect” approach.

When someone says something to you, wait 2 seconds and then tell them what you heard. For example:

Kiddo:  Mom, I do not want to do Math is Cool!

Me: (RAPID THINKING “Yes you do! You love math! You will have so much fun! All your friends are doing it! Just give it a try!!”) Wait 2 seconds. Reflect… You don’t want to do Math is cool.

I know, this sounds phony, and it actually is when you first do it. But it works. It forces you to pay attention.

The two second pause forces us to process what we heard rather than jumping right into what we are thinking (which, let’s be honest here, is usually something about ourselves). Reflecting back makes us codify what we heard. And, since we most likely don’t want to get caught looking silly, we will pay closer attention so that when we reflect back, we get it right. 

Give it a shot. You may be surprised how often you hear yourself saying “oh I know exactly what you mean! I blah blah blah…” Notice how often you start forming your next question, counter point, or thought without even processing what the person said. 

When you find yourself saying bum-rushing the conversation, stop. Take a moment and reflect back what you heard: 

Kiddo: No! Math is Cool is going to be a lot of work. 

Me: (RAPID THINKING: Wellyeahitisgoingtobealotofwork,butthat’sOK!) Wait 2 seconds, Reflects… You don’t want a lot of extra work. 

Kiddo: No! I can barely keep up with what I have now. 

Me: (RAPID THINKING. Yes, this is true you are struggling with your work load) Wait 2 sec. Reflect… It sounds like you are afraid you will be overwhelmed. Am I hearing you correctly? 

Kiddo: Yes! 

I’m not going to lie, it’s a ton of work. It also feels very hokey and awkward at first. However, the whole point of conversation is to hear each other and be heard. Anything less is just us making noises at each other. Anything less and we’ve missed the point entirely. 

I wish you all the love and bounty of the season friends. May your table be full and your heart fuller. 

Voting Day

Yoga is often translated as “union” or “to join.” In a fragmented and often lonely society such as ours, this is a lovely translation. It imbues a sense of wholeness, a promise for peace through connection. 
 
I love this translation. 
 
Unfortunately, it is incorrect. (Dang it!) 
 
Yoga comes from the root yuj which means to “yoke” or “bind.” There is a fundamental difference between joining something together and binding it. “Joining together” brings to mind a desired, invited coupling. Binding, on the other hand, is a restraint against will. Binding is an act of will and force that is typically put upon something that does not want to be bound.
 
Yoking is also an agrarian term. A yoke is tool traditionally used to bind two oxen together. There often is a plow attached to it. I plow the field to prepare it for planting. When I bind two beasts together, I am able to double the power and control the rate at which animals move. And, with their combined power, I am able to till more soil. 

Choosing the term “yoke” to describe the practice is a conscious one. It depicts a specific action. I yoke, or bind, the two beasts of burden that keep me from knowing my true Self; the body and the mind. I force the body and mind to do my bidding, to work for me. They help me till the soil of my experience so that I may plant the seeds that will bear the fruit of enlightenment (or, more specifically, ensure that I do not plant the seeds that will bear the fruits of karma… but that’s a lesson for another day).
 
In doing yoga I am using my power, my force, my will, to control my mind and body. I choose what to react to. I choose what to do. When the mind skirts away, I bring it back. When the body says “no, I don’t want to!” I say, “just try.” I no longer allow my mind and body to dictate my experience. I do. 
 
That is power. 

Yoga is often described as something that gives us peace, makes us feel more calm, relaxed. And while this may be a byproduct of the physical practice, the original design, according to the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, was not peace per se. The point was liberation, or more specially Kaivalya, which means “emancipation.” Emancipation is defined as liberation from the bounds of karma and the cycle of reincarnation. It also means freedom from bondage. So, while we may find peace in our liberation, peace in and of itself is not the goal of yoga. Freedom is. That freedom comes from first controlling the body and the mind. Power to control my experience.  
 
Again; power.
 
The third pada (teaching) of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali is the “Accomplishments.” It is primarily of a list of powers that an accomplished yogi may encounter on their path to liberation. These are magical powers; flying, walking on water, becoming invisible, healing the sick, etc. For many people, the third teaching is sort of glossed over. The siddhis (powers) are seen as fantastical, wishful thinking, bizarre even. They feel out of place with the rest of the teachings. 
 
This makes sense if you are looking through the lens of yoga = peace. However, if you accept yoga = liberation, then you realize, magic powers are just a stepping stone along that path. If all of this phenomenal world is make-believe, then there is nothing at all unbelievable about overcoming the bounds of “normal” experience. The yogi will naturally have the power to overcome nature.
 
There’s that words again: Power. 
 
Clearly, one of the fundamental aspects of the practice according to the Yoga Sutras is power. 
 
Why then is there a divergence in modern practice from yoga-as-power to yoga-as-peace? 
 
There are many hypotheses. Here is mine:
 
Because most of the people who practice yoga are women. It is not socially acceptable for women to step into their power. Women are, for the most part, not encouraged to be powerful. 
 
Yoga teaches us that we have the power to choose our own experience. When a woman steps onto the mat she is told, “You are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to be flawed. You are allowed to try and fail. Go ahead. It’s OK!” Telling our sisters and brothers that this moment is enough, that they are fine just as they are, is liberating. It is empowering. 
 
But, because it is not socially acceptable to speak in terms of power, we flipped the script. We found a way to make our empowerment less scary. We tell ourselves and others that yoga keeps me calm, more peaceful. Yoga makes me less hysterical. 
 
Don’t worry, yoga will not upset the apple cart. 
 
Except when it does… 
 
Women’s history is essentially the struggle against power imbalances, against our power being taken away. Yoga promises to light a way back to that power. Which is why, I want to encourage all my yogis to remember; you have the power to upset the apple cart by exercising your right to vote. 
 
Your great grandmothers fought for you. Your mothers fought for you. Now it is your chance to fight for you. You have the right to practice, to play and you have the right to vote. 
 
Do not believe you do not have any power. You have been given a right. Do not squander it and do not let anyone tell you do not matter. 
 
You do. 

Examen

I find myself regularly failing to meet up to my standards of acceptable behavior. I am either too short tempered, too timid, too impatient, too disorganized, too, too, too many things that do not add up to a good, worthy me! I spend a lot of time thinking about what I could have done better and then feeling a defeatist kind of regret at my obvious human-ness. 

But recently, I was introduced to St. Ignatius Loyola's Spiritual Exercises. The cornerstone is the “examen.” The examen is similar to doing a daily meditation or prayer, but there are steps; Experience, Reflection and Action. In the Experience I go over the day’s events. I list all the things of the day; good bad, indifferent. Then I list at least three gratitudes. Then I Reflect. I take stock in how I measured up in my day. This is often a very uncomfortable experience. I have to be honest with myself and hold myself accountable for all my actions (or inactions). Lastly, I meditate and ask for grace. In the meditation, I wait and ask for direction, that’s the Action part. I ask myself What are my next steps? What am I going to do now? 

I am grateful for this practice. It has helped me accept my failures and reminds me that I am going to live to see another day. And with that day I have options. I can do better. 

Yoga teaches us how to be accepting. However, acceptance isn’t necessarily an indulgent, permissive mother. Sometimes she’s stern and demanding. Acceptance means we sometimes have to give ourselves the side eye and say, “really? Was that your best effort?” And when the answer is “no,” we have to say “OK, well, that happened. What am I going to do now?” And then we have to go out there and try again. Try, reflect, try again.

This is the grace of a mindfulness practice. It does not excuse us, but it does forgive us. AND it demands we do better. It is fierce love. 

As you head into your days, I recommend a daily reflective practice to help you manage your messy lives. How do you strive to be a better person? What happened when you fell short? What have you done lately that you are not proud of? How do you love yourself? And what are you going to do now?  

Try, reflect, try again.

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.