mettle

A couple of weeks ago I picked up a memoir written by a woman who is brutally raped and beaten by a stranger when she is a freshman in college.* A certain professor comes with her when she testifies before the grand jury. The professor is the only person she wants to be there. Not her mother, not her friends, not her sister. She wants her professor to be there because her professor has mettle.

Google says:

met·tle  (mtl)

n.

1. Courage and fortitude; spirit: troops who showed their mettle in combat.

2. Inherent quality of character and temperament.

I was completely fascinated by the word. And still am. It describes exactly what I want. Perhaps the only thing I truly, deeply long for. Mettle. The ability to show up.

On some level, I knew, although I couldn't put my finger on why at first, that yoga gives me mettle.

So it's been slinking around in the back of my mind. And then yesterday, I did biofeedback for the first time in physical therapy. The therapist got me all set up on her table with lots of pillows and told me to relax. She attached electrical sensors to my ankles, a CO2 detector into my nose and a heart rate monitor to my ear.

What I saw was astonishing. At first, my muscles were not completely relaxed even though they felt like they were. My breath was not as deep as is considered optimal for health. My heart rate was good, but not in sync with my breath. The CO2 levels detected on the exhalation were lower than ideal.

And then I started breathing. The breath that we learn in yoga. I elongated my exhalation. That's all I did, and everything changed. My breath and heart rate became synchronized. The levels of CO2 increased so that I was letting out, literally, all the old air. My muscles relaxed. Not only did they feel relaxed, they actually were. It was quantifiable and I could see it on the computer screen. It completely amazed me, although now I'm not sure why I was surprised. Intuitively, I already knew it.

What happened was that I became stable, steady. 

Asana: Steady pose.

Krishna tells Arjuna over and over again in the Bagavhad Gita, show up! Show up for this incredibly difficult war. Show up despite your fear and worry and grief. Show up. That's all there is. The result of the war is inconsequential; there is no other duty, nothing else of import in this life, than showing up for it.

Showing up is steadiness. Steadiness is mettle. So mettle is, very simply, showing up.

The body becomes stable when we really breathe. So go to yoga. If it takes 50 chaturangas to breathe, do it. If it takes three bolsters and six blankets to breathe, do it. Whatever it takes, do it. We get steadiness of the body, and we get steadiness of heart and mind. We become able to show up.

Show up for yourself: Deal with your abuse and your neglect and your anger and your fear and your grief. If you need to, go to therapy. Show up for your difficulties and your wild emotional rides. Do not run away. Do not check out. Do not claim ignorance. Do not hide behind willfullness and pride. Be awake, be vulnerable.

Show up for others: Be there when your friend is sick, when his mother dies, when he loses his partner or his job. Do not shy away. Do not cower. Go with your fear and your insecurity and your doubt. Go anyway.

Krishna is right. There really is nothing else.

*The book was Lucky by Alice Sebold. Very intense, but well worth reading.

I like it, but I don't want it.

Last Friday, I went with a friend to a Buddhist meditation class. The topic was the Five Hindrances, one of which is sensual desire. The teacher told a story about a young, ascetic monk. A group of young nurses came for a course at the monastery, and the young monk's teacher asked him to attend. So imagine, please, this young, ascetic monk in a room full of hot Thai nurses.

When they were done with the class, the teacher asked the young monk, "So how was it being with all the hot Thai nurses?" (Or something to that effect.) The young monk replied, "I like it, but I do not want it."

On the car ride to the class, my friend and I were discussing our partying days, when a night out was thrilling and exciting, and we never knew what chaos was about to descend. We loved it. Neither of us drinks anymore, and we were pondering the lack of thrill in our lives. Fulfillment, sometimes; thrill, almost never. Even though I still love the idea of chaos and parties and not knowing what might happen next, I no longer desire it. I like it, but I don't want it.

You may remember reading about all my intentions post-break up. I was going to practice everyday, eat only non-processed food, write in the morning, and ride my bike instead of drive. I have gotten to my mat just about everyday since then, but the other things, not so much.

I spend a lot of time berating myself for lacking discipline. I was the smart kid in class who never did her homework. I'm the person who can't say no to another cookie. I buy stuff I don't need, and sometimes don't particularly want, and then find myself broke and stressed about money a week later. My entire life I have given in to what feels good in the moment, not what is healthy and sustainable in the long run.  I have always given into sensual desire.

But this might not be entirely true. I quit drinking (and alcohol was my best friend). I quit nicotine after a fifteen-year, pack-a-day smoking habit. And it's been years. I quit cocaine and weed and one night stands and driving without insurance. To some degree, I have grown up.

When people point this out, I usually shrug. Taking credit for it seems inappropriate. Not smoking and not drinking, in particular, are big deals in my life, yet paradoxically they're not big deals. It's not that quitting was easy. It wasn't. It was painful and messy and it took a long, long time. It wasn't easy, but it became, at some point, perfectly clear that those things had to go.

I have to say that sometimes I still enjoy the smell of a freshly lit cigarette. The idea of a cold beer and a shot of tequila at the end of a stressful day can be appealing. I like them, but I do not want them.

The clarity that enabled me to break those addictions is a direct result of my yoga practice. There is real causation. One followed the other. And again, it's not that yoga made it easy (although it did relieve some of the discomfort), it's that the practice of yoga brought clarity. I simply knew what I had to do, and I did it. Willpower was unnecessary.

But there's fine tuning to be done, for sure. There are the cookies and the shopping and the love of the comfort of my car. Discipline based solely on willpower doesn't work for me. It's not sustainable. According to the research, we have a limited amount of willpower and it gets diminished all the time. We may be able to say no to the cookie, but later in the day, we will not be able to say no to the new yoga pants. Or vice versa.  (If this is a topic that interests you, definitely read the book, Willpower: Rediscovering the Greatest Human Strength. NYT review here.)

What I'm learning (and forgetting and relearning) is that 100% of my willpower has to be dedicated to getting my body on the mat. When I do that, I get clarity. I'm able to say more often, "I like it, but I do not want it."

So I'll get to my mat, today at least, and have faith in what Pattabhi Jois told us, "Practice and all is coming."

Yoga for the 99%

Some people are magically gifted with discipline. They wake up early, floss twice a day, enjoy a long morning practice, write novels, run marathons and are vegans. They do it seemingly efforlessly. It's just who they are.


But it's not me.


I've been back on the mat everyday, or at least most days. If you read it you know that I made a lot of other goals for myself in the last post. As it turns out, it wasn't so easy. I'm not perfect yet. But I have faith, and my experience tells me, that if I do my yoga first, everything else will follow. Eventually.


There's a saying from Twelve Step programs: "Keep Coming Back." Of course, they mean keep coming back to meetings even if they don't make sense or you keep drinking or whatever.


In meditation practice, it's given that the mind wonders, that we get distracted. The instruction is the same: keep coming back. 


In my yoga practice, I know that I can keep coming back. I get distracted by relationships and world events (happening at the moment right down the street) and other goals and work and travel and family.


But I'm back and it feels right.


I really want to write about Square One, the little yoga studio in the little town of Emeryville that I started almost three years ago. It was such a dream then. Originally it was called "East Bay Yoga Cooperative" or some other mouthful, but the idea was the same. Yoga for the 99%.


I forget. Sometimes it just feels like a business, a job. I say yes and no and make mistakes and fix toilets and write emails and hope for the best. I lose sight of what it is I hoped for and dreamed about before we had a real location or yoga mats or instructors.


I wanted a yoga studio that had no barriers to entrance. Everyone could come, either by paying what they could or by volunteering, and when they came, they would feel welcome. They would not be put off because their clothes weren't right or because their bodies weren't ideal or because they were old or uncool or whatever it is that we think we are when we enter spaces and feel different and uncomfortable.


And so, once again, I'm coming back to that idea. Back to that story I held when I started, that we're not just another yoga studio. The Bay Area does not and did not need another yoga studio. We're providing a real and necessary service that no one else is providing. We really are. Absolutely anyone who wants to can practice at square one. We will make it happen. 


At times I feel something close to guilt because I am not participating in the demonstrations downtown. I've always wanted a movement, something revolutionary, something populist, something that I really believe in. It's come to my city, and I'm not there. Am I a coward? Am I complacent? 

Gandhi said, "Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it." So maybe it's okay that I haven't been arrested or tear gassed or spent the night in a tent downtown. 

I get distracted and lost and discouraged. A lot. Over and over again. I guess we all do. It's nice to remember that I can keep coming back again and again and again, to whatever it is that is necessary and right to me. To my work and to my practice, which are, at their hearts, indistinguishable. No matter how far away I go.  

Day Zero

It's been just about a year since I've written anything here. Or written anything at all, other than Square One newsletters and solutions to math problems. I guess the good news is that Square One is still with us (we all had our doubts, didn't we?), and I've found a (much needed) way to supplement my income.

Where have I been? Well, I fell in love. Just the act of writing that makes me want to cry. And I've cried a lot. It's all great what they say about feeling your feelings and not running away and all that, but eventually I just have to keep moving.

Anyway, falling in love like that was a first for me. He was family. He was also my best friend and my lover. I'd never had all three in the same person. What an experience! I wouldn't trade it for anything.

But there's always a but. I gained a lot, but I lost a lot too. Eventually, at the end of a year, more or less, I found myself without a yoga practice, without a blog, and without a room where I could just go and be, a place to put my legs up the wall or kick into a handstand. I was always bumping into him and his things and his furniture and his life when I tried to spread. Through no fault of his. I really, really, really loved him, and I still do.

But I had to go.

So here I am, in a new apartment, sitting at my table, surrounded by boxes filled with coffee cups and sardines and paper plates, a little worried that I might see a roach, but really happy to be typing. Really happy to be making words out of the chaos and change that has been my life lately. (Sometimes it seems like my life is always chaos and change. I guess why not write about it?)

I want to eat home-cooked, vegetarian meals everyday, and I want to write (why not a novel?), and I want to practice, practice, practice. I also want to ditch the car.

Something tells me if I try to do it all at once, I will fail, so why try? I should try one thing and stick to that one thing and see what happens. (Actually, everyone should read Willpower by Roy F. Baumeiste and John Tierney. It seems the research would agree.)

But another part of me says, this is what I want, so why not just do it? I thought about those 40 day yoga challenges at some of the other yoga studios. So maybe I could do my own 40 day challenge.

This is what I want to do everyday for forty days:

1. Wake up and sit for ten minutes, then write.
2. Go to a yoga class or practice for at least one half hour. Preferably class. I just need that structure right now.
3. Eat unprocessed, whole foods.
4. Drive my car only when absolutely necessary.

Those are four very simple things that a lot of people do regularly without any thought at all. That's the thing with habits. As every human being on the planet knows, new habits, or coming back to old ones, takes enormous will. The habits that I already have are the easiest things in the world to do.

Of course, now it's published, so I will have to deal with you when you ask how it's going. If I shrug my shoulders and say something like, "Well, you know... It was a lot to do all at once, don't you think?" you will know what happened.

But if you keep seeing posts about how it's going, that means it's going. Tomorrow is Day One.

Does anybody want to do it with me?

back to the mat?

This impermanence stuff sucks. The resolve and clarity of last week are basically gone. I want to text him 50,000 times a day and say, "No! Wait! Come back! I don't need anything. I'm sad and lonely and discouraged, and I can't sleep, and I liked it much better before when we were together." I haven't sent that text yet, thank God. Or not exactly that text. A lot of the time, I do want him back. I am quite sad and confused and not sure why we can't make it work. But I haven't heard from him, so somehow or another I just need to navigate impermanence, which is, along with suffering and egolessness, one of the marks, or truths, of life in Buddhism. According to Pema, fighting impermanence is the same as fighting life.

Spiritual truths can sure be irritating when we're in pain. I'm sick of the bright side. What I think I may be coming to though is that hanging out in pain is a big waste of time. I may have some choice in the matter. I keep telling myself how sad I am, and sometimes I am quite sad. But right now I don't feel sad. I'm just telling myself how sad I am. And how tired. And how it's unlikely I will ever meet anyone again. And what a shitty writer I am. And that no one wants to read this. And that I might as well cancel all my appointments and go back to bed.

But really, Katy? Let's check the facts. I'm not with this man because he stated clearly that he doesn't want to be in a relationship. That's the only way we know how to relate to each other, so there's not any reason (that I can think of) to hang out. People like and read my blog. You are reading my blog and every now and then I hear from you that you like it. I'm thirty-four and a catch; the odds are nil that my dating life is over. I have moments of real unhappiness, some of which I'm turning into art. I painted last night for the first time in years. I'm not wallowing. I'm getting out and doing what I have to do. I have friends who call me and care about me and want to see me. Those are, actually, the facts.

So what's the problem? What's the cause of my despair? These stupid fucking stories that I tell myself.

Isn't that why we do yoga? Yoga citta vrtti nirodah. "Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind stuff." (That is the translation that has always stuck in my mind, although I'm not sure anymore who to attribute it to.)

My suffering right now is largely because of my thoughts, the stories I keep telling myself. I know yoga will help clear that shit away. The truth is that it's been really hard to get on the mat even though I know there's solace there. My thoughts will slow and a lot of the damaging, extraneous, untrue ones will go away for awhile. So I've managed to do a few minutes here and there. Mostly down dogs and inversions, for a change of perspective. A little is okay right now. I'm coming back home.

single again

I know I've been gone awhile. There are a few reasons why, but the big one lately is that I got all caught up in a fast and, as it seemed to me at the time, intense romance. It ended last night, so I'm back to my friend the blog for some processing and solace. Like a good friend, you are always ready to take me back when I'm ready.

It was a very sad night for me. Over dinner, a conversation was started (by me, I suppose) about the relationship and it became obvious that although we were both having a lot of fun, we had completely different ideas about what the relationship meant and where it was going. I was consciously working hard to open up to him, to be available, and it was real work. I needed ground to feel safe, and it became clear in that conversation he was unable to give it. The only thing I knew to do was to leave, so I gathered my things and went home. 

In my practice, I keep coming back to all the different ways we get our hearts open. We get flexible in the spine. We release tension from the shoulders, but most of all we find ground. The common instruction is "root down through your legs." We engage our quadriceps and make sure our feet are lined up with the shin bones which are lined up with our knees and our femurs which come right out of the hip socket exactly parallel with each other. From that foundation, with all that support, we lift up, we allow ourselves to open. Without that, we can still bend our backs, but the quality and integrity of the backbend are compromised. We injure ourselves. It's not safe to really open unless we're fully grounded.

That's my experience, anyway. I was looking for ground, and I didn't get it, so I walked away.

Now how do I deal with the pain in a way that opens me up instead of shutting me down?

I'm trying really, really hard not to slip into blame. Blame feels like an avoidance technique. Did he do something wrong? He was never dishonest. He never intentionally hurt me. He's just not available in the way that I need a partner to be available. Is that his fault? No matter how I turn it in my mind, I can't see him as being wrong. He's not right either. He just is who he is, and I am who I am, and we don't seem to be able to meet each other on this one. 

So I get to own my pain. It's mine. That's really good news. I'm not a victim, and I get to choose differently next time. I know now a little more what I need and what I'm looking for. I'm better at talking about it and asking and finding out if the person I'm with is willing and able to give it to me. And I got to practice saying no and making clear boundaries when I realized my needs weren't going to get met. I got to practice leaving because it was the right thing to do even though it made me so, so sad.

And now I get to practice being sad. I get to care for myself and experience it. The fruits of that will be that I will understand you when you are sad. I will be able to be compassionate to people who are disappointed and heart broken because I let myself go through that too. I will know more what it's like.

Last night I came home and in the midst of a storm, in the midst of strong emotional pain and tears and disappointment, I got to experience being exquisitely okay. I was okay last night, and I still am today. Where did that come from? When did I learn that I can live with my emotions and my disappointments without running away? When did I get to feel this center of me that knew I was safe, that new loves would come (or not), but that either way I was okay? Not I will be okay, or it will work out, as we love to tell each other when we're hurt, but that right there in that very instant, I was doing just fine. Where did that come from? It's brand fucking new, I tell you. I'm so happy I got to see it. I'm glad to know it's there because things do get harder than this. Much, much harder. I know now that it will be there for me then, too.

So that's it. I'm single again. It was a fun month with this man, who I continue to adore. Mostly. I do have pangs of anger and self-righteousness because I'm human and hurt and that's what we do. But I don't regret spending the time with him. And I definitely don't regret leaving. Now it's time to care for myself and my business and my dog and cat and garden, all of which have gotten a little taste of neglect over the last couple of weeks. Back to real life.

no longer cozy

I've been getting a little too cozy in my life, I have to admit. I work relatively few hours, even by the more civilized standards of countries like France and Sweden. I have all the food and shelter and clothing and organic bath products that I need. People show up for my birthday party. I make people happy just by walking in the room with my dog, although it doesn't work so well when I'm alone.

I keep reading Pema Chodron, and she keeps saying run into the fear, get comfortable with the grief, know your nervous habits. Basically, make friends with yourself, not just the happy, day-at-the-park self eating veggie burgers and basking in a warm Saturday afternoon. Those moments happen, of course, but if all moments are those types, I'm missing out on all my hidden nooks and dusty corners. I actually have been wanting a little angst, and of course, I haven't had to wait long.

This isn't a dating blog. I'm not going to write about dating. Except that actually I am. Sorry. I haven't been in a romantic relationship for the better part of a decade. Yes, you read it right. The smaller side of the better part of a decade, but just that I'm using the word "decade" to describe my lack of love life is saying something.

I've been asked why a few times in the last couple of weeks. My therapist asked, of course, and so has a man that I've been on a couple dates with. One answer is that I have been magnificently successful at avoiding certain types of pain. But Pema says run toward what you fear. Get to know your neuroses. Make friends with your discomfort. Maitri. Know that you are not alone. What better way than to face what I have been avoiding? Thanks, Pema. Thanks, Universe.

I often find myself doing one of two things. I spend a lot of time either fantasizing about the future or  dreading the fact that I've already ruined my chances with someone I'm sort of into. (Maybe a little more than sort of.) I've already fucked it all up. I'm living, in other words, in what isn't happening.

What is happening is kind of interesting. I can see myself, for the first time, doing this, and I know now that it's not real. What is real are all of the emotions that I get to experience. Fear. Dread. Excitement. Curiousity. Nervousness. A little wariness. They're really, really interesting, and I get to just sit in my body and feel them. They're not killing me, y'all. Seriously. It's okay. I feel them AND I get asked out again. Weird.

And I get to play around with living in the unknown. Groundlessness. I don't know what will happen. I can experience this knowing that no matter what I think or fear or fantasize about, life is actually happening right now. Life is the uncertainity, the not knowing. The fantasies and the fears are still around, but they've lost a little of their edge. They're kind of cute. They're not unique to me. It's just part of being human and looking for ground. It's part of hope, which I'm learning to abandon.

So the coziness of the last several weeks didn't last long. Good. The business start-up is over, and I need some more excitement in my life. Until I find my silent, angel investor and start again, maybe I can just enjoy this for a little while and not freak out too much about all the different ways it can go wrong. It's not wrong yet, and I'm actually having a little fun.

Plus, as you all know, more pain means more blog entries. You'll be hearing from me.

abandon hope!

If you still haven't read or listened to Pema Chodron, go right now and order something or reserve it at the library or visit your local independent bookstore. Do what you have to do. Everyone should be reading and listening to this woman.

I was sitting in the bathtub this morning with her book, When Things Fall Apart. She's really into getting friendly with being uncomfortable, with being fearful, nervous, angry, agitated, whatever it is. It was in yoga that I first learned to be uncomfortable in my body. I went to these Iyengar classes at the Buddhist Center in Mexico City. I won't go into a lot of detail right here, but is was probably the most collapsed, defeated time of my life. I was lost. I had no bearing. Looking back, I realize that was the best possible state for me to be in, but at the time it just felt overwhelmingly difficult and hopeless.

The teacher was really strict and direct, but in an amused, slightly smiling way. She was always pushing us to be even more uncomfortable than we already were. It was fun for me, for whatever masochistic reason, and I realized in her class that I could be very uncomfortable in my body without fidgeting or running away. I had never done that before. Really, never. Then what began to happen, again and again, is that she would put us in savasana, and I would also feel enormous amounts of emotional pain. She would chant "Om mani padme hum" in this incredibly strong, ethereal voice. I was just there, still, with tears and snot running down my face. For the first time ever, I just felt it, whatever it was, and it was revolutionary in my life.

So I have learned a little about being present and awake in my discomfort. But I read something different this morning, something that takes it even one step further. Pema Chodron instructs us to "abandon hope." She says that hope and fear are two sides of the same coin, that hope is yet another way of wanting things to be different. We are going to feel lots of pain and groundlessness and insecurity. We are even going to die. She says we have to give up hope that it will ever be any different. The word in Tibetan is ye tang che. Absolutely exhausted. Complete surrender. That is the beginning.

I just read it and laughed. Of course. It's hopeless, y'all. We're on a speedboat that is definitely going to sink. We might as well get used to the idea. Pema says don't practice because you're looking for ground or for security or for a safe haven. The practice is realizing that none of that exists.

It's my birthday today. More evidence that indeed the speedboat is sinking. It's also Barack Obama's birthday, and I'm a little worried that it's not fashionable to say this anymore, but I still love Barack Obama. He provided hope in a political landscape that felt completely hopeless. So there's some dissonance there. Maybe we have to have a little hope to keep making progress. If I hadn't hoped that the studio would work, I never would have built it. If I hadn't hoped that Obama would be our president, I never would have campaigned for him, which I loved doing, and because so many of us did it, he won.

Maybe Pema will address that apparent contradiction. I'm not sure I want to be so Buddhist that I never do anything. But in my personal life, I'm becoming a little friendlier with my edginess all the time. I still have addictions, things that I grasp and cling and turn to for solace. One is shopping for clothes. I'm going to do that today. But I'm going to do it knowing that it won't help. I'm still nearer to my death than I ever have been before. I'm still nervous that my business might fail, scared that I will end up old and alone and broke, uncertain about the future of my relationships and concerned about what people think of me. It's a good thing. I need things to practice with. Enlightenment might end up being kind of boring.

if you think you're enlightened...

Here's why blogging can be so difficult: being honest is hard. Right now all I want to do it hit my cat because he won't quit howling and jumping on the computer. It's been a long night. Lots of little irritating shit keeps happening. All my computers, both at home and the studio are going at 1995 speeds. Even though there was a lot of traffic through the studio today, we didn't come close to sales goals. Then there's the pesky cat, and a conversation with someone that made me realize that I'm angrier than I thought at an important person in my life. I realize that if you read this blog at all, you're well aware that I'm not perfect, but it's still hard to admit publicly, even if I've done it a bunch of times before. I really care what you think. Yes, you.

I didn't hit the cat. I did hit the chair near the cat, which scared him away for a few blissfully quiet seconds, but he came right back. I'm sure all he wanted was food and love, but shooing him away felt like the solution to the immediate problem, which was an annoying cat. I was in a hurry. He could wait.

So as all of this was happening, I was typing away that my amazing job as a small business owner consists mostly of being nice to people, data entry and trips to Ikea. And here's the corollary to the "being honest is hard" problem with blogging: being surface-y is boring. What's really happening is I want to kill my cat for being a cat, and I'm pounding away at the keyboard thinking that will somehow make the computer go faster. I feel knotted and weird and angry. I'd rather write about my awesome yoga practice and how great the business is going. But that is definitely not what is happening for me right this second.

There is a Buddhist saying that if you think you're enlightened, look at how you behave in relationships. To be honest, I don't know if I'm behaving well or not. Definitely not doing that great with George, the cat. I do know that there are hurt feelings and confusion and anger in a couple of my human relationships, some of which I am probably responsible for.

Part of what happened tonight was that I looked at teacher stats, and there are a handful of teachers that I have been worried about, and the stats confirm my fears. They're not retaining students. Originally, part of the concept of the Collective was that the teachers would be totally autonomous and teach however they wanted. Looking at it squarely, I think that was my way of ducking the fact that at a certain point I need to offer unsolicited feedback, which I hate and dread. In the early stages of the business, I was constantly scrambling and trying new things to keep the studio afloat, so I would just take teachers off the schedule when their classes weren't doing well. I didn't offer feedback or give them a chance to improve. There are lots of problems with that. What I know now that I didn't understand then is that the primary reason a class is successful is that the same teacher has been teaching it for a long time. That's just been my experience. So I haven't fired a teacher in a long, long time. I keep them around, but I don't say anything either, even when there are simple, clear things I see that they could do to be more effective. I want to be liked too much, so I actively avoid conflict and confrontation. This particular pattern is as old as I am. Changing it won't be easy.

One of the problems with saying nothing is that I get resentful because they don't understand something that I haven't told them yet, and the relationship suffers anyway. Then I go home and want to kill my cat.

(Note credit where due. There's a Bob Dylan line that I'm sort of poaching: "You keep expecting me to remember something you forgot to say." That's what I'm doing. Like some crazy woman Bob Dylan slept with for awhile.)

There has to be a better way. My job is more than data entry and trips to Ikea. There's toilet cleaning and screwing together the Ikea crap I buy. And I have to do a certain amount of work to make sure the quality of instruction at the studio is high, which will mean having a few difficult conversations.

 I haven't opened the Bhagavad Gita since the last time I blogged, which was like a million years ago. (I guess I'm not as spiritual as I was in early July.) But as Krishna tells Arjuna, we have to show up and do what we're supposed to do. That's yoga. So here's my plan: I'm going to take at least one class from every teacher on the schedule and offer everyone some feedback as well as a look at their stats. Most of what I have to say is actually really positive, so a lot of the conversations will be fun.

As far as my other relationships, all I can say is I don't feel particularly enlightened when I'm alone, but in certain difficult relationships, I can feel particularly un-enlightened. The Buddhists, as usual, have it right. I usually feel like most of us are just bumbling along doing the best we can, but mostly thinking of ourselves and mostly blind to how all of our old habits and fears are directing us. That's me, anyway. As I get older and work at it, I get slightly more skilled at bumbling with some direction. I know better what I want now, and I'm more apt to vocalize it than I used to be. I guess the modern psych term for that is boundaries. I've set some boundaries in my personal life that not everyone involved is comfortable with. I think I'm offering enough, but it's less than what they're used to.

But at least I got clear and said it. At work, it's time to do a better job of getting clear about what the studio and its students need and vocalizing that to my teachers. I've done it, however ungracefully, in my personal life, in really weighty, important relationships, so I should be able to do it here. One would think.

After that, I will clean the toilet. Or maybe before. I'm sure it needs it.

fear

I'm on vacation, and for whatever reason, I decided to use my time away from work to go around looking for ghosts. Ghost towns, actually, but it seems like I what I found is my own ghost, irritated without cause, unable to sit still for any period of time. I have an antsy, agitated ghost living in my brain, and it may be causing more neurosis than I realized.

I also seem to have stumbled upon a haunted hotel, where I booked a room for the night. I'm in the lobby now, and I think the night clerk has just left for the evening. The lobby is one of the supposedly haunted spots, where another desk clerk, long ago, was killed after hitting on the wrong woman. I am in room 205, right next to the elevator that they say goes up and down with no passengers all night. Room 212, down the hall, is said to be haunted by a couple who died there. Buddy refuses to walk to that end of the hall. I tried to drag him, but he leaned back on his haunches and let me tug hard at his leash. He just won't do it.

Am I scared? Yes, a little creeped out, I have to admit. It's an old hotel, very quiet, and I am very alone.

I've been scared a few times on this trip. The first ghost town I found was beautiful. Just off the road, shuttered up, unmolested by historians, not made into a state park, completely overgrown. The town, Chinese Camp, still has a population of 150, and there are houses nearby that are occupied. Run down, with too many old cars and junk in the yard, but occupied.

Main Street, where the ruins are, was quiet. It was just me and the dog peaking in between boards while trying to be mindful of "Posted. NO Trespassing" signs. I heard every creak, every animal scurrying, every branch swaying, every noise, especially the ones I couldn't quite identify. It was quiet though. Too quiet, too empty, too still for noon just off a main highway into a National Park the day after the Fourth. And then someone started yelling. Incoherently. All I could understand was "fuck" and "Goddamn." Whoever it was was angry and crazy and no one was yelling back, so he was either yelling at me or he was yelling at himself. Either way, I was getting the fuck out of there.

I got back in the car and drove through Yosemite. All of the drives this whole trip have been way longer than I anticipated. All the good ghost towns are on long, winding mountain roads off a long, winding mountain highways. Ten miles takes many songs on the iPod, a whole chapter of This American Life, and meanwhile it's just me. Me and the dog and the road and my thoughts and this rising, low-key irritation with life.

The next day, I went looking for Old Mammoth City, which is just outside the recreation mecca of Mammoth Lakes. I found the road, but it was closed for whatever reason, so I parked the car and started walking. My Ghost Town book said that the ruins were behind some thickets, off in the pines, so I took the dog and headed off the road a bit, looking for a way through the brush. We walked around for awhile, and then I looked down. We had been walking for several minutes through lots and lots of  plants with three jagged leaves. Poison oak. My dog, with his low belly and thick fur. Me, with my ankle socks and shorts. We were fucked.

Back to the road where I saw the sign: "Point of Historical Interest. Mammoth City." The State of California says it's so. It must be, even though there's nothing but the marker and a few logs from the foundation of an old cabin. I knew there was more. I just had to walk south a bit. I found a path, and I started down it, but I stopped.

Bears. I'm in bear country. Everywhere I go, there are signs, "Don't feed our bears." My pulse rose and I felt sort of clammy. Did I want to be some bear's lunch? And Buddy, his afternoon snack? I thought about it for a minute. I really wanted to see those ruins. I'd come a long way. But there was no one, nothing around. One bicyclist had come tearing down the road in the whole hour that I had been walking. That was it. I knew that eventually someone would find my car parked on the highway, and they would start piecing it all together. Again, I got the fuck out of there.

Later that day, I asked a local about poison oak. "There's no poison oak around here. Too damn cold." Ok. What about bears? Should I be worried? "They don't care a thing about you. Just yell. They'll walk away. They don't want you. Not if you don't have any food." I didn't have any food. Other than me and the dog.

Hmmm. I had a long drive ahead of me, and when I wasn't getting irritated by myself and my lateness (late for what?) or my dog who was restless and squirming and insistent on being in my lap, I was thinking about fear. I've had some experiences with fear lately. Real fear. I was very, very scared that I had cancer. I wrote about that here. I was really sure that I was almost certainly going to die. Turns out, half the women I know have had the same tests, the same procedure, the same thing exactly. It's really, really common. No one dies, or statistically very, very few die. It's really not that big of a big deal.

I never really knew this before now, but what I'm learning is not to believe anything that I tell myself when I'm scared. I will always eventually end up believing, and then living in, the absolute worst case scenario. When I thought I was going to be eaten by a bear, when I thought I was going to be hospitalized because of an internal poison oak infestation (brought on by drinking water from a bottle I had touched after touching my dog, who clearly had lethal poison oak oil all over his fur), when I was sure I was going to die or -- very best case scenario -- get extremely sick and debilitated by cervical cancer, I was absolutely unable to see any of the infinite other possibilities that could occur. There are so many ways that life can go. Infinitely many ways, but in fear, I only see one, and because of that, I think I know what's going to happen. Sometimes I even call it intuition. It's not intuition. It's narrow, fear-based thinking.

It is biological. I mean, when we were cave women or whatever, I'm sure it served us really well to think about, and then to prepare for, the worst things that could happen, the biggest threats. But now, it's not so useful. It keeps me blind. I miss opportunities. It keeps me from doing things that I really want to do.

So I'm still in the lobby of this creepy hotel, but I feel less scared. It's me that I'm scared of.

As it turns out, I happened to bring along a new Pema Chodron talk I downloaded about fear. She speaks about "ubiquitous nervousness." She says we are always, constantly, in low grade fear. It is so constant that we don't even notice it. It's me getting irritated at the dog. It's me flipping through songs after two notes, sometimes before even the first chord. "Next. Next. Next. Next." It's me, unsatisfied, in a hurry, busy. Even on vacation, I'm busy. Even on vacation I'm late. I traveled two days to get to Bodie, which many people say is the best ghost town in the whole country. I arrive at the gate at 5:50, and the park closes at 6:00. Late. Again. I am always five or ten minutes late everywhere I go. Ask my chiropractor. Ask my friends. The reason is that I'm terrified of having to wait for you. Waiting means sitting. By myself. With my thoughts and nothing to do. Emptiness. Vast emptiness and boredom and ME, ME, ME. There's too much unchartered territory. I'm not prepared to show up. I'm not ready. I'm scared.

It's still spooky here in the lobby. Every time the door opens, I jump. A few couples have come back to the hotel from dinner or drinks or whatever. They smile at me and go right to their rooms. The desk clerk is still gone. It's just me. Me and my dog, who's antsy again. And there's the quiet and the old photos and the mismatched antiques.

I'll take these ghosts, and the horror movie distraction of being in a haunted hotel, over my personal ghosts anytime. My ghosts are crazier, harder to identify, more persistent, more pervasive. I understand now why most people are paired away, insistent on being in relationships. I've been very successful avoiding that because I like to drive, if you know what I mean. I am not a negotiator. I don't know how to compromise. I go my way, so being single has always suited me. I'm not so sure anymore. Here's what's true of cancer, ghosts, screaming violent crazy people, bears, what's true of all my fears: I face them alone. It's just me. And God knows I have a hard time with that.

I need to take the dog out for a last pee before bed. We're going out on a dark street in a town I don't know. But the street is so much less scary than the hotel. And the hotel is so much less scary than me alone with my self. I hope the elevator ghost rests tonight. I'm going to need to sleep.

writing (or not)

Success is not what it seems.

Think about getting a yoga pose. I mean really getting it. Getting it so that (barring unusual circumstances like injury and illness) you do the pose 100% of the time that you try. When I started doing yoga, I couldn't get into crow. I just wasn't strong enough to support my weight on my arms. I used to practice it at home. I would practice and fall, practice and fall, practice and fall. I'm glad no one was watching. The first time I got both feet off the floor, I was thrilled. It was so exciting. But it took a long time after that to be able to do it consistently. Now I can always do crow, but I didn't notice the shift from sometimes (gleefully) getting into the pose to always bringing my feet off the ground with no fuss and no excitement and certainly no hopping. The first time is exciting, but really getting it isn't. It just happens.

Success is that way. The first few times we had freakishly good days or large classes, I was so excited. Now we have good days and large classes all the time, but I'm still the same person. Nothing's changed. It didn't make me happier in a lasting way, and I didn't notice the day that it all changed. (Some of you might wonder if it was the day the Groupon ran. Although our classes got really big then, at this point that promotion has little to do with the financial growth of the business. That might change as the Groupon people convert to regular, paying customers.)

So let's not get too attached to success. That's a reminder to ME, because I do. I think being happy and secure rests on whether the business is successful and profitable and supporting me and writing checks to teachers that actually mean something. I'm not going to lie. It helps. But then other things crop up to make me insecure. Security is an inside job.

Sloka 53, Chapter Two of the Gita is: "When your mind, which has been tossed all about by conflicting opinions, becomes still and centered in equilibrium, then you experience Yoga."

It's the same thing I've been talking about for months in this blog, but in different contexts. Judith Lasater's "May you be like the Lotus Flower, at home in the muddy waters." Pema Chodron's focus on equanimity. It's not about the peak experiences, nor is it about the God-awful ones. It's about how we navigate. Getting a yoga pose requires focus and attention and discipline, and we need those qualities in our life, so they're worth pursuing. But for me, looking back on it, it's the process that's useful. Actually being able to do crow pose is almost completely useless in my life. If I weren't a yoga teacher, it would serve absolutely no purpose whatsoever.

I was going to write about writing. As often happens, I got side tracked.

Writing will, no doubt, be like that too. I just keep writing and it will all fall into place. I don't need to worry that the book isn't written (or even started) or that I haven't kept up with the blog as well as I would like. I'm still writing. It's a process. The blog continues to be fun. I can sit down to write about one thing, and end up somewhere else entirely. No one has ever complained. Eventually, I want to add some structure to my writing. I do have goals around it, but I don't need to worry too much about it.

I just have to keep doing it. Like trying to get crow pose. Alone, falling, imperfect. One day I'll look back and realize that at some point along the way, I got it. I won't be thrilled or excited or filled with bliss. But I will smile. Because the process was so enjoyable.

Duty

The last blog entry I wrote never got published. I wrote about being very, very tired. It was kind of whiny, maybe, and by the time I made it into the studio to upload it, while still tired, I didn’t feel much like whining to the world about it. Now, readers, you'll be happy to know, I have internet, so I'll just post. No thinking or second guessing. You'll read every last whine.

I’m tired because things are going well. The studio is packed, which is great. I’ve also been teaching a lot. I took on three regular classes and lately I've been subbing at least one class everyday. There was the extra administrative work associated with the Groupon promotion. I really couldn’t take a day off. Sometimes it was fun, but sometimes, I just didn’t want to do it. At times while teaching, I felt like a machine, saying the same things over and over. It almost began to feel rote. I also said the same things over and over to our new Groupon customers. "Bring your Groupon. Mat rental is $1. See you in class!" My communications became a series of cut-and-paste operations. I was over-worked.

I taught Saturday morning, but then took the rest of the day and Sunday totally off. I didn’t go in at all. I hung out with friends who were in town from Texas. I went out dancing. I went sailing all around the Bay. It was great.

Of course, some balls got dropped. I didn’t go in to do a reception shift for a teacher who needs the help. I didn’t return phone calls or emails.

Monday came around, as it always does, and I had an emergency sub request from a teacher during the exact time I had another obligation, unrelated to the studio, that I needed to show up for. I sent out an email requesting a sub, but there was no one available.

It was a tough decision. What do I show up for?

I started reading the Bhagavad Gita. It’s the story of Arjuna, who was to fight a righteous war against his cousins. He is clearly in the right, and Krishna is his charioteer, guiding him through the war.

The translation that I am reading makes clear the metaphor that the war is the battle between good and evil, Krishna is our inner-consciousness, or Atman. He is our teacher.

Before the battle, Arjuna goes to the front lines to see who he is fighting. Among those on the other side are his teachers, cousins, friends and grandparents. He loses heart. He doesn't feel he can fight these people; they are his family. He rationalizes leaving the battles, surrendering before it begins, and Krishna tells him he need not grieve because Self is eternal. Dying is like changing clothes: we shed an old, worn out body for a new one. The Self does not die. So kill away, Arjuna!

Basically, what it boils down to is that Arjuna has to fight the war because it is his God-given Duty. While Arjuna is whining, Krishna says: “Yield not to weakness. It does not suit you. Shake off this petty faint heartedness. Stand up, Scorcher of foes, wake up!”

God, how often have I wanted to tell that to other people?

Arjuna replies later, “I am weighted down with weak mindedness; I am confused and cannot understand my duty. I beg of you to say for sure what is right for me to do. I am your disciple. Please teach me, for I have taken refuge in you.”

Later in the Gita, Krishna talks about doing one’s own duty and not anyone else’s. To paraphrase, it is better to do your duty poorly than someone else’s perfectly. All of this has to do with karma and escaping the wheel of death and rebirth, but we'll save that for some other time. 

Ultimately, the decision I made was to cancel the class and keep my other commitment, mostly because it was my commitment to keep. My duty to the studio was to try to find a sub for the class, which I did. My duty is not to drop everything and cover someone else's class. It's taken me a long time to realize that.

Nothing is worse for business, in my opinion, that not having a class when we say we're having class, but as Krishna would say, “Seeing the same in pleasure and pain, gain and loss, victory and defeat, in battle-just for the sake of the battle-then you will be sinless.”

That’s the path of Karma Yoga. It doesn’t matter whether what I do is good for business or bad for business. Am I doing the right thing, am I doing what I am called to do? Krishna is consciousness. Am I seeking the guidance of “Krishna,” or am I seeking the guidance of other, sensory things, like pleasure and success?

Eventually, at the last minute, someone came through to cover for me, and I was able to teach the yoga class. As I write this though, I wish that I hadn’t even asked. I wish I had just shown up for what I was supposed to show up for and let everything fall out as it will, and that's how I'll do it from now on. I’m not killing my grandfather here. The worst that can happen is a few people don’t get their yoga class.

I like the Bhagavad Gita. I like the story of the war between good and evil. I like the emphasis on showing up for life and pushing through fear and doubt and doing it solely for the sake of doing it, not for the rewards of victory or to avoid the discomforts of loss. It’s about being engrossed in life, and constantly asking to be guided to do the right thing.

So I’m going to try to show up. For all things, not just the yoga studio. That is the hard part, because for the last 18 months, my life's primary purpose has been to get the studio going and successful. I've been very outcome-motivated, which actually may have been appropriate and necessary for the beginning of the business. But that's not all there is. Showing up for myself and getting rest and time off is part of what I’m supposed to be doing. Sometimes time off feels like not showing up. Occassionally it is, but more often for me, it's a much needed break that leaves me with the energy to keep showing up later.

Arjuna was able to ask Krishna point blank for guidance. We sort of have to ask and then wait and reflect and hope that we're doing the right thing. There is also the promise in yoga of acting decisively because our vision is clear. We know what's right. It's obvious. I'm not there yet, but I think I'm getting better.

In the meantime, I am sure enjoying my internet right here at my easy chair, and the fact that I will publish this right now. Even if it sucks.

I heart yoga part 2

Blog, oh blog, I have missed you. I've had that writer's block that I get when I'm content. I write best about drama and pain, so when there's none of that, I just eat dinner and go to bed. But I'm back, content and writing anyway.

I was reading the current issue of Yoga Journal today,  and so much of what I read smacked of self-satisfaction and the joy of being right. Here’s how my diet is so great. Here’s how I’m a giving, self-sacrificing karma yogi. Here’s how I meditate everyday and practice asana and gratitude and how I’m so, so happy. It’s not that fucking easy, y’all. Yoga is for real. I do not go into this holy and self-sacrificing and altruistic. If I do something that makes you happy, I don't mind, but believe me, it wasn't my first intention. I want to be happy and me first.

And I am happy. The studio is packed. I feel like I’m being of service in a real way. I often make decisions I’m content with and that lead to positive results. I planted a flower garden. I had a friend come visit me from far away, and it was just me she came to visit. I didn’t have to show her the Golden Gate Bridge or any museums and take her to Napa. She was happy just to sit in my tiny living room and eat tofu and couscous cooked in my very own kitchen with week old cauliflower.

How blessed I am.

I’ve been meaning to write for awhile about a second way that Desikachar defines yoga. He writes: “yoga is to attain what was previously unattainable…. In fact, every change is yoga.”

Wow. Really? It’s easy to notice this in our asana practice. I can do poses now that I thought I would probably never get. My body has changed profoundly. I used to daydream about owning a business and being self employed and that seemed totally unattainable. I thought I had to be rich first, and I didn’t know how I would do it. But it came.  I didn’t get rich first. I just pieced it together because I wanted it very, very badly, and it seemed like the time was right.

On a deeper level, I’m happy and content and satisfied way more often than not. There was a time when unhappy was a way of life.  I knew excitement, and I knew high and drunk, but I didn’t know how to be at ease. I was suicidal, crazy angry, victimized, and eaten up by fear most of the time. I still have my moments, as you all hear about here, but it’s just not like that anymore. The stretches of being okay get longer and the phases of freaking out become shorter. They are moments, not states of being. 

In yoga, I learned to be uncomfortable and still at the same time. I started to pay attention off the mat. I began to notice what wasn’t working. I was drawn to things that seemed likely to work better. Self-employment. Less stuff. Simpler life. Noticing people. And then slowly, slowly, the non-functional stuff has been dropping away. It didn’t happen on my timeline, and it wasn’t about effort or struggle or setting rules for myself. It was about showing up, day after day, doing the best I could, and letting it all take shape.  Some days were (and still can be) pretty shitty, but I’ve come a long way. Contentment was unattainable for me. Seriously. It’s not anymore. What happened in between is called yoga.

Have I become the annoyingly self-satisfied yoga writer? Never to worry. I wrote this last night and already today, irritating things are popping into my consciousness that I'm sure will provide some material for edgier entries. More to come...

muddy water

The studio got busy. Really busy and very suddenly. We ran the Groupon, 653 of them were sold, and all the sudden people are calling and spending money and buying yoga mats and attending class. It’s great. It’s what I’ve wanted and worked hard for since I opened the place. Even without the Groupon, we had begun making sales goals more days than not, and it looks like Square One is here to stay. I’ve sort of known that for while, but now there’s no question. The thoughts of getting a job that used to float around in the back of my head are gone. I have a job. I have health insurance and working hours and people who rely on me. I just need to start paying taxes.

So why am I not elated?

I have to admit that there is some residue in my emotional body from spending two weeks sure I was dying. That’s a little bit of an exaggeration. Two weeks that I spent full of intense fear and grief and bewilderment. There were those moments in those two weeks that I’ve written about here, when I was very, very centered in the present moment. In many ways, I felt more alive then than I ever have, even though a lot of it was really hard.

So now it’s over. I’ve been thrown back into my life and all its busy-ness and activity, but there is a part of me that is very, very tired. I don’t think it’s life as usual, but I haven’t had a moment to think about what has changed. Am I stopping to smell the flowers? Am I spending more time with loved ones? Am I returning the important calls and letting the ones that can wait wait? Have I stopped texting and driving? No, no, no, and no.

But there is a shift. I don’t want to open another studio. Not right now. I thought that’s what I would do this summer, but it doesn’t sound at all appealing. It’s so much work. I want to take a vacation. I would like to take a whole week. What would two weeks feel like? For years, I took two months every summer. Now piecing together two days feels out of reach. Why in the world would I want another yoga studio?

Judith Lasater ends her classes (or she used to, anyway) by saying, “May you be like the lotus flower, at home in the muddy water.” I think some of the seize-the-day lessons from my two weeks of worry may be lost or too subtle to recognize. What is clear to me though is that when it was happening, I was in the moment, but I was also really, really uncomfortable most of the time. I was not at home in the muddy water. I was insane with anxiety and future tripping and fear. It was difficult to even be awake, and at the same time I was having a nasty battle with insomnia.

More activity is not a long-term antidote to anxiety. I am not looking for more businesses, more jobs, more money or more commitments.  They will find me anyway, I’m sure. Right now, I want time to myself. Time to go on retreat, time for vacation, time to take walks and naps and time to chill out at home and write my blog.

Thank you, Life, for giving me a successful business. That’s what I said I wanted and here it is. Help me just to be okay with that, to acclimate to that, to not need to have the biggest, best yoga empire in the whole world. Let me just stop here for awhile and get my bearings.

May I be like the lotus flower, at home in the muddy water.

back to ambition!

Thanks to all my well wishers... Results are back, and I don't have cancer! Woohoo! I was really sure that I did and halfway convinced that I was already almost dead. Goes to show that I feel fear much more acutely than intuition. Nothing weird about that.

Yesterday we sold 653 packages of 25 classes for $25 through Groupon to brand new Square One students. That's a lot of new students. I was not even excited at all yesterday because I just kept thinking, "I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer." I'm excited now!

So I've got a lot of work to do. I have plans to make, and I'm feeling ambitious. Like maybe a second space? Maybe a vacation to a hot, sunny beach somewhere? Maybe a yoga training? Yay! Life!

That's all for now. I know there were a few of you out there wondering...