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.