pricing

So the studio is starting to fill up. Sort of. Most of the evening classes most of the time feel busy and thriving and full.

But they're not. Low cost yoga is a volume business. We have to get about 30% more bodies through the door before I start breathing easy, and we could easily double our current numbers, which would make me really, really happy.

So that's the goal, y'all. Start squishing your mats together, because we're about to have a new definition of full.

But the truth is we don't need 30% more bodies; we need 30% more revenue. Bodies are just one way to do it. Changing pricing is another way. I've been trying to get more bodies in for fifteen months, and while we've had amazing growth, we seem to be at a plateau. I'm still working hard at it, but it would be unwise not to at least consider my pricing structure.

But a lot of people (in fact everyone I've spoken to except the Harvard MBA who first brought the idea to me that my pricing is too low) say that if Square One raises its prices, it will be a complete shift in the core values of the studio. We are a low cost yoga studio, whose mission is to make yoga accessible to everyone. There must be 10,000 postcards out in the world that proclaim in black and white: "we heart $10 yoga."

I have no interest becoming another expensive yoga studio. But as my friend with the MBA pointed out, if the business isn't sustainable, I will not be bringing yoga, low cost or not, to anyone. If the business isn't profitable, we can't grow.

The other thing she pointed out that I know without doubt to be true is that price is a psychological indicator of quality. How many of you buy Aveda or Bumble and Bumble and Bumble or whatever it is instead of the all natural brand at Trader Joe's? Or Tide instead of the generic? I don't anymore, but I certainly have, and I know that even though I could never tell the difference in how my hair looked or felt, I kept buying the expensive products. Maybe square one customers are smarter than that, but could that have something to do with why we're not filled to capacity? I mean, don't you think we should be blowing up? We have awesome teachers and a beautiful space and we're friendly and all the elements are there.

I'm not going to take away "we heart $10 yoga." I heart $10 yoga. But I know that many square one students are coming because they love the teachers and the space and the feeling, not because it's cheap. That may have brought you in, but it's just one reason among many why you stay.

I am thinking creatively about pricing structures that keep drop ins low, but help the business stabilize financially and eventually grow so that we're reaching many, many more people. What I'm leaning toward is a sliding scale structure that starts at Square One's current prices, but that goes up from there. I am also really interested in adding more classes at unusual times that have an even lower price structure. The late night classes now are only $6. I would like to add more classes at off times at prices that make it really, really easy for everyone, even the fashionably broke, to come to yoga.

Here's your homework if you're a loyal square one customer: Help us overcome the fact that price is an indicator of quality by telling everyone you know how great the classes are and what a lovely space it is. Keep spreading the word about yoga with a mission. I know classes are looking fuller these days, but remember that low cost yoga is a volume business. We need numbers. And be patient as our mats start to slide closer and closer together.

ambitionless

I'm feeling a refreshing lack of ambition.

I taught tonight. It was a late night class, and there were two regulars there. I love teaching yoga. I'm not the best teacher out there. I'm not the wisest. I don't have the strongest asana practice, but I love doing it. It's fun. It gets me completely out of my head. And I get to do it whenever I want.

I love square one students. We have the best group of people taking classes at the studio that I can possibly imagine. They are all, every single one of them, smart and friendly and generous. They smile a lot, and they are super forgiving. I used to know all the regulars. I don't know all the regulars anymore. I'm a little bummed about that, but it's a sign of really good things.

I enjoy my job. I like looking at numbers and growth and planning schedules and hiring teachers and talking to students. I love it. I even like the really mundane stuff like stickering postcards with the new address. If put on music, I can do it for hours.

What more do I want? I could easily have more money, but even that isn't really bothering me right now. I ordered organic produce home delivery, and I'm looking forward to cooking more and eating out less. I have clothes, more than I need, and I always like what I wear. Even my dog has nice clothes. I have a house full of furniture and dishes and pots and pans and towels and sheets and all that. There's absolutely nothing to buy.

I set my own schedule and I don't have to work more than about thirty hours a week if I don't want to. I usually want to, but it's not necessary. If there's not much happening in real estate and I'm not moving the studio or starting a business, I have lots of free time. I wake up without an alarm. Today I walked the dog and then I did my morning pages as suggested by The Artist Way. I had time this afternoon to take the Sutras to the coffee shop and read and write a little. I ran into a friend and chatted for awhile. I was never in a hurry. I was never stressed. It was lovely.

To think I could live like this all the time if I just stayed ambitionless.

It's nice, but it won't happen. I have always thrived on excitement and newness and change. (Some in the professions call it chaos.) I already have plans and ideas and new ways to busy myself and achieve more. Soon I'll be overwhelmed and freaking out again.

Until then, let's just enjoy the calm.

writing

Was yesterday's entry a little intense? Should I put some distance in between me and it? In between you and it? In between you and me?

I can do that. I can write about my day today. I itemized all of my business expenses from 2010. I could tell you all about it. That's what a real business blogger would do. But I don't want to. It's just not that interesting.

I want to write about my life. It's too much for this blog, which is in present tense and has a narrow scope. I need to learn to write. I guess I kind of already know how to write. I do it a lot. I have half an MFA in creative writing. (I got the feeling that not too much else was happening in the second half.) My grammar's not bad. But I don't know how to start a big project. Weird. I started the yoga studio. That was a damn big project.

I don't know how to structure my day to make time for it. I don't know how to begin. I don't think anyone will read it. I'm terrified.

Someone told me once that procrastination is a fancier word for fear. He's right, you know. I procrastinated itemizing my expenses because I was scared of my financial situation, scared that I was spending too much money. I was, but so what? I can make progress because I've seen it. I know where I am. Avoiding doesn't help. The work is inevitable.

Can I start? Don't I need a place to write and a time of day and a window I can look out of and a more comfortable chair? Or can I just start? What would happen if I just woke up tomorrow and began? What would that be like? What if I started right now?

I'll let you know if I try.

Good night.

where God dwells

I have some readers out there now, and being honest is getting harder and harder. Some of what I want to write about feels too heavy, too dark, too real. You will come into the yoga studio tomorrow and you will know me better than I really want to be known.

I started talking to a friend tonight about my life. It wasn't a conversation; it was a monologue. My life has gotten really good. Really clean, I should say. I have a dog that loves me and is really cute. I have a nice car and a graduate degree and a cool business that's doing pretty well.

But that's only the recent story, and I started telling her the rest, the first thirty or so years that were so painful and destructive, when I felt so lost. I talked about high school, and the friends that died in car accidents and drug overdoses and knife fights. I told her about spending half of adolescence locked in institutions, and about the nights alone in Mexico, drinking, playing the same songs over and over, longing for a different place, a different time, a different outcome, wondering if it was time yet to drive my car off the cliff on the toll road from Cuernavaca.

There are no more big deals. I want to shout that and write it in all caps and scream it and hope that you'll remember too. Once we're not living like that, it doesn't matter much what happens. If I can remember what I can be like (I forget all the time), I take nothing for granted. It's all a gift.

When I did my yoga teacher training, we had a two hour Advanced Pranayama session. The teacher told us some of us would not be able to handle it. I didn't for a second think that I might be one of them. I'm strong. I've been through shit. I've gone to therapy, and I've worked twelve steps. A few times. I can handle it.

But I lost it. Somewhere in the bhastrika and the seed mantras, I was overcome by grief. There was no end to it. I cried and cried with only the vaguest understanding what the grief was about. A few months before I had lost an old friend suddenly and under questionable circumstances. It started there, but it went way beyond that. It was the grief of lifetimes, and I knew then that everything, absolutely everything, they were teaching me about karma and past lives and enlightenment was true.

Later that evening, the teacher said, essentially, "Hey, you don't have to do this. You don't have to renounce everything or become a swami or spend your life studying the scriptures. You can have a nice little life, maybe a couple kids, do some asana and enjoy yourself."

At that moment, I loved him for that. It may all be true, but the reality of it is absolutely overwhelming. It's too much. It's heavier and more intense than the best acid you ever took and just as unpredictable. I got a taste, and I didn't want it. Not then, probably not now either.

So I got busy creating that lovely little life in the material world I thought he was talking about. Very busy, and I'm afraid tonight that it's turned into running. I've forgotten where I come from, so lately I've been taking everything for granted. I've become entitled to more than I have. Even my asana practice lately has been more about sweaty rooms and endorphin highs than getting quiet. Do, do, do. Go, go, go. Get, get, get.

Does owning a yoga studio bring me closer to God? What if I own two? Is knowing God too much to ask for in this life? Can I know God and live in the material world and eat lots of cheese and chocolate chip cookies and text while I drive? All of those things keep me from my grief, keep me floating above the grittiness, keep me focused on the next task instead of something else, some place where all the fear dwells.

But the problem is that is also the place where God dwells.

Slow down. Slow down. Slow down, Miss Katy Mae. What's the hurry anyway?

fear of failing

Something happened and my mood changed. Nothing external, just a little shift on the inside. I'm less worried about being broke. Everybody's broke right now, or acting broke. It's very chic. The numbers at the studio are still low compared to a month ago, but I'm just not as concerned. It changes. It always changes. When I'm sane, I know not to get too excited about the highs or too depressed by the lows. It's the long term that's interesting, and in the long term, square one is experiencing steady growth. We're doing okay. Better than okay.

The last entry was about letting go of things that weren't serving me. At that moment all that I could let go of were some towels and a pile of old clothes. I also tried to be a little more generous with my time and my attention, which is harder and requires more sustained attention. I did okay for a couple of days.

But trying got the ball rolling. It got me out of my obsessive little me-thinking just a tiny bit, and I started to relax a little.

I've had a couple of really interesting conversations recently with different entrepreneur friends who are either giving up businesses right now or have in the past. I have to say it's making me a lot less scared of failing. Each of their stories involves so many complexities. Difficult partners, new families, working harder than they could realistically work. I've always thought that if I had to give up square one it would be an enormous failure, but when I look at these friends, what they chose seems very, very far from what I would call a failure.

I feel like maybe I've let go of that fear just a little bit. It can fail. I'll still be okay. My friends and family will still love me. I'll pick up and try something else. I've learned so much in the last year or so, way more than any other year of my life. I'm stronger physically and mentally, and I'm really beginning to get to know myself, what I can do and what I'm not so good at. No matter what happens, I get to take all that with me.

I have work to do at the studio. I have new classes to market and I'm planning some stuff to get us through the dry months of summer. I have my eye on a new, really big project that I'm super excited about. I'm swimming in warm water. I'm having fun. Still broke in the traditional sense, but feeling better about it. I'm engaged in the process and somewhat more relaxed about the bank balances and class attendance.

Owning a business is like being in a wonderfully complicated relationship. It's messy and unpredictable. Sometimes you stayed married for a lifetime, and sometimes you decide it was exciting for awhile, but it needs to end. Either way, there's no such thing as failure, and there's no wrong way to do it. As long as you dive in and try. I've done that. Now it's time to stop whining about what I don't have and dive back in. That fear wasn't serving me.

stingy

I'm not that complicated. I'm still in the dumps a bit, and if I'm not angry, which I'm not, it has to be fear.

I heard on the radio yesterday morning that children whose parents lost jobs in recessions when they were growing up were three times more likely than other children to live in poverty as adults. It just cemented the idea I've been toying with for a long time that wealth and poverty are states of mind, and I mean that in more ways than one.

I grew up with a single mom who would cash checks at the grocery store two days before payday in order to keep things afloat. I have a poverty mindset. I can be really stingy, although I try hard to hide it. I hoard certain objects, particularly clothes and shoes. I was traumatized by my lack of Guess jeans growing up. Seriously. It was really painful. Hoarding is the action of a poverty mindset. Hoarding is a way of acting out the belief that there will never be enough. Hoarding is an an act of fear.

I'm sorry, but here I go again with Pema Chodron. She says practicing generosity is a practice in letting go. What I need now more than anything is to be able to let go.

So I'm consciously practicing generosity as much as my feeble little generosity muscles will let me. But I have this hunch that what I really need to give away is exactly what I am most scared of losing, which means that I have to figure out what it is that I'm most scared of losing.

Here's what I've come up with so far: I am most scared of losing the vision of myself as successful in this business. It's an ego thing.

Perfect, because that's exactly what I want to give away! There is nothing I want more than to talk to people about their businesses and help them figure out ways to be more successful. It gets better because in the next few days I have a bunch of meetings with people who need exactly that kind of help. Know anyone else? Send 'em my way.

There's also that old fear of being materially poor, that poverty mindset. So I'm going to give away some stuff. Old clothes, mostly, which doesn't sound that generous even to stingy old me, but it's something. I have to start somewhere. I'll try to give away a few things that hurt just a little. Not my Lululemon leggings. I'm not a saint or anything, but I'll push myself a little.

I already feel better. I have a plan. My poverty mindset may not go anywhere fast. It's a lifelong way of thinking. But we start somewhere. We build it. We practice, like our practice. Today, for maybe 1.5 seconds if you counted really fast, I did bakasana with straight arms. It took me a year of practicing really regularly to get my feet off the ground in bakasana at all. We get stronger, a lot stronger, if we work at it.

And by the way, it may be a good time to ask me for stuff.

broke

Be careful what you wish for.

We've had a slow few days at the studio. For most of March and the first week or so of April, I was completely optimistic about where the studio was going. We were making sales goals day after day after day. I felt great. But we've had these slow days (how quickly I forget that we're still doing much better than we ever were in 2009), and I feel dull and unmotivated and fearful. Broke. This is what broke feels like.

I get into this flow sometimes and I'm having fun in life, working enough, helping people out, taking care of my body. Business goes well without me trying too hard or worrying too much about it. I have energy to finish projects and inspiration to start new ones. And then I get out of flow. Like now. Instead of work that accomplishes tasks and gets me closer to my goals, I stare at numbers. And then I check them again just to be sure. And then I look at the bank balance and run it all through again. I did that all day today. It really was a downer.

What comes first: the optimism and flow or the success of the business? It feels right now like the success comes first, but when I'm in flow, I believe the flow, and the thinking that causes flow, comes first.

Barbara Ehrenreich has a new book out called Bright Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking has Undermined America. I really don't want to read it. I'm actually kind of mad at her for writing it. In a world where almost everything is unpredictable and out of my control, it's really comforting to think that I have some power over outcomes by my strong belief that things will work out well.

Then I have days like today, when I completely understand what Ehrenreich is talking about. My optimism seems foolish, and I tell myself that I have not been living in reality for a long, long time. I get kind of panicky, and I start to believe that it was all a mistake, and the absolute best thing I can do right now is run, run, run and find someone, anyone, who will employ me.

What's the truth? In my saner, more level moments, I know that both are true. I don't have very much money right now. It's really pretty tight. On the other hand, I have a business that is growing. I just need to hang in there awhile longer. It's not happening as quickly as I would have chosen, but it's definitely happening.

The truth is that on paper, I have never had enough money. It was never a sane idea to start a yoga studio and to quit my job. Never. The other truth is that there has always been enough money. The cash has always been there when I needed it. Today, even, there is enough money. The fear is all about the future. Right now I'm full from dinner. I'm wearing new shoes, my pets are fed, and I'm living in a warm apartment that I can afford. And I do this all on what Square One pays me. I shouldn't buy anymore shoes, but I'm okay.

It's the same lesson for me over and over. I'm so attached to the success of the business that you can track my mood by square one's numbers and vice versa. It has become a little less extreme in the last year, but the business is a lot more secure now than it was a year ago, so you would think I could let go of a not-so-stellar week every now and then. You would think.

I'm not there yet. In the meantime, I'll just keep showing up, even when I'm not so productive. I'll keep doing yoga, even if it's just a little 'cause the truth is I don't really feel like it. The numbers will change. My mood will change. I'm not sure which will happen first, but both will happen. Maybe even soon.

peak experiences

I’m on a mini-vacation. I take them every couple of months. I go away, just me and my dog, to the coast for two or three days. I take it really easy. I do exactly what I want to do. I eat sweets and shellfish, even though I’m a vegetarian the rest of my life and supposedly I’ve sworn off the sugar.

It’s wonderful. The northern and central California coast has to be one of the most stunning and dramatic landscapes in the world. We're so lucky. I just drive. Every hour or so, I’ll pull over and walk on the beach, or check out a view, or get a coffee and take a little detour down a road I’m curious about.

I usually have one or two peak experiences on these trips, moments when I know, really know, that life is this incredible adventure and that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. I understand in these moments that I’m being exquisitely cared for every second of the way. I lose absolutely all worry and fear and feel profound joy and ease and comfort.

Sounds nice, huh? That’s why I go. I generally only have these experiences in places that are inordinately beautiful, and I have only ever had them alone. If I recreate those circumstances, which is really the purpose of these trips, the odds are pretty good that I’m going to get that little moment alone with God. It's something I'm really grateful for. When I remember to be.

But here’s the catch. As wonderful as they are, I don’t think having peak experiences is the point. I have always thought that the point of practice, and of life really, is to have more and more peak experiences that are closer and closer together until eventually it’s just pure bliss. Again, credit where it’s due, Pema Chodron says I’ve got it all wrong, and I think I believe her.

She tells the story of a Zen master who, whenever asked how he is doing, always says, “okay.”

One of his students eventually asks him, “Roshi, don’t you ever have bad days?”

“Yes,” he answers, “I often have bad days, and I have great days, and I am always okay.”

Equanimity. That’s the point. That’s what the work is about.

I haven’t written in the blog in over a week. I realize it’s sort of bad timing, because I finally did the e-blast and announced to the world that I’m blogging. Then I quit blogging. But every night I come home, and at the usual time when I would sit down to write, I feel okay. I’m not angry or worried or elated, and if I'm not sort of fucked up in some way, what's there to write about? I hope to learn soon that there is still plenty to write about.

So is this equanimity?

I’m not a Zen master. Believe me, that’s not what I’m saying. This will pass, and I will go back to my usual fluctuations between excitement and fear. I will. And in the meantime, I better figure out how to keep writing. I think I have a few readers now.

self promotion

I'm going to do it, y'all. I'm going to send out an e-newsletter all about me. Is that totally gross? Is everyone going to hate me? I put this task off for a long, long time. I do not want to market myself. I do not want to end up in your spam folder.

Most self-employed people that I talk to agree that self promotion is really, really hard. I guess there are some people who share one of my professions (the real estate one) for whom this comes naturally, but for most of us, it's awkward and uncomfortable and we really, really don't want to bother you.

I clearly care a lot what you think about me. I do not want to be your cheesy ex-co-worker or high school friend who sends you junk mail all the time. On the other hand, I'm self employed. I create my own work, and I'm my own marketing team. I just have to do it.

I really don't like the word market. How about inform? I'm doing stuff and I want people to know about it. I'm teaching a class outside of square one. I have a workshop coming up. I'm writing this blog. I'm selling houses. If I don't tell people what I'm doing, I have no business, no work, no reason to blog, or to show up for my classes, or to plan workshops, etc., etc. I'll have to go get a real job.

So that's what I've been doing the last couple of days. Organizing contacts. Finding emails. Of course, gmail stores every single email address I've ever communicated with, so my list could be enormous. Then there's facebook and all these people I haven't spoken to in years. It's really hard to decide who to put on the list. I was braver than I thought I would be. If I know you, and I could find your email, you're probably on my list.

Why is it so hard to promote ourselves? I don't have any problem promoting square one. The studio is a few steps removed from me and my own little, fragile ego. If you don't like square one or you remove yourself from the list, there's nothing to take personally. Well, actually, I take it a little personally. But I try to remember that there are a lot of things I don't know. Maybe you moved away. Maybe you're just a little grumpy. Maybe you're getting the email at two addresses. Overall, very few people unsubscribe but a lot of people (way more than half) just don't open the email.

But it will be really different if you don't like me and you unsubscribe from my personal list. If you're not that interested, will you just open the email for one second so it shows it was opened and then delete it? Please? It's really the kind thing to do.

So look for it. You'll probably get it by Friday if you're on the list. If you're not on my list and you want to be, email me. There's nothing I'd love more than to have your permission to send you impersonal emails about my professional life. Well, except maybe getting a personal email in response.

Please be kind. I'll try really hard to make the emails entertaining, and I'll send them infrequently. I promise. And if you write me back, I'll write you back. I want to know what you're doing too. Put me on your list.

data

So the intent of this blog really is to talk about running and opening a small business. Sometimes I get a little off track...

Since the beginning of March, I've had this new software that keeps track of students and classes and revenue. It will turn the data all different kinds of ways, and for the first time, I have a really clear picture of how the business is doing. This is a blessing and a curse.

If there is one big emotional lesson that small business owners get, it is a lesson in letting go. When I have really big days and people are buying all kinds of stuff, class packs and mats and tee shirts, I get really happy and excited and feel successful. Then there are other days, where nobody buys anything, very little revenue comes in, and I get fearful and worried and think that it will always be like that.

Looking at data on a day-by-day basis is impossible not to do, but really not that useful. What's really important are the trends. The good news for square one is that our numbers are up. From December to January, we grew 30%. This is totally normal for the yoga business as people are home from the holidays full of New Year's resolutions. The really great news is that March is shaping up to be 40% bigger than February, and now is the time when we should be seeing a drop from the New Year's boom. The move was very good for us.

I have goals for the studio. I have always had goals for the studio, but it was really hard to know how I was doing because I didn't have easy access to the numbers. If we have 40% growth again next month, we will just about reach these initial goals. We will still have room to grow. According to my software, we are only operating at about 16% capacity right now. But once the initial goals are met, the studio will be completely healthy (and so will my personal finances). It may not happen in one month, but there's nothing wrong with setting the bar high. The tricky part is that then I have to let go of it. I have to keep doing my job in the best way I can all the while understanding that the results are completely out of my hands. It's really hard and I'm not that good at it.

But I do love having all of this data at my fingertips. It's so much fun to look at, especially since we're growing so quickly. The trick is to also be okay when the growth slows. That's when I will definitely need the yoga.

do what's hard

I had a weird day today. It started off strong. I went to my favorite yoga class in the city and had brunch with friends afterwards. Then I went home and got into bed. I stayed there until late in the afternoon. I was exhausted.

I went to a chiropractor yesterday. (Dr. Kacie Flegal at her new business Elements of Being, just to make the plug. She's great.) We talked about how I get lightheaded really easily. It happens a lot in my asana practice. I've come close to fainting a few times. I'm also a complete sugar junkie. I have intense cravings for sweets, and I almost always give in. She put it all together for me. After the sugar spikes come the falls. It doesn't help that I don't drink enough water. The result is that my blood sugar is low and my blood volume is low, so I come out of prasarita worried that I might fall over. It's been like that so long, it doesn't even seem unusual anymore.

There have been these moments since I began practicing yoga when I have had flashes that what I consider normal and okay is actually completely contrary to what I believe in. I realized at a certain point, at the end of a certain summer after a certain number of years of daily drinking and lots of coke snorting, that I was not okay unless I was ingesting chemicals. I went to a yoga class the next day, and it became clear by the end of the class that I just had to stop, that I wouldn't be free until I did. So I stopped. (The stopping wasn't quite as easy as I make it sound here, but the realization was sharp and clear.) It happened again around eating meat. I was having chicken at some chain restaurant after a hike and all I could think about was how that very chicken that I was eating suffered immensely so that I could eat it. I could not stop picturing this living, feeling creature in a tiny cage where it could not move and where it had to wait its whole life, painfully, to die. Why would I eat that? Why would I go anywhere near having anything to do with that? In both cases, I just could not hide from the truth anymore. Yoga brings clarity.

Today was the first day in a long time that I didn't have any chocolate. No pastries, no cookies, no cake. Most people probably have lots of days like that, but I really can't remember the last time I have. No refined sugar in my blood (or very little), and I feel really, really tired. And I have a headache. I've been kind of sad and grumpy most of the day. But I don't want to see stars when I do yoga. I want my body to have a steady stream of the nutrients that it needs. And I don't want to be beholden to sweets. It's a health thing. It's also a freedom thing.

I had a conversation with a student tonight about headstand. He really likes tripod, and I feel pretty strongly that tripod's okay in certain circumstances, like coming into from crow or prasarita, but that good old, simple, steady sirsasana is the headstand of choice for our regular practice. Tripod is flashy and for fun, not for the serious focus work of headstand. He clearly disagreed, and we went back and forth about it for awhile. He finally said that traditional headstand is much harder for him, so he should be practicing that more.

Bravo, I thought. Exactly. We do what's easy and we get into these grooves, these mindsets, these habits, these samskaras. In my experience, they are nearly impossible to break by sheer will. If we are even so lucky as to notice them. Something has to open. Yoga has provided me with all of those openings. And then once it's open, the choice is so clear, so obvious. I only have to decide once. There's no struggle, even when it's uncomfortable.

No more daily (or twice daily) pastry. It's fucking with my practice. So obvious.

dukkha

After I wrote the last post about being angry, a few interesting things happened. One person who's angry at me used the blog as an opportunity to express his anger at me publicly. He did it on Facebook. He deleted the comment really quickly, but I got to see it and maybe a few other people did too. When you are vulnerable in public, some people will use it as an opportunity to attack you. My mother warned me that would happen.

Another thing that happened is that several people told me I hadn't done anything wrong. Possibly. I do give myself a hard time and I analyze my behavior to death. I'll resist the urge to quote Rumi (such a cliched yoga teacher thing to do), but to paraphrase: there is no right or wrong, dummy. What it's about for me is that I don't want my life to be a reaction. What I did with the landlady, evil bitch that she is, was a reaction. If I had noticed that anger arise in me, mulled it over and decided to tell her that she was crazy and a liar, it would have been different. I want to decide, but what happened was that I was overcome with an emotion that I reacted to. I did not decide.

The last interesting thing that happened after the blog entry is that people told me about how they're frustrated and angry and about how they have acted in ways (usually when no one's looking) that they regret and that are harmful. And I was reminded. We are all like that. We are all like that. We are all like that. The person who lashed out at me, me, the landlord, my friends, probably you.

I listen to Pema Chodron CDs when I drive sometimes. Six discs later, and this is basically what she says: we are all suffering. It's the first of the Four Noble Truths in Buddhism. Dukkha. It's frustration, irritation, dissatisfaction, resentment, and we all feel it. When I'm feeling it, I think I'm the only one. I feel very alone. What Pema Chodron says though is that actually, lots and lots of people are feeling it at that very moment that I am experiencing it. She suggests breathing in the feeling. Breathe it in for you and for all the people in the world who are suffering as you are. Acknowledge them. Acknowledge that you are not alone. Then breathe out the antidote. Breathe it out for you and breathe it out for everyone who is suffering as you are.

I've been doing this for a little while (at least a week). What's been really interesting to me is that no matter what it is that I'm breathing in, whether it's frustration or anger or fear or anxiety, the antidote on the out breath always feels exactly the same. It's calm and ease in the knowledge that everything is exactly how it is supposed to be.

Exactly how it is supposed to be. The Buddhists had it right. We are all suffering. When I realize that, I have the exquisite experience of finding it impossible to be angry. Like the person who lashed out at me after the last blog. I admit that I had a flash of anger and of hurt feelings, but then I realized how perfect it is, really. He was doing exactly what I had done. We are exactly alike. What's there to be mad about?

That's rare. In fact, it's only happened once. I can't even recapture the feeling now, but there was this moment when I saw us all as hurt and vulnerable and imperfect and it was the most beautiful thing. I think most, maybe even all, of us are trying to be better and act better and do better. There's this sweetness there, even when we do it so imperfectly. Especially because we do it imperfectly. It's so human, so frail, so real, so perfect, actually. It is exactly how it is supposed to be.

angry!

Today I ended my relationship with the owner of the old space. It was not civil. I accepted a check for less than is legally owed to me from the deposit. I almost didn't do it. I handed the check back to her at one point when she asked me to sign away my rights to the money.

We were standing on the street outside the old space. I saw that she had taken down the sign on the door that told customers we had moved. The place is still vacant, so there is no reason for that action other than pure meanness. I knew, for my own sanity, that I had to be done with her. The few hundred dollars were not worth fighting for. I took the check, signed the paper and said, "I'm only doing this so that I never have to deal with you again. You're a lying, crazy...." I threw the paper and her pen on the ground, turned and walked away.

I'm fairly certain that's not what Buddha would do. I'm going to reveal just how unspiritual I really am. I was so overcome with anger that the words came out of my mouth with absolutely no thought, no pause, no consideration. It was as though I had no choice.

I've heard that meditation will give us that pause, but I'm not meditating regularly right now. It gets worse, because even in hindsight I can't think of a better way to handle it. Doesn't she need to know what a crazy, lying bitch she is? Wasn't it my job to tell her?

Can someone tell me some better, calmer, more centered way to handle it?

I suffered a lot over that woman. She lied many times in attempts (sometimes successful) to get more money out of me. She refused to turn down the music in the restaurant she owned next door and the walls between us were very, very thin. Sometimes I couldn't help but notice that it would actually get loud when class started and quiet when class ended. I wondered (insanely, I hope) if she was intentionally trying to ruin my business.

I had two conversations with two different friends today who are having call-the-lawyer type disputes with their business partners. I considered taking on a partner for about a week once. We were completely incompatible, and I'm grateful that I saw that early. But sometimes it's not so obvious.

Who we do business with matters. A lot. Business partners especially. It's a marriage. But landlords too. I never liked her, and I should have let that be a warning. My current landlord is a big corporation. As bad as that sounds to our left-leaning ears, our interactions are always professional, civil, legal.

I also clearly have some work to do with anger. I am self-righteous, and I am a know-it-all. I saw it in all its glory this morning. Can yoga soften that? Will yoga soften that? I sense that asana helps, but that the real antidote is found in sitting practice. Or maybe I'll just hold onto it for a little while longer. Telling that woman off was the most satisfying thing I've done in a long, long time.

don't force it

My friend, Matthew, is teaching himself to jump forward from down dog into crow. It's a really, really difficult thing to do that requires having control of your body in handstand enough to bring your knees into your armpits and balance there on your hands.

I'm trying to learn to jump from crow to chaturanga, a much more basic move. I've had enough yoga teachers tell me, and I can feel in my own body, that I am strong enough to do it. I'm just scared. When I'm in crow, my legs are glued to my upper arms and no matter how much I think about shooting my legs back, I can 't get my brain to command the movement.

So I found a video online where a teacher goes through the steps for both jumping out of and into crow. I sent it along to Matthew. The teacher said several times, "don't force it," which I love because it means I can hang out in the comfort and safety of my little crow pose. There's nothing wrong with that, but am I maybe, just a little, postponing my growth?

Matthew pointed out that there is a fine line between forcing (which most of us agree we don't want to do) and trying really hard.

I'll give my crow a break here because arm balances and inversions are really difficult poses for me (it took me three years of trying really hard just to kick into handstand), and whether I jump back to chaturanga is ultimately not that important. It will come.

But what about off the mat?

I'm going to talk about real estate. From the time I got my license in early December until a couple weeks ago, I was working really, really hard at it. I wrote a couple of offers that didn't get accepted. I spent many, many hours working for clients who decided not to buy. I'm not complaining. That's the job, but I'm feeling like it would be just a tad easier if I were really meant to be doing that work.

When I'm working on the studio, things fall into place magically. My days pass, and I feel useful and rewarded. I work hard and put in long hours, but the work never feels hard. It's engaging and fun, and I get immediate feedback both when I do things well and when I fuck things up.

I'm not giving up my real estate license, but I am taking it easy. Maybe a burst of energy will come that will shoot my legs back into chaturanga. Maybe a burst of energy will come and I'll start marketing myself and finding new clients. In both cases, I'm just going to wait for it.

That's probably not in the real estate success manuals. I don't care. If I'm supposed to be doing it, there's no forcing. Legwork, yes. Pushing, striving, grasping, no. It's not worth the mental effort and energy, even if I do get the client or deal or whatever it is. Even if I jump back to chaturanga in the middle of class with everyone watching. I will not have enjoyed the process. I will have wasted my time, because we all know (I hope) that earning more money or getting a new yoga pose only makes us happy for fleeting, quick little moment. Enjoying what we do keeps us happy in the long term.

So how does one know if she's forcing or just working hard? That's the tricky part. God knows I've had a lot of bad ideas that seemed inspired at the time. I'm starting to be able to discern, just a tiny little bit, the difference in how they feel. Forcing feels tight and constricted and results-oriented. Strong effort feels engaging and expansive and is process-oriented.

May I stay in the latter.

self-supporting

It's been too long since writing. A lot has happened. We had the opening party, which everyone seems to agree was a success. The class was at absolute capacity. We were mat-to-mat and there was not even room for any teachers to take class. The party afterwards went well. Jennifer Meek danced (amazing), Sarah Jenness and her husband, David, fire danced (beautiful, ethereal) and Katie Colver's band Winnie Byrd played a set. They were great. I can't wait to have them back in the studio for another show.

Meanwhile, my bank account has dwindled to the triple digits. With no real estate clients anywhere near closing, much less in contract, there is no income in sight for me other than what square one can pay me.

Which isn't much. Square One has only recently even been able to pay me for the classes that I teach. I have never been compensated for running the place. The reality is that the money goes into, not out of, most businesses for at least the first year. It's doing better now. I was able to open the second location without incurring any more debt, and none of my personal money has gone into the studio for several months, which is obviously a good thing since I don't have any.

It's wonderful that so many people love square one and that we had a great party, but ultimately for it to work I've got to be able to pay my rent and the debit card has to go through when I buy the dog food. So I've been really busy. I need to do more thorough numbers-running, but at a glance, it seems that if we can get 50% more paying people through the door, square one can start paying me a living wage.

That feels doable. With the move, we've gotten rid of a lot of the problems that meant people didn't return. We have a good heater now. The studio is quiet and spacious. It's not on State Highway 123. The passers-by don't gawk at students through the window as though yoga were the most foreign and bizarre thing they'd ever seen. (It happened. A lot.) There were always good reasons to come back to square one, but there were also lots of reasons not to come back. I don't think that's the case anymore.

With all my heart and time and energy, I'm making sure that the experience for the students is ideal. I've bought new software that helps me keep track of the money a little better. We were losing money because our record keeping system wasn't accurate. That's not going to happen anymore. The software also makes it easier for people to spend money online, and we're seeing more revenue come from the website now. The software is expensive, but I think using it is one of the best decisions I've made about the business. Second, of course, to the move.

And I'm marketing. Like crazy. Along with getting the website professionally done, I'm putting postcards out like I did in the early days. I'm giving away lots of free class cards for new students. I'm urging my teachers to help me with this. We've got to get them in the door. I'm pretty sure once we do our retention rates will be really good. For the first time ever, all of the elements are in place.

50% more? It's happening. Our numbers are up slightly and people are investing in class cards and memberships. But will it happen quickly enough that I can pay all my personal bills on time and easily? I don't know, but it's definitely possible.

I often wonder why everyone doesn't quit their day jobs and start businesses. Then everyone can be like me and bring their dogs to work and roll in at ten and report to no one. But I realize today that it's not for everyone. The biggest question I would ask someone considering self-employment is: how comfortable are you with financial insecurity? One day you'll be like me, looking at an very low bank balance knowing that it's only you and your hard work and good intentions and good luck that are going make it comfortable again. Jobs = security. Sort of. The reality is that life is uncertain, but we all have different tolerances for how much we can take. I don't want a job, but I can see why one might.