Dear readers,

OK, I'm kind of sick of this blog right now. I want to keep writing, but really. Is this all I've got going on? A few Joe-joes and a cheap trip to Target? I didn't even eat the whole box. Not even a full row. Where's the angst? Where's the drama?

There is none right now. My biggest problem right this second is that between the cat napping on my right thigh and the dog's head on my left thigh, there is nowhere on my lap to put my laptop. So it's perched precariously on one knee, held up by the heels of my hands while I type. Cozy little life.

My personal finances are still a wreck, but I've gotten really used to that. The more I hear, the more I understand that that's just what happens to new entrepreneurs. It's a hump that I hope I get over on the sooner side, but I'm not alone. The business is solid and profitable, and if I just ignore a couple bills every now and then, I have enough money to get by. There's nothing else to say about that.

So, readers. What do you want to hear about? I can write about running a business. I can write about marketing and management, and maybe it will be sort of fresh and different from the rest of what's out there. But really what seems to resonate is writing about being crazy. Because we're all crazy, so y'all get it. But I'm feeling sane right now, and I want to keep writing anyway. Do you want me to write about how I used to be crazy? Or maybe I should just wait until I'm crazy again. Shouldn't take too long.

Anyway. I may give the blog a little break. I hate to do that because I have some readers, and I really enjoy it. I'm just feeling kind of stumped. Like I need a little direction. Suggestions, please!

checking out

Today I was feeling kind of down. I busted into the emergency earthquake Joe Joes and made a retail therapy trip to Target. It had to be budget retail therapy, so all I got were cheap plastic sunglasses and fake gold hoop earrings. But it kind of took my mind off things for a minute, and the truth is I like my sunglasses and I like my earrings. I see the beginnings of a summer uniform. Unfortunately, neither the cookies nor the buying helped for long. I'm not working much right now. No new projects, nothing to distract me from what ails me.

So what ails me? A few things, but I'm not sure they're really the point. There are always, simultaneously, lots of upsetting things happening and absolutely nothing upsetting happening. It's just my perception at the moment that changes. Unfortunately for me, I haven't yet figured out how to quickly change my perception, if such a thing is even possible. Also unfortunately for me, at some point in this life, I decided that being happy all the time was owed me, and when the discontent or the melancholy starts to settle in, I have to do something quick. Go somewhere. Buy something. Eat something. Drink something. I have not learned yet just to sit with it.

Sort of. Sometimes friends who read this blog tell me I don't give myself enough credit. I sit with it way better than I used to. An old friend told me yesterday that I am the healthiest person she knows. Weird, because I feel like the least healthy person I know. But let's face it. Five years ago I smoked a pack a day, drank like a fish, could inhale an eight ball of coke in one night with no help, and didn't think twice about running through the drive-thru after a long night drinking. Drunk. So compared to the vast majority of friends from that era, I'm an Olympic athlete. Compared to the San Francisco Bay Area yoga community, I eat way too many Joe Joes.

What if I didn't compare? What if I just said, hey, I've come along way, but I'm not done yet. I'm still growing. I still have work to do.

This is self-reflection, not self-flagellation. I wasn't very happy today. I have some ideas why, chief among them that I'm human, and humans have a wide range of emotions, many of which don't feel that great. What's more interesting is that my inclination continues to be to check out.

I'm not exactly sure what the solution is. I think that's why diets fail. I can tell myself that I will never, ever eat Joe Joes again, but unless I face whatever it is that Joe Joes seem to be the answer to (it's rarely hunger), I will eventually go back to eating them.

I don't know why I need busy-ness or chaos or cookies or trips to Target. I don't know why I can't just sit with myself. I'm just noticing now how that plays out, and I'm curious. Just like I'm curious about the rage. I still like myself. Really.

blog about blogging

I'm a little worried about this blog.

The business is doing fine. We are not exactly doubling attendance this week, but we're plugging along. I like the new pricing structure. Some people have paid a little more. It's not much money now, but I think as people get used to it, it will bring in a fair amount of extra revenue. Along with the new pricing structure came a really clear decision to quit using low price in our branding. It's not really the point. Do we want people to be able to come, and have we priced it in a way to facilitate that? Yes, absolutely. Is it the best, most important thing about us? No, I definitely don't think so.

So why am I worried about the blog? I'm worried about the blog because I want to keep writing, but sometimes what I do here starts to feel repetitive and without direction or structure.

I'm worried about the blog because sometimes I write things that are innocuous to everyone except the person who I'm writing about. I don't insult people here, but if you're the friend that I'm pruning, you know that, and in retrospect, writing it in a public place feels unkind. But can I write in a way that only involves myself and people who I am absolutely sure will never read this? Do I even want to do that?

I'm worried about the blog because I'm a little sick of thinking about the business, and the two sometimes go hand in hand. I'm going to take a mental break from Square One for a couple of weeks. I have to show up for some classes and certain administrative duties, but I'm not going to worry about changing or fixing anything or trying anything new. I'm feeling a little burned out. It's not that I work too hard, exactly. It's just that I think too much about work.

I'm moving this month anyway, as my readers and friends know. It's a lot of work, and I can take this time to do it slowly, thoughtfully, carefully. In the process, I'm getting rid of what's not serving me anymore. I'm thinking now I might put the internet connection on that list. No TV, no internet. My obsessing usually centers around the laptop screen. Who's signed into class? Have sales grown in the last fifteen minutes? I have an office five blocks away from my new house. I can go in and look at reasonable intervals. What if my home were a really oasis from all that? What if my home were a place where I cook and read and rest and maybe do a little gardening in my 20 square foot yard? What would that be like? Does that sound kind of boring?

Anyway, this brings us to the end of yet another chapter in the Yoga of Small Business. Life is life. Sometimes it feels a little aimless and scattered, kind of like this entry. Hang with me, y'all! I'll get thematic again soon, or maybe I'll start working with a different medium. Maybe I'll pull out the old art supplies, which are the only unused things I'm saving in the Great Purge.

Until then, keep reading. It may be that I'm not writing about the business, which I think just needs to sit on the cooker for awhile, but I plan to keep writing. Maybe I'll turn this into the Yoga of Small Living. Just for a couple weeks. That will wear off too.

pruning

A friend who's a little older and probably a hell of a lot wiser than me told me recently that at a certain point in her life, she asked God to take anything that wasn't necessary. That way, as she put it, she could be miserable for awhile and then get on with her life.

I loved that. It made so much sense to me. I've spent so much of the last year worried about losing stuff, losing face, losing money. Now I have the same prayer. God, take it! Whatever isn't useful. Let's get it over with! Let's rip that bandage right off.

God got busy pretty quick. Within a day, I found a little cottage that had exactly the things that I've been wanting since I moved into the apartment where I live now, washer/dryer, outdoor space, big kitchen. So I took it. Doesn't sound much like pruning, does it? Except that I'm going from 1000 square feet of fully furnished living space to 450. Every stick of furniture that isn't essential has to go. I love it! I'm so tired of accumulating shit I don't need. I want it gone.

Later in the week, I had a huge blowout with a friend. It sounds very callous to say I'm pruning friends, but I am having a long, hard look at relationships. Some of my relationships are dysfunctional and kick me in the ass time after time after time. And I always go back for more. My fear, I'm sure, is of being alone. I don't have a million friends. Honestly, I'm kind of shy, and it's not that easy to get to know me. Don't I need all the friends I can get? No. Even some of the friends I love I have to let go of. They're not working. I don't have to keep trying. I'll be okay. They'll be okay, and if they're not, I probably couldn't help them much anyway.

And then today, my car got broken into. They took my little GPS. I really like that GPS. It has a lovely male British voice who tells me to "take the motorway" when I need to take the motorway. I let it guide me even when I know where I'm going. There's something soothing about never being lost. I've grown to love it. But it is an unnecessary possession. My phone has GPS. It doesn't talk to me, but it will get me from A to B. That's all I need, and really even that is a luxury I've done without 31 of the last 33 years.

I don't mind that my car got broken into. I just don't care. It makes me a tiny bit sad to think of my British friend Tom Tom being traded for a hit of crack, but I can bear it. Easily.

There are things that I am terrified of losing. My dog. My business. My family. My health. I hope God doesn't try to teach me any REALLY important lessons right now. But there is a lot that I am ready to see go. The idea with pruning of course is that what comes back is better, healthier, more vibrant. It's hurts at first, maybe, but it paves the way for better things. I'm ready! Bring it on.

Meanwhile, the business is growing. I have all my big plans, a new pricing structure, new marketing ideas, enormous new goals. But not because there's something wrong. I just like change, and I love growth. I want to keep making it better, more useful and more effective for more people. That's my job. Pruning helps.

operation double attendance

Ok, I have an ambitious goal. And a really bad name for it. I want to see twice as many people come into Square One in June than in April. Is that too much, too high of a goal? June is when the yoga business goes into the summer slumps. Thirty days is not very long. What in the world am I going to do to make it happen?

I don't know, but I have a few ideas. Postcards. Press releases. Smartly placed google and facebook ads.

But I reallly need your help too. We still have referral cards you can give to everyone you know that will get them into their first class for free. If I get ten back with your name on it, you'll get something nice. I don't know what. I think one time I said a free class. Maybe a tee shirt too? But do it because getting more people to square one is a win-win-win. You (in your new tee shirt) and your friends are happy because you do yoga together at the absolute friendliest, best priced yoga space in the whole Bay Area. Square One gets strong and healthy and fiscally strong and keeps growing so more people get to do yoga. Simple, huh? Cards are in the hall. Take a lot, and let me if we run out. I have more!!

So the challenge is to double attendance in two months. It's a big puzzle how to do it, but I think we can. Do you have any good guerrilla marketing ideas to pass along? Let me know! Share them on this blog. Let's make this happen!

Update: I am changing the pricing structure in June to sliding scale 10/12/14. There will be a $12 minimum if you use plastic. Unlimited memberships will be 75/85/95. Five class packs 47//56//65. Eleven class packs will be 100/115/130. We'll have names for the levels on the scale like low, mid and supporter.

Update #2: I'm tired, but no longer angry. I don't hate myself for blowing up. It's something to watch about myself, but just more evidence that I'm part of the human race, which is perfectly fine by me.

rage

Today presented lots of evidence that I am definitely not perfect yet. Even with all the yoga, I am still human, y'all. I lost my shit, once again, on another human being. I punched a wall and used the word "fuck" in several very personal, very loud and very angry insults.

(When I told the story later to a friend, she laughed at me because I used the side of my hand. Punching drywall is painful. She promised me that next time she's on this coast, she'll teach me the joy of a real fist. I hope maybe I won't need to know that by then.)

Anyway, this time it wasn't a landlord or a telephone customer service rep or a gas station attendant. Nope. It was a friend. I'm not going to get into whether she was wrong or not. I mean, really, does it matter? The point is that in many ways, my life and my behavior still feel totally out of control.

Self restraint is a complete mystery to me. I'm baffled by it. I've been trying to find the point in my interaction today when I could have walked away and gone to find my center again. I don't know when that point was. I was driven, like a crazy person, to keep myself in the argument until the time came when I was absolutely overcome by rage. Once the rage hit, it was a little bit like being out of my body. I knew as it was happening that I was acting insane. I could also see it in her face. I crossed the line from regular old everyday anger to something much closer to violence. But my body kept yelling and screaming and punching shit and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I was incapable in that moment of practicing self restraint.

A lot of you who know me or read my blog will point out that I quit drinking and smoking and snorting coke, but all I can tell you is that didn't happen because of self restraint. I think that if we're lucky, with the big stuff, the addictions, we get a little grace. If we've really had enough, it just falls away.

With the more subtle stuff, there's some work to do. The truth is, I have no idea how to go about it. Go back to therapy? Okay, maybe. But I can't really afford to do that right now, so get your butts to Square One. Your yoga teacher needs to pay her therapist.

Which actually brings me back to what I intended to write about when I sat down tonight: getting more butts into square one. Stay tuned...

a little dispassion

May is looking good. So far, we have made sales goals everyday. If we keep this up, I might be able to rub a few dollars together and do something extravagant. Or, God forbid, save a little.

Here's the really good news. I'm not excited about it. I don't feel any joy directly attributable to the fact that the yoga studio is pulling in enough money to support me and all my small animals. I'm happy enough. I'm working hard and really enjoying my work, but for once, my mood is not directly determined by how well the business is doing.

When things aren't going well, and I'm depressed and worried about it, I particularly want to change my mood by telling myself to be dispassionate, to let go of results, etc., etc., but the high times are fun! I don't usually want to be dispassionate when things are going great. Seeing the business succeed is a rush. There's nothing like it.

But I like this. Maybe if I don't let myself get too high with the highs, the lows won't be so devastating. I know now that it always changes. Five days of high attendance and sales can be followed my fifteen days of mediocre sales and low attendance. Five great days can also be followed by more and more great days. Both things can be true simultaneously. It really doesn't matter much. There's not too much need to get excited.

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.