Asking permission September 6, 2009

Right now, in this moment, my life seems full of things I don’t want to deal with. That’s been the past couple of weeks. In a new place, still putting away the pieces of my life, but not seeing a whole, never seeing the whole. Each piece I put up still has a thin coating of regret and disappointment I can’t seem to wipe off:  I know this won’t bring me the life I want, I wish I had the life to use this more, I think I made a mistake.

The other day at the end of the yoga class I teach at work, my young colleague asked if I was teaching anywhere else. I’m not. I talked in circles about how I just hadn’t gotten around to it, blah blah blah. And then she said this: “Well if you really wanted to do this you’d be doing it. Right?”  I nodded my head because the affirmative was the only logical response to that question.

Let’s discover a passion! And then do everything to hide that passion, make it contingent on some other factor, make it a footnote in life instead of the major text. That’s the type of person I am. My desire for something automatically makes it off limits, unattainable.

I should at least ask, right? Honestly, what’s the worse that can happen?  “No. Who do you think you are? You can’t have this. What made you even ask? You’re so obviously not good enough!” All said in a look, or the avoidance of a look, thus confirming my lifelong suspicions.  Yes, I know this is insane. I know I can’t possibly know all of that. I know I can’t read minds. And I know I’m making assumptions, but… I am a self help addict after all and this is how we think. If I didn’t think like this I probably wouldn’t need to read all these books.

So how should I think instead? So I can step away from the fully loaded Kindle? I think I may have the whole asking-for-what-I-want thing backwards. I think I need to ask others to give me something, a job, love, joy. Instead I need to ask myself for more, ask myself for what I want, give myself permission.

Let me just say off the bat that this theory is wrong. Why?  The whole idea of asking for permission, for approval, is based on someone else – who knows more, has more, frankly is just better – giving it. That’s not me. Or is it? Maybe I know more, have more and am better than I believe. Maybe the first step is asking myself for permission – and giving it – before I go into the world and ask for anything.

That’s an interesting idea.

the old place September 2, 2009

I’m in a new place now, a new house, duplex, apartment whatever you want to call it.  It’s been two weeks of limbo, settled no where, when the new place still feels foreign and unknown, but the old place is missing every major element except the feeling that it’s home.

I loved my old place. It was a perfect apartment. Bright, shiny, new. Every convenience. Fireplace, balcony with a view of sky, ridiculous bathroom and closets. When I moved there I was coming off some of the best years of my life, the most fun years maybe I should say, finally in my late 30s having fun, and I thought that apartment would be the icing on the cake. But almost as soon as I moved in all the fun ended. I was sick while I lived there. Symptoms and surgeries and procedures and worrying. Allergies causing true illness instead of just annoyance or discomfort. How many times did my mother come from Florida to take care of me? But I was never sick in a way that truly threatened my life. I was sick in a way that woke me up.

I could never hate the old place, that onetime home of mine, because that’s where I lived when I found yoga. After all those self help books, all those years of reading one after another, feeling the fear and still not doing it anyway, focusing on the second chakra when it was the third all along, not loving anything that is and taking everything personally, becoming aware of some things but not others, and doing mostly nothing about either, yoga brought it all together.

In the bright, shiny, new, old place I listened to my own voice more than at any other time in my life. Listened to the truth of it no matter what it said, no matter the consequences. That doesn’t always mean I always did the right thing or the best thing or the brave thing, but at least I could listen even though I was afraid, terrified.  I heard what I am, not what I’m becoming or what I want to be, but what I am. Now I just have to admit it, say it, be honest about it.  Maybe I can do that in the new place.

Deserving It August 11, 2009

From the Rotund: “Fuck deserving it. …there are millions of people in the world who are BETTER than me. The difference is that, honestly, what I DESERVE isn’t going to determine what I go after in this world. Not when it comes to happiness or work or clothes that look awesome.”

What do I deserve? I don’t feel like I deserve anything good or complimentary or expensive. I don’t feel I deserve to be called smart or pretty or even tell people that I’m a yoga teacher. I certainly don’t feel like I deserve to put together a yoga/volunteering program in one of seven countries of my choice, let alone be the yoga teacher for that program (and so I secretly expect it to fall through) or to get published whenever I freaking finish this book (and so I not so secretly avoid working on it). Any compliment I get I assume the person either pities me or is crazy. Any opportunity I get I think “surely they’ve made a mistake, they can’t want me,” because I haven’t worked hard enough or long enough or whatever ‘enough’ I can think of.

This is no way to live.

How is it that I can accept every rejection as well formed and reasonable, but I can’t accept any praise at all?  But reversing that doesn’t seem logical either. How can I  accept only the praise but reject the rejections?  I’m back to the prayer of Byron Katie’s again: “God, spare me from the desire for love, approval, or appreciation. Amen.”  How do I do that? I have no idea.

Don’t take it personally August 4, 2009

Don’t take it personally. Don’t take it personally. Don’t take it personally.

This has to be my new mantra, the Second Agreement. Why? Because I can’t let anything get me down right now. If you read my blog, especially this post, you know that one of my passions is yoga, teaching and learning it nationally and internationally, as I put it. Well, I have been given the opportunity to do just that. To plan a yoga and volunteering trip in one of seven countries of my choice.  Belize is at the top of the list.

It just fell in my lap. My friend’s husband’s cousin has a thing… I owe so much to them and their friendship. They believe enough in me to speak well of me to everyone they know.  You can’t ask more of a friendship.

However you can get a lot less. I can’t let anyone’s negative reactions get in the way of what I want to do with my life. And that’s what I experienced a few days ago. It was kind of shocking how not happy for me one particular friend, I guess now an acquaintance was.

I can’t let this get me down or more accurately let anger burn up my energy and sidetrack me. In Loving What Is, Katie writes, “If I had a prayer, it would be this: ‘God, spare me from the desire for love, approval, or appreciation. Amen.’”  It’s not that love, approval and appreciation don’t exist in the world. It’s the desire for those things that run you ragged.

This idea that I must have everyone’s approval before I make a move, it drives me nuts, it makes me mad, mad/crazy, mad/angry. What to do with that anger, that firey energy that I usually burn myself with? Channel it. Put it to use doing something. Wake me up.  Just don’t take anything personally.

change space September 29, 2008

How many books talk about change being hard, the most difficult thing to do. People have habits, ruts, patterns they can’t seem to escape, half of which we don’t even realize we have. Yogis and Buddhists tell us about samskaras, those actions we do over and over again. Scientists who study the brain tell us about neurological patterns that develop and link our thoughts to actions, creating actual grooves in the brain that get deeper and deeper the longer we stay in these patterns. This makes real change almost impossible, right?

What if change isn’t hard?

People talk about changing all the time, for years, for decades. But the actual change I think happens in a second, almost instantaneously. Suddenly, I think one thing and respond in a certain way, and then the next second I respond in some other way. It’s not a process; it’s the opposite of process. It’s not a series of steps or actions. It’s just one step, one action, from doing something to not doing it.

My yoga teacher talks about the madhya (not sure how it’s spelled) in pranayama, that point in breathing when you change from inhaling to exhaling. I think Deepak Chopra calls it a “gap”.  It’s a still point, a space.  This change space that’s neither inhaling nor exhaling, but one changing into the other. I’ve said before, I feel like I’ve changed so much in the last couple of years (and I have), but the externals look the same.  Am I in the change space? How long can I stay in the change space before I lose my breath? How long can I wait to exhale?

the plan September 27, 2008

Here’s the situation. I saw blood in my stool and I have to have a colonoscopy. My doctor was all, “We have to take a look, colon cancer is SOOOO common, it’s the #1 cause of cancer death! We’re #1! We’re #1!” He didn’t say that last part, but it felt like he could have.  Apparently, if you catch colon cancer early, you’re fine, but after a certain point there’s absolutely nothing they can do for you and you die in, like, six months. Do not Google it.

When faced with a health concern I always go to the darkest place. What if it’s cancer? What if I wake from the drugs Thursday, he says “It’s too late. There’s nothing we can do. You’ve got about 6 months to live”? I was thinking about it so much that I came up with a plan. I know exactly what I would do.

I’d cut back my hours at work, but not so much that I would lose my insurance. The idea of sitting in a cubicle watching the minutes of the rest of my life literally ticking away would no longer be acceptable. I’ve got a little saved, I could still make the rent. I’d go to yoga at least once a day, sometimes during the day when I’d ordinarily be at work. I’d sell everything and when my lease is up in January, move back to Florida with my mom and sister. I’d spend the last few months of my life surfing, working part-time somewhere, volunteer teaching yoga, meditating, writing. I’d help my mom around the house, start a garden for her. Just taking and giving joy in everything I did. And then I’d die. That’s The Dieing Plan.

As I got dressed for yoga this morning I was thinking about The Plan and it made me smile, it made me happy to think of living my life like that, of my dieing plan. And then driving to the yoga studio it hit me, I don’t have a Living Plan.

I seem to be perfectly willing to let the minutes of my life tick away in front of computer and not do the things I clearly want to do. I don’t do any of the things in my dying plan. Yes I go to yoga, and I was even going almost everyday during teacher training, but not since. Work saps my energy. I don’t garden. I haven’t started volunteering, yet. There are no waves to catch in Austin, and if you look at the dates on this blog you know I’m not writing. I’m certainly not taking and giving joy in everything I do.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve known for a while now that I have no plans for my life, no career goals, no relationship goals, there’s no overarching theme. I just sort of go from one thing to the next and if I stay in one place a while it’s usually not because I love it but because I’m stuck. I started to think, “do I want to die, so I can have that life?”  When (kinda) faced with death, I happily made a plan for myself that brought a smile to my face, almost a wish that I could live it even though it would require a death sentence. What does that say about how I really want to live my life, and the way I’m living it now?

The doctor said that 8 times out of 10 there’s nothing seriously wrong. Wait. That means 1 in 5 is serious. Those odds aren’t good, that’s a lot! Anyway…

When I wake up Thursday, if the doctor says “You’re fine! False alarm. See you in 10 years. Bye now!”, what the fuck is my Living Plan?

20 Years January 20, 2008

My father died 20 years ago today (January 19). It’s been a long 20 years, but still, somehow, unproductive. I still miss him. I’m still angry that he died when he did. I’m still adrift in some ways since then.

When he died I was a senior in college about to start my last semester. This is a pivotal point in a person’s life. Especially a person like me who can just sort of, go with the flow. I had no real goals, although I applied to graduate school. (That was one of the last things my father helped me do, get out those applications, edit my essay, help me decide where to apply.)  Not really thinking about it. I just thought graduate school would be a safe bet, a continuation of school, which was pretty much all I knew after 16 years. And I’m great at doing what I’m told.

When he died I just floated, not with lightness, but without any sort of grounding. I went through the motions, again without really thinking about what I wanted, whatever was easiest, whatever caused the least stress for everyone. So I went to graduate school. Again with no goal in mind for the education or the degree.

Real goals, things I really really really want to do, rest at the back of my mind, waiting for me to pick them up and do something with them. I never do. Let me restate that: I often let them continue to rest, until they fade away, and I forget them completely. Because as I sit here now, I can’t think of a single real goal from graduate school. Everything I did was along the path of least resistance. Everything I chose required little action from me, little choice.  Somehow hoping my stillness would bring great change.

I was left with this wanting, this feeling of incompleteness and joylessness. I wanted more, but not only did I not know how to go after it, I didn’t even how to think of it. I would try something and hope it would magically change my life. At the first sign that it would not, or the changes I would have to make would be too great, I would drop it and move on to something else. I’ve done this with hobbies, sports, cities, people.  I’m constantly starting over, beginning again. And I’m a fabulous beginner. I can go from absolutely no knowledge to low intermediate in the time it takes others to figure out how to pronounce the thing. But I leave. I always have.

Yoga will be the challenge to this. I’ve been doing yoga for a year now and I don’t see giving it up any time soon.  Just when I think it’s routine and just an exercise, I’ll have to leave a class in a hurry racing to my car before I burst into tears. Holding it in the parking lot. Then safely away at the first stop light, I Sob. Sob for whatever feeling that came up in whatever asana. Sob for my life. Sob for my fatherless family. Sob that I still feel lost after all these years.

Uncharted Happiness September 8, 2007

I was rereading an article from Yoga Journal about change: the willingness to change, how to change, the change process. In the past year I’ve made huge leaps and strides. Found mulitiple edges and reached over all of them. I feel different from the person I was a year ago. I am different, I feel it in my bones and my flesh.

But the anxious one in me constantly brings up a really good point: How can I be so different, when my life looks just the same? Same job, apartment, body, loneliness. How can I possible be different? Or is the external change coming? First inside then outsite, maybe. I don’t know.

I’ve been running into lonely poems. Last night, well at this point two nights ago, my yoga teach put up part of a poem by Hafiz:

Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft,
My voice
So tender,

My need of God
Absolutely
Clear.

It was so sad and beautiful that I looked it up, and found the first part even more sad and beautiful:

Don’t surrender your loneliness
So quickly.
Let it cut more deep.

Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.

“Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly/let it cut more deep.” I can’t get over that. The loneliness is a constant. I can’t imagine it going even deeper. It never goes away, no matter the city or job or body, or how many people around me, it stays. It’s the same. It makes the same grooves, the same cuts, unchanged.

But I want to change, be different not just feel different. I want new grooves, paper cuts making a new map of uncharted happiness, newly discovered joy.

Yoga is destructive August 10, 2007

I’ve been taking classes at my place of yoga, at a small Buddhist yoga studio, for about 7 months. At the beginning of my first class with my yoga teacher he said that if he had to distill yoga down to two words it would be ‘let go’. What I didn’t realize then is that in order to let something, anything go, you have to feel it first.

For a person who keeps it all in, feeling any emotion, bad or good, is extremely difficult. The first few months of yoga were incredibly painful. Emotionally painful. It’s only recently have I been able to leave yoga without feeling destroyed, my self in a million little pieces, my body twitching and heavy with emotional energy more than physical exhaustion. Why did I keep going back? Because every time I put my self back together again, I have a little more clarity.

Now, most of the time, I leave feeling good, relaxed, released, but not tonight. Tonight I’m feeling that bottle energy that I don’t know what to do with. The kind I’m trying to release, but I don’t know where to go with it. Is it sadness or anger or frustration? And about what. I had a pretty good day honestly, but there’s just this heightened energy coming from somewhere.