I Suck at Yoga

Yes, it’s true, I’m a terrible yogi. I know, you might see me on that mat and think, is she crazy, her legs are behind her head, or yeah, I want to suck that bad…but it’s still true. Asana is not yoga. Don’t get me wrong, it’s part of the recipe, an integral ingredient, like chocolate chips in chocolate chip cookies, but without the flour, sugars, butter, salt, eggs and vanilla, as yummy as a chocolate chip is on its own, it in no way shape or form is the same as the whole cookie.

I admit, when I first got on the mat, clueless, I defined yoga by its physical movements. I knew no differently. Yet, even that first time, I felt different afterwards, calmer, more at peace and albeit briefly, less reactionary and more present. It not only made me want to go back, but slowly, scratch the surface to learn more.

In the beginning everything was so physically hard, but I was enamored with figuring it out, while having these minor life epiphanies occur during the moment and movement in asana. Tears were common, of joy, grief, awareness, forgiveness. So not me, but I loved it, and soon enough bought my first yoga book, Gregor Maehle’s Ashtanga Yoga Practice and Philosophy. It’s a fabulous book, that has a wealth of information as well as an in-depth practical explanation with pictures of the primary series. I admit, when I first opened the book, I was more interested in learning his wisdom on the asana versus anything about the Yoga Sutras. In some strange way, as much as I have always been a rabid reader, any time I went to read something outside of asana, I would literally fall asleep…his book, for awhile became my go to insomnia aid…I almost feel now, like I wasn’t ready to know more yet, that in my own intensity, the whole package of ashtanga, was too much to take in, and might have led me to throw in the towel.

The Tim Miller workshop I went to almost two weeks ago, helped me to accept my truth, I suck at yoga. Why? Because I’m human, I’m internally bombarded with my ego, my judgements, my impatience, my desires, my other flaws. However, as Timji worded it, we must accept who we are, all of it, not just the good but the uncomfortable parts, the ones that are still young or injured or afraid and stop judging so much. How can you move forward by suppressing your quirks? An itch doesn’t go away by pretending it’s not there, and scratching it until you bleed doesn’t help it either. Figuring out why it’s there, being curious, yet compassionate and forgiving can stop all the judgement, eventually.

I don’t know if I will ever happily allow that guy who turns out in front of me driving, even though there is no one behind me and cuts me off making me slam on my brakes while he then proceeds to go ten miles LESS than the speed limit, without wanting to scream some sort of expletive… Yeah, so I suck, because, maybe he’s a nervous driver, and didn’t grasp the timing and once he saw me so close after the turn already started he got more scared and slowed down more… Or my judgement of the judgers…I mean seriously how hypocritical is my annoyance at their annoyance? Everything can be misunderstood. Everything. My yamas, my niyamas, are they interpreted the same way universally? No. And sadly like crazed ex smokers, some folks can get a tad over zealous in the expectations of those around them. We are all on a journey, with different mind sets, wiring, and cultural biases.

So, I love chocolate chip cookies, but I confess I especially like the raw dough…it’s a magical indulgence to me, maybe I’m not ready to fully bake yet..Alton Brown has three different chocolate chip cookie recipes, thin and crispy, puffy, and the chewy, my favorite..here is a link for the recipes. on that note, enjoy your favorite, my goal of the moment is to use less curse words, so namaste mother f#ckers! It’s still a work in progress.ūüėČ

Come again?

I don’t have a natural body awareness. Hence, it’s not always easy for me to translate even a visual example of how to do an asana or breathing technique. When Sharath showed nadi shodana alternate nostril breathing exercises after led class, I incorporated them into my routine. My teacher at the time came up to me a few days later and sat in front of me as I was attempting them. Quietly, he said do you mind if I show you what you are doing? I said sure go ahead. He then sat in front of me and without laughing managed to show me my exaggerated head jerks from side to side that looked more like I was trying to do some funky dance move along with my alternate nostril sounds and moves that seemed more like I was trying to shoot snot out of my nose without a tissue versus a calming breathing exercise. I was giggling and appreciated the visual I needed to get the correction from my overzealous attempt to breathe. I can be a tad too enthusiastic at times, but with anything awareness is the first step, at least that’s what I tell myself.

When I was 18, my brothers and I were visiting with my dad at a lovely golf resort on the ocean in northern Florida. We were all going out to play a round of golf, when the Pro at the club stopped us. Weekends and women were a no go on the golf course in this genteel southern community. Who knew that feminism hadn’t reached the southern parts of the good old USA…the Pro very kindly told my dad he’d take me out to the driving range to hit a few buckets of balls and low and behold, my dad and brothers happily abandoned me under the care of possibly the most stereo typical chauvinist I have ever met.

Anyway, I was annoyed at best, but decided, I would hit some balls at the driving range just to prove to this ridiculous man, that he was wrong. He was referring to me as “little lady” which was getting on my nerves, but he was my elder, and I was sighing as he said it but just ignored the slight. So there we were, and he basically just handed me a bucket of balls and said lets see what you’ve got little lady. So I set up my first shot, swung my driver and hit. I was happy with the shot, though it veered just a smidgen to the right. I grabbed another ball and went to swing again when all of a sudden Mr. Helper told me told close my face. Close my face? I had no idea what he meant.

I am sure my face expressed my befuddlement at his guidance, but in seeing my confusion, he just smiled and repeated his directions, close your face. I swung away, and sure enough the ball landed a foot away from the last one. Each time I set up, the Pro just repeated his words, usually with a different moniker for me in front of it, honey, close your face, blondie, close your face, hit and giggle, close your face. At that last one, in frustration, I looked up at him with my face all squished up and said, I’m sorry, it’s not working. In seeing me, he laughed and laughed, with tears even, and apologized telling me he meant the club face (flat part) of my driver needed to be less angled and more vertically aimed at the ball. I thanked him for the advice, left the golf course and went to the beach to have the sun and sea air erase the madness I had let him create inside me. Why couldn’t he just have spoken more clearly?

Now granted, in retrospect, there was just so much wrong with his nature as well as the club rules but as much as I knew of golf, I had never heard the term face for the flat side of a club. Was he just being a bigger jerk or had his expertise led him to a place where he had forgotten that not everyone was as intimately familiar with the different parts of a golf driver? Maybe both. His advice could have actually benefitted my game in straightening my drive, but he did nothing that day but push my buttons, and I am sure my behavior just reinforced his misogyny. I haven’t played in years, I don’t have the desire or time. As can happen with so many exchanges, clarity was woefully lacking. His attempt to improve my game or focus did not work, by assuming I had knowledge of something I did not, but for my part I didn’t use my voice when I expressed my lack of familiarity with his terminology.

I’m in the middle of a weekend workshop with Tim Miller right now, and he is a master of clarity with a dash of humor. The wisdom of 37 years of practice as well as his passion for knowledge have made for some fabulous discussions on bundhas last night with practical application in showing asana with it as well as without it, and today on the five bodies or kleshas. He discussed the process of asana combined with dristhi, breath, and bundhas in helping to burn away our toxins, fears and ego. He frankly stated that this process is not always pleasant, easy or comfortable, I agree. I’m still processing it all, so I don’t want to go into it further yet, but he also told a story about a workshop he had done somewhat recently in North Carolina where a woman in the group flipped out on him for claiming that there may be discomfort on the path to becoming your best self. She was stuck on a point David Williams had made that pain should be avoided. I think she was confused in what each master was discussing, and was lost in translation? Causing harm should be avoided, but let’s face it, as Timji worded it, not everything that’s good for us feels good and not everything that feels good is good for us…ignorance is not simply lack of knowledge but lack of willingness to understand or accept information.

On a last note, my son looked at me tonight and said, he’s so lazy, that if he won an award for the world’s laziest person, he’d ask someone else to pick it up for him…haha, I thought he spoke with great clarity:)

To err is human

‚ÄúI have learned all kinds of things from my many mistakes. The one thing I never learn is to stop making them.‚ÄĚ
‚Äē Joe Abercrombie, Last Argument of Kings

A year or so ago, I ran into a old friend I hadn’t seen in a while. We were both in a crazed place of wrangling kids and dogs and needing to be someplace else instead of enjoying catching up. Lisa smiled at me as I was struggling to get my hands free to type in her newest phone number, instead Lisa had a brilliant idea for our too busy moment. She said when I get home tonight, to friend her on Facebook, than we can message a time to catch up over coffee. I thought, great, I will.

Though I’m normally prone to let the chaos creep in to forget these types of connections for a few days, I was diligent and hopped on the computer when I got in and typed in her name, Lisa H., for a search. I was proud of myself for being so responsible and sent her a friend request on Facebook. A few days later I still hadn’t had my request accepted so I became slightly annoyed and impatient. I sent her a snarky massage, intermixed with humor, bullying her to accept. I don’t remember the exact wording, but it was something like, are you so living in the moment now you can’t remember running into and old friend and wanting to catch up? Ok be that way…with a smiley face on the end. No sooner had I sent it, she accepted my Facebook friendship, with a small note of apology, claiming she must be super stressed as she couldn’t even remember our meet up.

I felt satisfied about it, until the next weekend when I received a friend request from a Lisa B. Lisa B. who? So I click, and sure enough it’s my old friend remarried now…I then wonder who Lisa H. is. I click on her page versus the little profile picture visible in a search, and though she’s blonde and grew up in my home town, I have absolutely no idea who this poor woman is whom I strong-armed into becoming my virtual friend. I started laughing at the prospect of what I had done but I didn’t have the courage to tell her or de-friend her.

Her stuff started popping up in my feed. She has adorable twin boys, loves boating and has a soft spot for old convertibles. My guilt and nervous laughter crept in just about every time I saw her postings but I just let it be. In my defense, I know so many Lisas. The name’s popularity in the States as a baby name was relatively high throughout the 1960’s and 70’s. Two sister in laws, a bunch of close friends…I’ve constantly had to refer to each of them with either a spouse or last name attached for confusions sake. However, I never got the courage to tell her.

About six months in to this comedy of errors I posted a picture of this yummy man: IMG_0194.JPG
How cool is that? I couldn’t resist taking a picture of my nosed eggplant before turning him into some delicious meatless meatballs and posting it! So the next day, I look through the comments and likes on the photo, and my bullied “friend” had liked it! I laughed and laughed, my husband heard me asking what was so funny, and I relayed to him the whole story. I never realized I had kept my forcefulness to myself, it had been a shameful secret in some way, that I had done something inadvertently careless and bullied someone. He thought it was hilarious, and couldn’t believe how much guilt and judgement I had placed on myself. So yeah, I needed to get over it, and by posting my little eggplant man and talking about it, it became humorous instead of my guilt trip. I have liked a few of her posts now too and look forward to the chance run in with her to have a laugh and ask her about her twins;)

Wrong isn’t always so bad. A bittersweet film I saw a few years ago, The Odd Life of Timothy Green, had a great quote, when asked, what would you do differently next time, Jennifer Garner’s character smiles and says, ” We’ll make better mistakes.” So here’s to better mistakes without the side of guilt.

Eggplant mushroom “meatballs”
-1 whole eggplant, cut in half
-8 to 10 oz. button mushrooms, sliced
-8 to 10 oz. baby bella mushrooms, sliced
-1 medium onion, quartered
-olive oil
-2 cloves garlic
1/2 C Parmesan cheese
-1/2 tsp sea salt
-1/4 tsp freshly ground pepper
-a few leaves fresh basil or a 1/2 tsp dried
-cooking spray
-1 egg, gently whisked
-1/2 cup panko breadcrumbs or your bread crumbs of choice.

1. Preheat oven to 350F. Sprinkle the eggplant with salt and pepper, drizzle with olive oil and bake cut side up on a cookie sheet 20 to 30 minutes until soft.
2. In a food processor, blend with chopping blade: mushrooms, the onion, garlic, basil, and cheese until chopped but not mush.
3. Remove eggplant from oven and allow to cool until easy to handle. Scoop the eggplant into the vegetable mixture, chop a few more pulses to blend to mince but not purée.
4. Scrap into a bowl, adding the salt and pepper, egg and bread crumbs. Combine all.
5. Form the mixture into approximately, 1 1/2 inch balls and place on a cookie sheet or glass dish coated with cooking spray or olive oil. Bake for 25-30 minutes at 350F. Remove from oven and allow to stand for 5 minutes before serving.

I usually serve them over polenta that I’ve incorporated with some Parmesan and a light red sauce, but it works as well with spaghetti. Enjoy!