Woa. Almost an entire month since my last post here? What the hell?
Well...
To be fair, there was another round of illness (sore throat, congestion, nausea, fever, wicked bad spastic cough), loads of yoga homework for teacher training, Thanksgiving, and now, preparing for solstice and Christmas. This is also that time of year that is a huge reminder that I am actually part of a retail marketing team, because my work schedule just feels completely out of control.
So, yeah, sometimes in between everything else, the blogging gets put off.
After missing classes at the studio for 2 weeks because I was either taking care of husband and child, or because I didn't want to be "that" person who unnecessarily spreads her germs around by coughing and sneezing and being sick in public, I went back on Friday night for a special EmPOWERment yoga practice led by Robin, followed by a screening of the movie Yogawoman.
The practice was amazing. After 2 weeks of stress and sickness and ever-shortening days, I could feel the anxiety bubbling up again in my stomach.
But the studio was warm and dim and cozy, and my friends were there, and Robin led us in this amazing practice to music that made me bust out laughing. Imagine doing Warrior I to the tune of "I'm Every Woman" by Chaka Khan, or the theme from Flash Dance. I dare you to not let even a giggle escape - it's impossible!
At the end of the practice, we sat in easy pose, with hands in a simple mudra, and Robin said, "List all the things you love about yourself." And even with the smile on my face, I had a hard time getting into that list, but I did it.
Afterwards, a projector was set up, and food was brought out, and we feasted and sat with each other and watched Yogawoman. (Which was a good movie, but a subject for a different blog post later on, I promise.)
I couldn't help but feel so cozy in that studio, even though it was close to -14° F outside. My "balanced dinner" that night consisted of a handful of spinach and cheese bites, some sundried tomato dip with pita crackers, a handful of popcorn, grapes, and a chunk of fair trade dark chocolate with almonds. Yummy.
It was a fun evening. After the movie, we all chatted some more - I realized that one of my friends from yoga classes and I were wearing the EXACT same sweater. Same color and everything. We chatted about our kids, about the weather, about nothing in particular, and I was overcome with this sense of community that I haven't felt in a very long time.
Finally, before I said goodbye to Robin, we gave each other a hug. She thanked me for coming. I said to her, "Thank you for doing this," and to my surprise, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude bubbling up in me.
I'll be honest - the last few months, I have been struggling to feel a sense of gratitude about anything. It just hasn't come naturally to me. But this - this felt genuine. So genuine, that it took me completely off guard.
Because what I meant when I said, "Thank you for doing this", was, "Thank you for doing this - all of it. The yoga. The studio. Being you. All of it. Thank you."
I went home feeling tired, but good. I was tired all the next day at teacher training, and absolutely exhausted yesterday morning. But I felt good.
I also felt the tiniest bit of hope stirring in me now. There is gratitude in there, somewhere.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Stuff That Comes Up in Yoga Practice
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| Pigeon Pose - hip opener (Photo Credit: Yoga Journal) |
For the last couple of months, I've been feeling sort of plagued with worry over things. Things that are only somewhat in my control. I've been dealing with some sort of anger issues (as evidenced by that last amazingly bad gallbladder blowout).
Don't ever let anyone tell you that your body doesn't store unexpressed emotions, because it DOES. Living proof of that: the pain that I've been living with in my lower back and hips and thighs for the last couple of months, all the while I've been worrying about (but not talking about) these issues in my life.
Sunday was our workshop day in yoga teacher training down at True North Yoga. We begin our Sundays with the 8:30 Gentle Yoga class, taught by Debbie, who leads the teacher training program. This particular Sunday, I was feeling intensely stressed out - Tom was away, I was on my own with Colden, and Colden had to go to his grandparents' house for another day, after spending pretty much all of last week there while dealing with the gastrointestinal side effects of the antibiotics for his double ear infection. (Just typing that makes me feel stressed out again.)
At any rate, this gentle yoga practice was all hip openers. Debbie has told us that we store anger in our hips - maybe that's why the gallbladder meridians run down from the hips along the outside of the thighs for a bit. I was having a hard time relaxing in this practice, but the stretching certainly felt good, and even though it was supposed to be a gentle class, I pushed myself right to my edge and a little beyond because it felt right for me.
Well.
The next practice at 10:00 was a Hatha class with Michelle, another teacher that I adore. Michelle's Hatha classes leave me feeling like someone has wrapped a big, wooly, cozy blanket around my mind. Usually.
In this particular practice, however, I started to get mad. Really mad. Pissed off mad. Finally, at one point, I just couldn't take it anymore, and I dropped down into child's pose for a bit. I got back up and tried to join the class again, but I felt more anger bubbling up from out of somewhere, and back down into child's pose I went.
I was seething.
I kept thinking to myself, this is ANGRY child's pose.
I just let the anger bubble up out of me and wash over me. I had no idea what I was angry about, really. Sure, I was stressed out, but I wasn't conscious of being angry.
So, I just let it go.
After a few minutes, I felt better, and I got back into the practice and had a very lovely Savasana at the end.
During lunch break, I was talking to some of my fellow trainees about the anger I felt in the second practice. From beyond the screen on the other side of the room, Debbie reminded me, "You know, we did hip openers this morning."
Oh, d-uh.
It was just another one of those eye-opening moments for me that we really do store our emotions in our body. It's another clear example of that whole mind-body connection.
When I told this story to my teacher in my Monday morning vinyasa class, we had a good laugh about it, and she said, "It's amazing, the things that happen in your yoga practice."
She's right. It is pretty amazing.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Belonging
It was cold and quiet outside, but the studio was a little warmer. I entered quietly - there were already 3 people there ahead of me - and put my bag down, went over into the apartment next door and changed into my yoga clothes.
The studio was all gentle light, warmth, and the slight smell of incense. I rolled out my mat, gently opened my journal and my notebook, and started scribbling my thoughts.
No one really spoke, unless we whispered. It was a nice feeling.
More people drifted in for the Ashtanga class, most of them were beginners, and some of them I recognized from my favorite natural foods store in Lake Placid.
And it was a wonderful class, and I stayed in the back and practiced along with everybody, taking care not to aggravate the pain in my left hip.
And I felt safe. And strong. At one point, it felt like I was moving so effortlessly, I thought I must have been doing something wrong.
It's why I love going to the studio for a practice, even if I'm in there by myself. I'm there, I'm present, and I'm breathing.
There's a sweetness in that sense of belonging.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Thoughts On a Mindful Life
I just want to clarify something about my last post about ElephantJournal.com's founder, Waylon Lewis. I may have been a bit - harsh? - regarding my assessment of his character, but this comes from a place that feels true to me, and if anything, my yoga practice has taught me how to trust my gut.
In his bio, Waylon describes himself as a "first generation Buddhist Dharma brat". He also appears to not know the function of the buttons on his shirts, or maybe he doesn't know how to work the buttons on his shirt. He appears to be pouty and edgy, all the while touting his great success and commanding speaking fees that range right up there with what I imagine Bikram Choudry charges for a 60 minute yoga class.
He seems to make it cool, make it "hip", to live the mindful life. Like it's just something else that can be packaged and bought and sold (ironically) without much thought.
But I'm here to say this: living the mindful life is difficult. It's hard. It's scary. I can see why not a lot of people would want to do it, because it hurts sometimes, as you watch yourself grow and change.
Waylon, I get the feeling that you wouldn't know what a mindful life looks like if it bit you in the ass.
Living the mindful life means selfless service. It means living with gratitude. It means staying open, letting go of everything that you think is important, and most of all, learning how to live a life of surrender.
I don't know where $2,000 a day speaking fees enter into that whole formula.
I don't begrudge you your success, Waylon. But I wonder...
In his bio, Waylon describes himself as a "first generation Buddhist Dharma brat". He also appears to not know the function of the buttons on his shirts, or maybe he doesn't know how to work the buttons on his shirt. He appears to be pouty and edgy, all the while touting his great success and commanding speaking fees that range right up there with what I imagine Bikram Choudry charges for a 60 minute yoga class.
He seems to make it cool, make it "hip", to live the mindful life. Like it's just something else that can be packaged and bought and sold (ironically) without much thought.
But I'm here to say this: living the mindful life is difficult. It's hard. It's scary. I can see why not a lot of people would want to do it, because it hurts sometimes, as you watch yourself grow and change.
Waylon, I get the feeling that you wouldn't know what a mindful life looks like if it bit you in the ass.
Living the mindful life means selfless service. It means living with gratitude. It means staying open, letting go of everything that you think is important, and most of all, learning how to live a life of surrender.
I don't know where $2,000 a day speaking fees enter into that whole formula.
I don't begrudge you your success, Waylon. But I wonder...
Wanted: Suckers Who Know How to Write
What have I been up to for the last month? Well, not blogging, obviously.
No, I've been making time for a daily yoga practice, doing homework for my yoga teacher training, keeping up with work, finding time to bead, hosting house guests, spending time with my son and husband, and trying to keep all of us warm and well-fed.
Which leads me to...
On occasion, I frequent the website elephant: dedicated to the mindful life. The articles on there are fascinating and ring true to me, but the founder of the website, Waylon Lewis, comes across as some kind of self-important misogynistic prig. (Did that sound mean?) Indeed, if you look at his bio page, he describes himself as this edgy "Dhama brat" who seems to think that the 70s open-shirt fashion trend is hot once again. (Did that sound mean?)
I had been tossing around the idea of submitting a few articles to elephant to see what would happen, when my sister came across this: the elephantjournal.com Apprenticeship program.
For four months, you commit to spending about 10-15 hours a week learning from the staff (including the illustrious Wayne himself) about mindful blogging, social media, and other journalism skills for the electronic age.
In return, you get no financial compensation, and you must pay elephantjournal.com a $100 deposit, which they can keep at their discretion if at any time they decide that THEIR investment in you is "not worthwhile".
Woa, back up - the writer has to pay the publisher? Are we living in Opposite World or something?
I wasn't so outraged at first, but the more I thought about it, the more angry I became.
Sure, this would probably be a great way to learn more about social media, blogging, and how to use WordPress, which seems to be the current hot blogging/epublishing platform.
But just to make sure that you're really serious about it, YOU have to pay THEM?
Something just seems so wrong about this. It would be like if the publishers of Beadwork magazine, my favorite beading magazine, suddenly said to their contributors, "Hey, we really love your project and all the work you put into it, but if you want us to publish it, you'll need to pay us $180 to cover the costs of editing and photographing your project."
Seriously?
And if you are lucky enough to be able to survive Waylon's sarcastic tone and self-important chest pounding, then you MIGHT be lucky enough to earn a few dollars every month.
But, as he said, it's "highly unlikely".
I did notice a few of the posts where they list the writers who did manage to earn a few dollars a month in compensation for their work. One of the highest-paid writers contributed a total of 28 blogs/articles in a single month, and she was compensated $500.
That seems pretty good, right? $500 for 28 articles?
Not really.
When you think about the taxes that must be paid on income from self employment (around 50%), that means she earned a whopping $8.92 (approximately) per article.
This writer had tens of thousands of page views - which translates to clicks on the advertiser's links, increased readership, and maybe even a few dollars in donations to elephantjournal.com.
And she got less than $9 per article.
If you think that maybe it took her two hours to write each article, that's a net of $4.50 per hour.
She'd earn more money as a waitress, probably, than she would spending her time writing for elephantjournal.
So, if you're a glutton for punishment and enjoy being made to feel worthless while baring your spiritual soul to the world, the elephantjournal.com Apprenticeship program might be just the thing for you.
No, I've been making time for a daily yoga practice, doing homework for my yoga teacher training, keeping up with work, finding time to bead, hosting house guests, spending time with my son and husband, and trying to keep all of us warm and well-fed.
Which leads me to...
On occasion, I frequent the website elephant: dedicated to the mindful life. The articles on there are fascinating and ring true to me, but the founder of the website, Waylon Lewis, comes across as some kind of self-important misogynistic prig. (Did that sound mean?) Indeed, if you look at his bio page, he describes himself as this edgy "Dhama brat" who seems to think that the 70s open-shirt fashion trend is hot once again. (Did that sound mean?)
I had been tossing around the idea of submitting a few articles to elephant to see what would happen, when my sister came across this: the elephantjournal.com Apprenticeship program.
For four months, you commit to spending about 10-15 hours a week learning from the staff (including the illustrious Wayne himself) about mindful blogging, social media, and other journalism skills for the electronic age.
In return, you get no financial compensation, and you must pay elephantjournal.com a $100 deposit, which they can keep at their discretion if at any time they decide that THEIR investment in you is "not worthwhile".
Woa, back up - the writer has to pay the publisher? Are we living in Opposite World or something?
I wasn't so outraged at first, but the more I thought about it, the more angry I became.
Sure, this would probably be a great way to learn more about social media, blogging, and how to use WordPress, which seems to be the current hot blogging/epublishing platform.
But just to make sure that you're really serious about it, YOU have to pay THEM?
Something just seems so wrong about this. It would be like if the publishers of Beadwork magazine, my favorite beading magazine, suddenly said to their contributors, "Hey, we really love your project and all the work you put into it, but if you want us to publish it, you'll need to pay us $180 to cover the costs of editing and photographing your project."
Seriously?
And if you are lucky enough to be able to survive Waylon's sarcastic tone and self-important chest pounding, then you MIGHT be lucky enough to earn a few dollars every month.
But, as he said, it's "highly unlikely".
I did notice a few of the posts where they list the writers who did manage to earn a few dollars a month in compensation for their work. One of the highest-paid writers contributed a total of 28 blogs/articles in a single month, and she was compensated $500.
That seems pretty good, right? $500 for 28 articles?
Not really.
When you think about the taxes that must be paid on income from self employment (around 50%), that means she earned a whopping $8.92 (approximately) per article.
This writer had tens of thousands of page views - which translates to clicks on the advertiser's links, increased readership, and maybe even a few dollars in donations to elephantjournal.com.
And she got less than $9 per article.
If you think that maybe it took her two hours to write each article, that's a net of $4.50 per hour.
She'd earn more money as a waitress, probably, than she would spending her time writing for elephantjournal.
So, if you're a glutton for punishment and enjoy being made to feel worthless while baring your spiritual soul to the world, the elephantjournal.com Apprenticeship program might be just the thing for you.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Failure
These last 2 1/2 weeks have been hard for me. It all started with what I thought was a gallbladder attack. I got up, got dressed, and got in the car to take Colden and some friends of ours to the Adirondack Carousel in Saranac Lake on a gorgeous late September Saturday morning. Halfway to Lake Placid, I realized that it felt like there was a rock stuffed up under my lower right ribcage, and I was so queasy, I had to keep taking nibbles from the Saltines tucked into my handbag.
I wasn't sure I was going to last the whole time at the carousel. Colden enjoyed it (7 rides around on Thunder, the white Adirondack draft horse), but I was just feeling sick, sick, sick.
It didn't get any better the next day. I was supposed to be teaching my first yoga class at the studio. I thought I was better in the morning, and we went for a road trip down to Oscar's Smokehouse. But when we got back home, I was weak, and in pain, and nauseous. There was no way I was fit to lead a class in that condition, and I was angry at myself for getting sick less than 48 hours after I promised to fill in for Robin.
As the week went on, I felt sicker and sicker. I had muscle aches, pain shooting down my legs from my hips, chills (although no fever), and I was just weak and lightheaded and dizzy. I finally caved and let Tom take me to the doctor in the middle of the week (even though I was stressed out about how we were going to pay for it), and all my vitals and my labs were perfectly normal.
So, what was up?
I have no idea.
I went for a massage that day, as well, and my massage therapist summed it up nicely: my body just felt plain toxic.
As the week went on, I started to stress more about my plans for the weekend - I was supposed to start my yoga teacher training on Saturday, two 10-hour days of practice and workshops.
I didn't feel great on Saturday morning, but I went, anyway. I didn't want to miss the first day.
Looking back, it was a mistake. My body was telling me to stay home, but I went, anyway.
Twenty minutes into the first practice, I had to drop down into child's pose. Then I laid on my back in a resting pose until it was time for Savasana.
I felt like I had failed.
We had a short break before the next class, and I wondered if I should just go out to the car and cry and burn off some of the negative energy and sickness that I felt. But I stayed, and then got ready for the second yoga practice, a Hatha class with one of last year's teacher training graduates.
It was a great practice, and I made it all the way through, but I spent the first half of the practice crying because my body felt so BAD. I felt like panicking.
I know that the whole point of practicing yoga is to stay in the present moment - but what happens if you feel like you're dying in the present moment? What if you feel so physically bad in the present moment that you want to scream or cry and run away in front of a room full of people?
I could not stay present in the rest of that day at teacher training. I felt sick, and all I could think about was getting home to my pajamas and some warm dinner that wouldn't upset my stomach.
Debbie, the instructor for the teacher training, wasn't surprised when I texted her the next morning to let her know that I would not be able to attend that day's training. I was sick, and weak, and in pain, and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball under the blankets and watch old sitcoms in between bouts of crying. She said that she had been watching me the day before, and that I had just gotten paler and paler as the day went on. She said that she was surprised that I had actually made it through the entire day.
Well, I thought, I'm tougher than I think. Or stupider.
One thing I wrote in my journal after that second practice was how I noticed the way I was beating myself up in my head. HOW could I have let myself get sick like this? If it was my gallbladder or my IBS or whatever stress-induced gastric disorder du jous that was wrecking me, how could I have let this happen to me? Why can't I take better care of myself?
Ironic, isn't it? Beating yourself up for beating yourself up?
I realized that self-compassion is very, very hard for me. It's not easy for me to stop and rest when I'm sick because I don't want to be sick. I don't want to acknowledge the inherent weakness of my body, of being human. Even when I feel strong, I have to start realizing that my body is not made of iron. I am flesh and blood and bones, and those things will, from time to time, fail.
Like I had failed.
Now that I'm feeling a little better mentally and physically, I'm feeling like this whole 2 1/2 weeks was a giant test for me, to see how well I can stay in the present moment. And I feel like a huge failure.
I could NOT stay in the present moment. I could not enjoy my first day of teacher training. I failed.
On the other hand...
I have learned a few things from this latest flare up of whatever the hell this is that has been plaguing me for the last 2+ years. I've learned a little more about the whole mind-body connection. I've learned that I need to listen to my body. I've learned that I shouldn't be pushing myself so hard on the days when I just don't feel "right". I've learned that it's okay to be nice to myself when my body is begging me to stay in bed and watch old movies with Colden and my beads for a day or two.
Meanwhile, I'm still waiting to hear from the doctor on what my ultrasound looks like, and what she thinks we ought to do next...
I wasn't sure I was going to last the whole time at the carousel. Colden enjoyed it (7 rides around on Thunder, the white Adirondack draft horse), but I was just feeling sick, sick, sick.
It didn't get any better the next day. I was supposed to be teaching my first yoga class at the studio. I thought I was better in the morning, and we went for a road trip down to Oscar's Smokehouse. But when we got back home, I was weak, and in pain, and nauseous. There was no way I was fit to lead a class in that condition, and I was angry at myself for getting sick less than 48 hours after I promised to fill in for Robin.
As the week went on, I felt sicker and sicker. I had muscle aches, pain shooting down my legs from my hips, chills (although no fever), and I was just weak and lightheaded and dizzy. I finally caved and let Tom take me to the doctor in the middle of the week (even though I was stressed out about how we were going to pay for it), and all my vitals and my labs were perfectly normal.
So, what was up?
I have no idea.
I went for a massage that day, as well, and my massage therapist summed it up nicely: my body just felt plain toxic.
As the week went on, I started to stress more about my plans for the weekend - I was supposed to start my yoga teacher training on Saturday, two 10-hour days of practice and workshops.
I didn't feel great on Saturday morning, but I went, anyway. I didn't want to miss the first day.
Looking back, it was a mistake. My body was telling me to stay home, but I went, anyway.
Twenty minutes into the first practice, I had to drop down into child's pose. Then I laid on my back in a resting pose until it was time for Savasana.
I felt like I had failed.
We had a short break before the next class, and I wondered if I should just go out to the car and cry and burn off some of the negative energy and sickness that I felt. But I stayed, and then got ready for the second yoga practice, a Hatha class with one of last year's teacher training graduates.
It was a great practice, and I made it all the way through, but I spent the first half of the practice crying because my body felt so BAD. I felt like panicking.
I know that the whole point of practicing yoga is to stay in the present moment - but what happens if you feel like you're dying in the present moment? What if you feel so physically bad in the present moment that you want to scream or cry and run away in front of a room full of people?
I could not stay present in the rest of that day at teacher training. I felt sick, and all I could think about was getting home to my pajamas and some warm dinner that wouldn't upset my stomach.
Debbie, the instructor for the teacher training, wasn't surprised when I texted her the next morning to let her know that I would not be able to attend that day's training. I was sick, and weak, and in pain, and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball under the blankets and watch old sitcoms in between bouts of crying. She said that she had been watching me the day before, and that I had just gotten paler and paler as the day went on. She said that she was surprised that I had actually made it through the entire day.
Well, I thought, I'm tougher than I think. Or stupider.
One thing I wrote in my journal after that second practice was how I noticed the way I was beating myself up in my head. HOW could I have let myself get sick like this? If it was my gallbladder or my IBS or whatever stress-induced gastric disorder du jous that was wrecking me, how could I have let this happen to me? Why can't I take better care of myself?
Ironic, isn't it? Beating yourself up for beating yourself up?
I realized that self-compassion is very, very hard for me. It's not easy for me to stop and rest when I'm sick because I don't want to be sick. I don't want to acknowledge the inherent weakness of my body, of being human. Even when I feel strong, I have to start realizing that my body is not made of iron. I am flesh and blood and bones, and those things will, from time to time, fail.
Like I had failed.
Now that I'm feeling a little better mentally and physically, I'm feeling like this whole 2 1/2 weeks was a giant test for me, to see how well I can stay in the present moment. And I feel like a huge failure.
I could NOT stay in the present moment. I could not enjoy my first day of teacher training. I failed.
On the other hand...
I have learned a few things from this latest flare up of whatever the hell this is that has been plaguing me for the last 2+ years. I've learned a little more about the whole mind-body connection. I've learned that I need to listen to my body. I've learned that I shouldn't be pushing myself so hard on the days when I just don't feel "right". I've learned that it's okay to be nice to myself when my body is begging me to stay in bed and watch old movies with Colden and my beads for a day or two.
Meanwhile, I'm still waiting to hear from the doctor on what my ultrasound looks like, and what she thinks we ought to do next...
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
What Should a Yogi Look Like?
I've got some updates on my recent gallbladder thing, but first, just a check-in on some thoughts that I've been having about the whole yoga-wear thing.
To begin, I'll mention briefly that I started my yoga teacher training last Saturday. Unfortunately, I felt way too sick to really enjoy it, and instead of being present during the whole first day, I was looking for ways to escape the physical misery I felt. Achy muscles, achy bones, shivers, abdominal pain - it was neither pretty nor pleasant. Debbie, our instructor, told me she wasn't surprised the next morning when I sent her a message that I wouldn't be making the training that day - she told me that I had looked paler and paler as the day went on, and she was surprised that I had made it through the entire day.
BUT. One of the things I noticed during our lunch break as I looked around at the group...
There are six of us in this particular training. None of us were wearing Lululemon or Prana or any of those "big name" yoga clothes. (Although, to be fair, I do LOVE the Prana top that Robin gave me as a thank you for working on The Yoga Tree's social media stuff.) We were dressed in comfy clothes - leggings, hoodies, t-shirts, sweaters... Nothing terribly glamorous.
Now, go to Google and just type in "yoga clothes". BOOM! You'll be overwhelmed with a barrage of websites selling everything from performance wear a la Ellie to the real hippy-dippy deal of Soul Flower. And I gotta wonder: just what should a yogi look like?
Personally, I've tried out some of that performance wear from Ellie, and to be quite frank, it makes me feel like an idiot. I am not running a marathon or working out at a gym. I'm just trying to find some stillness and some stretches.
On the other hand, some of the real hippy stuff, while visually pleasing to me, makes me feel like I ought to be practicing out in the desert at Burning Man or something. It doesn't feel like who I really am. (And that's the whole point of yoga, right? To figure out who we are?)
Look through any issue of Yoga Journal, too. Aside from the naked Kathryn Budig ads (which is a whole other rant for another time), you'll see ads from places like Hard Tail, Be Up, Inner Waves Organics, Me Sheeky, and Om Shanti Clothing. All the models are white, young, slender, and amazingly flexible.They wear "earthy" and organic clothing, and like all models, they exhibit perfect skin, perfect features.
Is that really what a yogi should look like?
I happen to be lucky enough to be friends with a group of pretty amazing ladies who all have, as one of them likes to put it, fluffy bodies. They do not fit into a size 6, or even a size 16. They are beautiful, they have curves, and they all love to do yoga.
I do NOT see anyone like them in the pages of Yoga Journal. I do NOT see anyone like them on most of the yoga websites I visit.
I long for the day when I see a magazine full of pictures of "ordinary" people doing yoga - overweight, middle aged, and maybe someone other than a Caucasian?
Yoga has taught me that everyone is my teacher. What you wear and what you look like shouldn't matter.
For me, though, it feels like a constant battle in my brain: I love the look of those pretty tops and yoga pants, but on the other hand, there's a part of me that wants to rebel and say, hey, what did people wear to do yoga in before Prana and Gaiam were incorporated?
Personally, I want my yoga clothes to be things that I can wear going about my every day life: a comfy pair of cotton pants or leggings, shirts and sweaters that are roomy and allow me to move. No need to change my clothes if I want to go to class at the studio or just drop down my mat in the living room and have a spontaneous mid-afternoon practice - in my comfy clothes, I'm all ready to go.
On another level, seeing all those model-perfect models online and in magazines is an easy path for us to judge ourselves. "Oh, well, if I don't look like THAT or if I can't do THAT pose, I must not be a real yogi." We're all human, and it's easy to get sucked into the kind of self-judgement that we're trying to escape by practicing yoga.
Of course, it's perfectly okay if you're slender and flexible and like to wear athletic wear to do yoga. The practice is all about acceptance, and non-harming, and contentment.
But do you still want to know what a real yogi should look like?
Use a mirror.
To begin, I'll mention briefly that I started my yoga teacher training last Saturday. Unfortunately, I felt way too sick to really enjoy it, and instead of being present during the whole first day, I was looking for ways to escape the physical misery I felt. Achy muscles, achy bones, shivers, abdominal pain - it was neither pretty nor pleasant. Debbie, our instructor, told me she wasn't surprised the next morning when I sent her a message that I wouldn't be making the training that day - she told me that I had looked paler and paler as the day went on, and she was surprised that I had made it through the entire day.
BUT. One of the things I noticed during our lunch break as I looked around at the group...
There are six of us in this particular training. None of us were wearing Lululemon or Prana or any of those "big name" yoga clothes. (Although, to be fair, I do LOVE the Prana top that Robin gave me as a thank you for working on The Yoga Tree's social media stuff.) We were dressed in comfy clothes - leggings, hoodies, t-shirts, sweaters... Nothing terribly glamorous.
Now, go to Google and just type in "yoga clothes". BOOM! You'll be overwhelmed with a barrage of websites selling everything from performance wear a la Ellie to the real hippy-dippy deal of Soul Flower. And I gotta wonder: just what should a yogi look like?
Personally, I've tried out some of that performance wear from Ellie, and to be quite frank, it makes me feel like an idiot. I am not running a marathon or working out at a gym. I'm just trying to find some stillness and some stretches.
On the other hand, some of the real hippy stuff, while visually pleasing to me, makes me feel like I ought to be practicing out in the desert at Burning Man or something. It doesn't feel like who I really am. (And that's the whole point of yoga, right? To figure out who we are?)
Look through any issue of Yoga Journal, too. Aside from the naked Kathryn Budig ads (which is a whole other rant for another time), you'll see ads from places like Hard Tail, Be Up, Inner Waves Organics, Me Sheeky, and Om Shanti Clothing. All the models are white, young, slender, and amazingly flexible.They wear "earthy" and organic clothing, and like all models, they exhibit perfect skin, perfect features.
Is that really what a yogi should look like?
I happen to be lucky enough to be friends with a group of pretty amazing ladies who all have, as one of them likes to put it, fluffy bodies. They do not fit into a size 6, or even a size 16. They are beautiful, they have curves, and they all love to do yoga.
I do NOT see anyone like them in the pages of Yoga Journal. I do NOT see anyone like them on most of the yoga websites I visit.
I long for the day when I see a magazine full of pictures of "ordinary" people doing yoga - overweight, middle aged, and maybe someone other than a Caucasian?
Yoga has taught me that everyone is my teacher. What you wear and what you look like shouldn't matter.
For me, though, it feels like a constant battle in my brain: I love the look of those pretty tops and yoga pants, but on the other hand, there's a part of me that wants to rebel and say, hey, what did people wear to do yoga in before Prana and Gaiam were incorporated?
Personally, I want my yoga clothes to be things that I can wear going about my every day life: a comfy pair of cotton pants or leggings, shirts and sweaters that are roomy and allow me to move. No need to change my clothes if I want to go to class at the studio or just drop down my mat in the living room and have a spontaneous mid-afternoon practice - in my comfy clothes, I'm all ready to go.
On another level, seeing all those model-perfect models online and in magazines is an easy path for us to judge ourselves. "Oh, well, if I don't look like THAT or if I can't do THAT pose, I must not be a real yogi." We're all human, and it's easy to get sucked into the kind of self-judgement that we're trying to escape by practicing yoga.
Of course, it's perfectly okay if you're slender and flexible and like to wear athletic wear to do yoga. The practice is all about acceptance, and non-harming, and contentment.
But do you still want to know what a real yogi should look like?
Use a mirror.
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