Slow Down Ricky Bobby

     Growing up in the house of a bipolar honed my bobbing and weaving skills as my mother's moods could swing from playful to scornful in a nanosecond. As an adult this has manifested itself in a myriad of ways, some negative and needy, still others have been immensly important to my self-preservation. As my dad says “you don't have to hit me on the head twice” and on Wednesday my heart plummeted as I read between the lines of an email I received. I was asked to create the curriculum for a new Eastern Religion course at the college where I teach with the understanding that when the funding came in I could teach it. However, the budget has changed and they have funding for a full-time position in the Humanities Department. So, why don't I just apply for the position you ask? Because I have no classroom experience and that's a prerequisite (which when I get out of my heart I understand), so the bottom line is whomever they hire will be teaching the class I designed if they choose to implement it. 
     Eight hours later as I walked out the door heading to the college I received a phone call from a friend about a yoga venture we are delving into together. I was in a hurry to get to class and thought the implication of the phone call was that I wasn't going to be as involved as I originally thought.....great, more income lost before it even arrives, and just as we take on college payments. As I drove down the highway to class I was pissed at the universe, pissed at myself for not choosing a more marketable degree, pissed at my friend for cutting me out, just PISSED! We poor Midwest kids pride ourselves on our Ricky Bobby-like reflexes and, full disclosure, I'm an aggressive driver. Driving down the road I took my anger and disappointment out on my fellow unsuspecting coachmen. Then a whack to the head...am I really driving to teach the mellow, zen inspiring practice of yoga in a rage? My foot eased off the pedal and I sent up an apology to the universe for my behavior.

     As I walked to my classroom I realized my short-lived road rage was a good teaching tool. You see, this particular day in class happened to be the day I planned to talk about Dharana. Quick yoga lesson: Dharana is the sixth yoga branch and tells us we must concentrate on what we find when we move inward through pratyahara. Pratyahara is the fifth branch and is to remove ones senses from the outside world and to look inward. How does this relate to my tantrum? Without my meditation practice, both on and off the mat, I probably wouldn't have recognized my motivation on the road, or at least I wouldn't have done anything about it. That's the beauty of a yoga practice. Once you begin to slow down on the mat all the numbing out we do begins to wear off and, like it or not, feelings arise. As these feelings are exposed to the light we begin to see what is at the root of our behaviors. All the monsters in the closet are revealed as you begin to make friends with the lonely little trolls living behind the door. Another bonus is you begin to see that not getting what you want, or think you want, is not always the tragedy we make it out to be. Life goes on and you can choose to be as happy or as miserable as you decide. 
    It's a powerful moment when you realize your destiny is not dependent on the perfect job, or the perfect partner, or the perfect (fill in the blank). We find this truth by climbing up the yoga tree one branch at a time, delving ever deeper into our own psyche. Patanjali said it best: “The student of yoga should be compelled not only to acquire a right knowledge of what is and what is not real......while results in the way of psychic development are not so immediately seen as in the case of the successful practitioner of Hatha Yoga.” Once more the practice of yoga has shown itself to be a wonderful gift. Eye-rolling after reading this would not insult me, my daughter told me just last week how corny I am, but I don't care. I happen to be madly in love with my yoga.  

Asparagus and Linguine: Easy, Healthy Dinner Idea

     It kind of baffles me, in a completely good way, but my daughter is in love with veggies these days. This recipe has turned into one of her favorite meals, especially since she has sworn off meat. Hopefully this is encouraging to hear for all of you moms with little kids, just keep offering them the veggies and someday they will be requesting them. This is a strange recipe because it has a dollop of avocado on top of each serving making it interesting in a quite delicious way.

1/2 package Barilla protein fortified linguine, or whatever type of pasta you like
3 Tbl olive oil
2 cloves garlic
1 bunch asparagus, tough ends removed, and cut into 1 inch pieces
1 cup grape tomatoes, cut in half
3/4 cup chicken or vegetable broth
1 avocado
garlic salt
dill (I use dried herbs for this, just a small amount on each serving) 
parmesan cheese (I use fresh, but dried parmesan would work as well)

-Cook the pasta according to directions. Drain and set aside, adding to asparagus mixture when done.  
-Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat, add and cook garlic for one minute. Add the asparagus and stir to coat. Pour broth into pan and continue cooking until asparagus is tender, about ten minutes. 
-Peel and mash avocado in a bowl adding a pinch of garlic salt. 
-Mix pasta into asparagus pan to coat. 

Place a serving of pasta on a plate, top with tomatoes, avocado, dill, and parmesan. 
Serves 4

Making Peace with my Fear

     Just when I think I've discovered all the hidden mines in my psyche, a simple conversation with a friend can expose a treasure trove of pain. I woke this morning compelled to write about my brother Jack's death. This shouldn't have surprised me since the pain always seems to be floating just past my peripheral vision. You would think with all the years of therapy under my belt I would be expecting these little gems of pain, but the human mind loves to dodge the really tough stuff. I sat before yoga class yesterday talking with Kristin. Her mother's dog Snookie, a round, sweet, dachshund mix, was at the studio with her. Our conversation turned to the healing power of dogs. As Kristin spoke about her father's death I watched Snookie back her haunches into my leg. I should have known I was in avoidance mode as my mind wandered to the notion that watching Snookie back up was like watching a bread truck slowly backing in for the morning delivery. I mindlessly scratched her hips as our conversation segued into our experiences with death and the intuitiveness of the dog. Kristen's father died two years ago of ALS combined with dementia, a rare and painful combination from what she described. As she spoke about the last day she spent with her father I held back the urge to sob, not for her pain, which was palpable, or her father, but for Jack. Kristen's father died at home under hospice care with his wife and children beside him. The beauty of this picture was almost too much for me to bear.

     You see, my brother died alone on the floor of a strangers apartment. Up until yesterday I had avoided dealing with the reality of the circumstances surrounding his death by simply ignoring them. Yet, for the last twenty-four hours it is all I can think about. I picture a cold, filthy floor and Jack lying in a pool of his own vomit; how I love to stoke the embers of my pain. I sometimes put on my “at peace with the universe” face and might be heard saying something like, “I wouldn't change a thing in my life, it has made me the person I am......blah, blah, blah.” Honestly, to use my father's phraseology, that's a bunch of bullshit. If I could change one thing in my life I would have been in that apartment to hold my brother's hand, to smooth his hair back, and to tell him everything's gonna be all right. I have long accepted that Jack is dead, but I realized yesterday that I have not fully processed the pain I feel for him dying alone. Each time I unearth something hidden deep within me like this I know that on the other side of this dark place I will come out in the light, so I embrace it, ready for the sun to burn off the darkness.

     I have a theory that when we don't deal with these burried gems, they are exposed in some other way. I believe that the avoidance of this pain has manifested itself into a psychological issue for me, an issue that has been paralyzing at times over the last ten years. When Pete or Jayne travel, not us traveling as a family, but when they are traveling alone, I become sick with fear that they are going to die. It has gotten to the point that to alleviate my panic they text me at regular interervals along their routes. When this began I might call every few minutes until I reached them, I would leave freaked out voice mails, I would send the same text over and over until I got a response, sometimes I even got physically ill from the fear as I waited. I sought therapy, tried breathing exercises, berated myself for the “craziness”, forced myself to ignore the panic, and today.....I found some compassion for myself. I believe this fear springs directly from my sadness for Jack. I wasn't there for him and I have been living in fear that I won't be there for Pete and Jayne, to hold their hand, to usher them out of this world with love. Everyone dies, so to live in fear of death is pointless. I'm going to try and make some peace with this fear and to give it over to God. The timing couldn't be more perfect, I was a little worried for my sanity as Jayne heads to New York next week alone. Once more I am struck by the beauty of life. When the time is right the stone loosens and falls away, leaving a hole for the light to shine through, and the time is right for me to let this stone go.  

Flexing My Gratitude Muscle

     While teaching yoga a few weeks ago I found myself wandering through the rows of mats making corrections here and there when I thought, “are these students aware of what an amazing thing they've stumbled onto?” I certainly wasn't conscious in the beginning of what a profound difference my yoga practice would mean to my life. Learning the philosophy behind the practice has made me acutely cognizant of my behavior both on and off my mat. I now know my yoga practice is a gift, a life altering gift that I'm grateful for every day. My people, my family of origin, were poor, uneducated, and the only way they knew to find spirituality was through a Sunday sermon filled with hand raising capitulation and loud choruses of Hallelujah. Times have changed, but most of them are still scraping by and the idea of the time, let alone the money, it takes to have a yoga practice would be considered a luxury. Don't get me wrong, I know that you can spread out a towel on your living room floor and practice yoga in your pajamas (no Lululemon required), but when you are a single mom, working two jobs, the reality is there is just not enough time in the day. How many of us take this for granted? I certainly did. I thought the way to happiness was more of everything when I began my adult life; a nice house with matchy-matchy furniture, an expensive car, all the trappings that showed the world I had arrived. Then I found yoga and became “enlightened.” I transcended that lowly behavior, yet my stealthy humaness was lurking in the shadows. My wants became subtler; more advanced asana, outrageously expensive yoga accessories, then, again, “enlightenment.” I want to stop chasing (fill in the blank here) and to just Be. Grateful, happy to have a pulse. Not an easy state to achieve in our modern world, but I'm trying.

     If you haven't guessed, gratitude seems to be a reccurring theme in my life lately. I've found my personal yoga practice directly correlates to my happiness meter and I've been consistently rolling out my mat again. I've been making it a point to attend many different instructors and styles, but I'm especially enjoying Dylan Werner's (see photo) class at Inner Evolution right now. This is a big deal for me because his class is way out of my comfort zone. I jokingly call this class the “kick your ass hour”, but I'm having a blast learning from this very strong yogi. At the end of class on Friday night we were guided into sukhasana (easy cross-legged pose) then he asked us to take a moment in gratitude (there it is again). I felt an easy smile arise on my face, humbled by the strength and health of my body and grateful for all that I'm learning from this young yoga teacher. I've been looking at gratitude like a muscle that can be strengthened and was pleased to sense it engage at the end of this class of its own free will. I'm probably preaching to the choir here, but Norman Vincent Peale was right when he said, “change your thoughts and you change the world.” Man, am I grateful for my world. Wrinkles, age spots, poochy belly and all. Let's just see if I can keep it up.    

A New Motto?

    I recently gave an extra credit assignment to my college students. The assignment was to watch one of two shows on Netflix: Hungry for Change or Enlighten Up! Quick sidebar: Enlighten Up! is a movie about one guy's journey to find out if he commits to a yoga practice how his life might change, and Hungry for Change is a movie about the food industry and eating healthier; pretty diverse topics on the surface. It's been my experience in the past that many of the students at the college don't take assignments seriously from a junior college yoga teacher. The work that many have turned in to me in the past has been underwhelming to say the least. I'm afraid I've become jaded when I give out homework at the college (full disclosure: I stopped reading their assignments). I told myself I was too busy (isn't that the most cliché excuse?) and that I knew what I was going to find anyway. Last semester I gave out a similiar assignment and instead of reading each paper I simply glanced over them to make sure they had dotted all their i's and crossed all their t's and then gave them credit. As I sat down with the papers in front of me I noticed one student had made a cover sheet that was quite professional and he had placed his work into a plastic sleeve to assure safe delivery. What kind of schmuck would I be if I didn't even read that one? Then it dawned on me that each student had taken their time to watch what I suggested, to type out their opinions about what they had seen, with the expectation that I would at least read them. Didn't they deserve for me to take a little time out of my oh so “busy” day to read what they had written? Of course the answer is YES!

    I found the usual suspects when I began to peruse the papers: pages filled with empty facts trying to kill some space so they could be done, facts mixed up, skewed perceptions, words misspelled (how does that even happen with spell check?), and then I happened on a genuinely sincere paper. This particular student is a young, single mom who took offense at some of the issues presented in Hungry for Change. At one point the documentary says something like, “feeding your children cereal is like feeding them heroin.” The producers are talking about the high sugar content, as well as the GMO's (genetically modified organisms), that can be found in many cereals. I continued to read and noticed a pattern taking shape. In paper after paper students were waffling between defensive and self-deprecating about their life choices after watching this film. I found myself instinctually making notes on some of the pages, words of encouragement, gentle corrections when they were misinformed, yet, I don't even return these papers. Hmmm? Still not sure of what to do with the sense that I had somehow done them a disservice, I continued to read on. I picked up the next paper which happened to be on Enlighten Up! Krystal wrote the usual fare at first; what the documentary was about, the characters, how she felt about it, and then she WOWed me. In fact, what she wrote is going to be my new motto for life. Krystal said that what she took from the Gurus was “Yoga practice is simply to become better, whatever your version of better may be.” SHAZAM! This was the answer. I went in the next day and wrote Krystal's line on the mirror with a bar of soap. I had to improvise since I have no whiteboard. I told them I noticed a theme that was insidiously weaving its way through many of the papers I had read, as well as in yoga classes around the west, and that is that many of us believe we aren't quite good enough. I read the line again and then asked if they had changed any habits based on our discussions, the documentaries, asana practice. I received a resounding nod to indicate “yes” (they don't say much). So it seems to me that the answer is simple; just be the best “you” you can be today and stop worrying. I like to think my students got it, but, if not, I know Krystal and I did.