Remembering Yourself this Holiday Season

I hear way too much talk about "surviving the holidays" these days. From the financial stress presents put on families to the schedule takeover by holiday parties, people can go a little crazy this time of year.
When I was younger, I would look forward to November and December all year round, waiting for the lights, the carols and the holiday festivities. I had that warm, fuzzy feeling from October 31st to January 1st and I was unstoppable. This girl would spend hours drafting and decorating her Christmas list and I'd fall asleep to the Raffi Christmas album every night. "Douglas Mountain" was my sleepy time jam!

It often seems the Holiday spirit inversely relates to someone's age and I am just not OK with this. That little kid inside of me still exists and she wants to live it up this holiday season. Don't you?
So, how can I do this?
My observations tell me that people lose the holiday spirit when things get too crazy and they have nothing left to give. They've spent all their time, energy and money on everyone else and they are completely tapped out. They're fresh out of patience for [insert annoying family member here] and cannot handle another [insert holiday-themed dessert here].
Does this sound familiar?

A Selfish Proposition

I'm proposing something different this holiday season: a list of ways to be a little more selfish. Now, don't get me wrong, I wholeheartedly believe the holiday season is about giving and thinking of others BUT I believe that can only be done out of a heart that is well cared for itself. When we give on repeat and take no time to replenish ourselves, Ebenezer Scrooge appears. And yes, I believe that's the clinical name for it. Here are three ways you can remember yourself this holiday season:

1. Take scheduled time for gratitude. Literally put it in your planner. Whether it's 5 minute every morning sitting in silence reflecting on all you love or a special two-hour gratitude-focused yoga intensive with yours truly at 3 Bridges Yoga (shameless plug), scheduling a time to sit with your gratitude will do wonders for your perspective. Take the time to dust off and clean those rose-colored glasses of yours.
2. Say "no" to some things. Does it overwhelm you to spend Christmas Day in a car going to see all 84723982 of your relatives? Lay the hammer down and only see a few of them. Does your office holiday party make you feel all sorts of awkward and spent at the end of the night? RSVP no. Don't have time to make cookies for a cookie swap? Then just don't do it. Outsource that sh*t to someone who does it better, like a local bakery (I won't tell if you won't). Spending too much money on gifts? Stop it. Do a Pollyanna swap with your family rather than getting each person a gift and try to tone down the "stuff". If you're able to read this blog, chances are you have too much of it anyway.
3. Take care of your body. Our bodies are our mediators with the world around us. Without them, we can't participate in our own lives. Take the time to care for your body this holiday season. Whether that's with daily exercise or healthy foods, your body needs and deserves it. Then, when events you really love come about, you can participate in all the special parts of it with abandon. Wine, I'm looking at you!

What I'm trying to say is that the holidays are as joy-filled as you make them. If you're feeling more like a Grinch than Buddy the Elf this year, be sure that you're getting what you need. Chances are, you're not. And chances are, if you do, you might notice a whole shift in perspective. 

Finding The Calm

Yesterday, I subbed in a second grade classroom. It was an insane experience from which I am still recovering. My wonderful sister is an elementary school teacher and, after yesterday, she is my new hero. 

Things were going just fine in the morning. We had our morning meeting on the rug in the back of the room, the kids went to art, then lunch and we had a somewhat successful math lesson (I won't count the ridiculousness with the blocks used during subtraction if you won't).

But then came recess. Everything fell apart after recess.

The class lined up after their 25 minutes of freedom and I noticed there were a couple of girls missing. When the stragglers finally showed up, so did the tears. Of course, I was concerned. Had they been hurt? Had someone bullied them? But as I surveyed the scene, I noticed they were covered in mud. Zoe, the bolder and apparently more dramatic of the two, looked up at me and said, This is the WORST day of my WHOLE life!

She was the first of three second graders to tell me this yesterday.

The girls had slipped (apparently simultaneously?) while playing tag. But this mud catastrophe was only part of the recess drama and just the beginning of this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Somewhat of a feud had developed between the remaining girls. Lots of I'm not your friend any more action. Probably a walk-in-the-park for my sister to deal with but, you see, I'm used to teenagers. Teenagers are passive aggressive, God love 'em. A sixteen year-old will never actually tell another sixteen year-old that she doesn't want to be friends. No, she'll post it to another friend's wall on Facebook so that future ex-friend can see and then start texting about it using lots of emoticons and abbreviations. But second graders don't bullshit. They get right to the point and break up with you to your face. Of course, the next day you might get back together, but that's just another story.

Maya, the girl doing the breaking up, told me it was her worst day ever and then proceeded to cry for the next half hour. Sammy, the dumped, put on a braver face and just said it had been a terrible day rather than the most awful of her long 8 years. I appreciated her perspective.

Oh, and we haven't even gotten to Madison yet (those of you who know my cat will see the irony in a minute). She had a rough day (and yes, of course she vocalized just how awful it had been to me at least once). I'll summarize by saying that she initially served a time-out on the rug in the back of the classroom and then subsequently served one outside in the hall (self-inflicted). Even though I saw very little of her, I felt her wrath like she was ever-present.

At some point between sharpening pencils and providing tissues to the wounded, I took a step back to try to find my calm. Things were seriously chaotic around me -- tears and time-outs and math! Oh My! -- and I thought to myself, this is your yoga practice. Can you be calm inside when all hell breaks loose outside?

I won't lie to you and tell you that I was in a "Zen place" from that moment on but it was an educational moment, for certain. For much of the day, I felt so incompetent and out of control and coming back into my breath helped me regain my calm so that, rather than run out of the room screaming, I could deal with what was in front of me. Or, at least survive what was in front of me.

I'm fairly certain I won't be going back to second grade. I think I'll leave those heroics to people like my sister. But, I'm grateful for the memories. Hopefully Zoe will remember me fondly when she thinks back to the worst day of her life.

Yoga. It's Not Just For Heathens Any More.

My yoga practice just got cooler. Why, you ask? Because it's been termed "demonic" by Mark Driscoll, the pastor of Mars Hill Church in Seattle. And, if I know my inner 14 year-old self as well as I think I do, this pastor calling my yoga class a "little demon class" just kicked her into full rebellion mode. Take a look at this guy and his thoughts on yoga below.

I want to share a few things I've learned from my practice of yoga so you can see just how far I've gone into the realm of demonism and begin to pray for me as soon as possible. Actually, you might want to contact your local priest and schedule an exorcism at your earliest convenience.

• All beings should be happy and free, expressed in the mantra Lokah Samasta Sukino Bhavantu in Sanskrit.
• God is present in each one of us.
• Namaste isn't just a word, it's a way of living that acknowledges the sacredness of others.
• Setting an intention at the beginning of practice helps you be mindful of those you love.
• Moderation, or Brahmacharya, is a helpful skill to master in seeking a virtuous life.
• Quieting the mind, paying attention to the breath and looking inside one's self will lead you to the divine.

So scandalous, right?! I mean, have you ever read anything SO contrary to Christianity? The idea that God would invite us to look inside ourselves to meet him (or her) is so unlike anything in the Bible. Clearly when St. Paul asks the church in Corinth, "Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in your midst?", the answer is a big, fat "NO." And I hate to think what the ancient monastics would say about Brahmacharya!

Obviously, I am kidding. (If you didn't get my sarcasm then I will pray for you and your humorless soul.) I think Mark Driscoll has it TOTALLY wrong. I would also take a guess the good pastor has never even been to a yoga class (dude just looks tight, doesn't he?).

I am a Christian. I am also a yogini. In my experience, they are not mutually exclusive and, in fact, both strengthen each other in my life. Notice, I say experience because, unlike MD over there in Seattle, I have experience in both the Christian realm and the yoga realm. I would shrug off this anti-yoga banter if it was an isolated incident but, unfortunately, it's not. From the Catholic church to Christian fundamentalists, yoga has its share of critics. I'm totally comfortable with it having critics but I'd rather they be well-informed ones that aren't coming from a place of fear. I'm pretty sure that practicing yoga isn't secretly leading me into demon worship and, if it were, I'm certain I'd put the brakes on it. I'm not afraid of being converted to something against my will, I'm just not. What I am afraid of is missing out on amazing things because I don't trust myself enough to encounter the unfamiliar. If I lived like that then I might have never read Harry Potter (the horror!), lived in San Francisco (which I'm sure is MD's fave city) and become a yoga teacher (aka a demon teacher).

So, Mark Driscoll, I will pray for you. I will pray that you have a more open mind and learn not to fear the unfamiliar. Of course, this is my prayer for myself as well.

Namaste.

Our Collective Story

Over the last ten years, I have heard innumerable stories from friends, family and strangers about their experiences on September 11th, 2001. From a friend whose father was supposed to be on the plane that hit the North Tower to another whose uncle lost his life at the Pentagon, there are hopeful and painful stories from that terrible day. Just this morning, my yoga instructor began class by telling us how she was supposed to fly to South Korea on the morning of 9/11 and found out about the attacks at the ticketing line in the airport.

I'm always struck by how people want to, or really need to, tell their stories. Perhaps it's our way of processing what occurred, since, even ten years later, what occurred remains unfathomable. Or it's our way of reaching out and connecting with each other, reminding us that we as humans are capable of loving and caring for one another, in spite of the evidence to the contrary. Maybe the process of telling our stories is these things and a lot more.

It has become clear, in the ten years since that, with regard to 9/11, we have a collective story. It is ours, as participants in this country (in this world): a cacophony of memories. A discordant mixture of stories that together join to form one. We each need to tell our story because of our desire to be a member of the cacophony.

It's very much like what happens when yoga students chant "Om" at the end of a class.  Om, or Aum, is the Hindu symbol representing the energetic vibration of all life (think Einstein's E=MC2 but without the downward facing dog). We chant together and our voices unite. It's not necessarily a pretty sound but, because we are participating in it together and sending it out, it can become beautiful. In this way, our cacophony of memories is not necessarily pretty. It's filled with unimaginable grief but, because of its unifying nature, it's beautiful.

I am convinced this universal desire to contribute to the collective story of 9/11 is one of our most amazing weapons against the hatred that brought the towers down. Our willingness to tell our stories to one another and, even more, to listen to others' stories is illustrative of our universal refusal to become like those who attacked us. Our stories bind even the most different of us together and help us to see one another's worth, something our attackers failed to do. Indeed, the binding in which we have participated acts as a daily reminder to search for the humanity in each other. If we were more than just "enemies" to these men -- if we were fellow humans with lives and, of course, with stories to them -- I don't believe 3,000 of us would have died that day.

Ten years ago today I was a sophomore at Boston College. I was far from my parents and siblings but surrounded by my wonderful family of friends. We gathered together as a school and prayed, having lost 22 alumni, and we connected and supported each other. We were bound together that day so tightly by our shock and grief and our willingness to connect with one another. I pray that we can practice this willingness with the same kind of fervor we did ten years ago.

Empathy Hurts

I spent some time this week playing around with my yoga practice in the studio at which I now teach, 3 Bridges Yoga in Portsmouth, NH. It's a warm and friendly studio with 2 wonderful owners, Jody & Bjorn Turnquist, and I am thrilled to be there. Although I demonstrate certain poses during class, I don't actually do the postures alongside students in my class so that I can adjust them both verbally and physically. Since I'm not practicing with them, I want to be super careful that I don't lose touch with what they might be feeling in certain poses and sequences -- which is why I went to 3 Bridges earlier this week to work on poses and sequences through which I lead a class.

One of the poses I practiced was Baddha Sirsasana (the headstand I'm doing above). In any inversions like this, there is always a fear of falling (at least for me there is!). I have this scene in my head where I fall over, scream from fear and pain, and create a domino effect throughout a class of yogis standing on their heads. I would be just the girl to cause such a yogastrophe, I know it. I imagine my students feel this fear as well in this pose (perhaps without the detailed visualization...). Worried falling might hurt or make a scene causes people to hold back and refrain from trying some inversions. While this fear is totally justified and should hold some people back who would be unsteady and unsafe, I find this lack of confidence stops many, who are prepared, from progressing forward in their practice.

So, I'm in this pose, imagining limbs flying, yogis falling, Lululemon logos going everywhere, and I think, why don't I just let myself fall out of it so I can know how it feels? I'll just get it over with-- it can't be that bad. I have this optimistic image of myself rolling gracefully into a somersault, planting my feet and rising to standing with my hands in the air, yelling, Ta-Da! I just know it's going to be totally awesome and not hurt a bit.

So I fall...
                 not-so-gracefully.

There is definite tuck and rolling action, but there is no grace and certainly no Ta-Da!
Oh. And it hurts like a mother f-----. Perhaps there is a graceful way to fall but I didn't just do it. I did the opposite of it. Ouch.

My dreams of becoming a gymnast shattered, I peel myself off the ground and commence the pity party. I was only trying to put myself in my students' shoes so that I could teach out of an authentic place, look where it got me? A pounding headache and some awful tasting humble pie. Empathy hurts. Also, I'm rethinking my thought process and realizing maybe that Mensa membership card isn't going to arrive, after all.

I think about another person I know who also went overboard with empathy. My friend Rita's husband was with their kids while she was at a work function. Halfway through the function, her phone rings and it's him.  
    Johnny ate one of the berries off our bush outside. I'm sure it's poisonous and I'm freaking out!
Johnny is barely a toddler at this point.
    Well, Rita asks, How is he?! Is he OK?!
    He seems OK right now but, just to be sure, I ate some berries, too.
    WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! Rita shouts into the phone.
    I wanted to know what he was feeling!
 Thankfully Johnny, and his dad, were both fine.

I realize Rita's husband and I understand the importance of empathy but maybe lack intelligence when applying it. Empathy is central to any successful relationship because it's the skill that allows us to cross the bridges between one another. It's most certainly a skill, since, it's something you have to practice in order to perfect.
 
I, for one, am still practicing. And I have the headache to prove it.

Rabbis, Preachers & Yoga Teachers

It's a beautiful Sunday morning in San Diego and I make my way to my favorite studio to practice at while I'm in town: CorePower Yoga in Hillcrest. I'm in town for my cousin's wedding and, though I'm there only a few days, I have to squeeze in some yoga. The instructor is new to me (unsurprising as I don't live in San Diego) and he brings a whole lot of energy to the practice. His sequences are interesting, challenging and fun but what sticks with me most of all is manner of teaching. Let me be more specific: he is a cross between Richard Simmons, Jesse Jackson and some hippie guy who would be named something like "Tree Frog" or "Belt Loop." I like the guy but am taken aback by the one-liners he inserts throughout the asanas (our physical postures). From "You only have one life to live, make it beautiful" to "Forgive someone today," I'm not sure if I'm on my yoga mat or in a pew somewhere. His words are valuable, and even seem authentic, but their frequency throws me off a little as every asana seems to bring a nugget of inspiration (read: cliché). Yet, I look around, and seem to be the only one not buying into the message.

Now, I realize some of this is my problem. I can be cynical, judgmental and downright snobby when it comes to anything involving the "touchy feely" or "warm fuzzy." When visiting a studio I love in Philadelphia the other week, an instructor put "Beautiful" on by Christina Aguilera during a hip stretch and I just about went into barf-asana, a truly graceful pose where I vomit my breakfast onto the nearest yogi. I just couldn't take it! There was something that felt contrived to me that I couldn't get past. Perhaps it was because I didn't really know where this instructor was coming from because I wasn't familiar with her. Or maybe I just really hate that song. Obviously, the instructor wanted to take me somewhere (emotionally? spiritually?) by putting on this song and I just didn't want to go. Yet again, the cheese stands alone because people around me seemed to be loving it.

The point is, people seem to be open to receiving something more than just a workout when they show up at yoga. But what is that "something" they want to receive? Life lessons? Inspirational messages through a variety of cheesy songs? Is it up to the instructor to provide that? Are yoga studios the new synagogues and churches? After all, hoards of people spend their Sabbaths on their mats. Does that make yoga teachers the new rabbis and preachers?

The masses gather . . . but not for mass, for yoga!

I recently started teaching yoga and, while I'm totally obsessed with it, this notion that yoga teachers might fit into the category with rabbis and preachers freaks me out. I feel equipped to guide students through their practice, making helpful suggestions when necessary, but I am no guru. I am no preacher and I am no rabbi. I am no authority on life and on their lives, in particular.

When it comes to teaching yoga, I tend to agree with Socrates' understanding of learning. Learning is a "remembering" or "recollecting" of knowledge we have lost along the way. If this is true, than the teacher is there to aid in that recollection rather than hand down or give knowledge. I am necessary as an instructor insofar as I can help my students get back what they already know and may have forgotten. This understanding gets me off the hook (phew!) and places more responsibility on the students themselves. We invite our students to remember, to learn, but we don't pass out the knowledge because it never was ours to begin with- it was theirs.  

I know that I lose touch with a lot on a regular basis that my yoga practice helps me put back together or, re-member. It helps me to breathe, find stillness and connect with myself and I am grateful for my teachers who help me in that and forgo the emotional ballads (although I'm sure music montages are helpful for some-- more power to 'em).

As far as rabbis and preachers go, maybe they could take a page out of a Socrates' book? Just sayin'...

Ice Baths and Utkatasana

Almost two years ago, I ran the Nike Womens' Marathon in San Francisco. This may be the coolest marathon in all of history because a) it's all women and b) at the end you are greeted by firemen in tuxes and one of them hands you a Tiffany blue box with a silver finisher's necklace. Amazing, right? Sure it was a little awkward seeing a horde of fantastic looking men after I had just ran 26.2 miles and wasn't looking . . . awesome. But really, I'd do anything for that blue box.

I'm the one in the hypothermia blanket. Claudymom is on the left! Isn't she a babe?

I've run a few shorter races since then and, even though I don't plan on doing another marathon, I still think about it a lot. As I've said before, there is something about pushing your body that makes you feel alive. We were designed to run, walk and even swim and I try to be grateful for my body every day (even on those days my "skinny jeans" seem much more like "thank God these zipped up today jeans").

One of the most challenging things I had to do in training for the marathon was take ice baths. Any time you run over 10 miles, it's a good idea to take a bath in ice water for about 15 minutes. This is even less fun than it sounds. I remember the very first time I did this . . . I bought a few bags of ice from the store around the corner, put on my fleece hat, poured the ice in the tub with some very cold water, and proceeded to get in.

If you know me well, you know I did not go quietly. From the second my big toe hit the water, I began screaming obscenities at the top of my lungs. If pressed, I can curse like a sailor-- it's a gift. My husband ran around the apartment closing windows because, according to him, "kids live in this neighborhood!" and would apparently need therapy for years if they heard what I was screaming. I really didn't give a crap.

In this painful state (and it was SO painful), I could feel every part of my body. Even though I hated my life at that moment, I was so acutely aware of it.

I experience the same awareness when I am in the yoga pose utkatasana (oot-kuh-tah-suh-nah). This pose is most commonly known as "chair pose" because the person is supposed to look like they are sitting in an invisible chair.

In some yoga circles, this pose is known as "awkward pose." I truly didn't get that name until I saw this image from Yoga Journal. I swear most people don't look like this in this pose. Yoga is cool, I swear.

As you can imagine, this pose burns. But, if you can stomach it, it has the potential to remind you that you are, indeed, alive.

I know I spend too much time taking for granted that I am alive and well. That my heart pumps, my lungs fill and empty and my body is able to work hard.

So today, I am thankful for ice baths and even "awkward pose" for the awareness they have brought to my life. Awareness is what I need. I am also thankful for my yoga practice and the way it blends so well with my running practice. Yoga complements running and running complements yoga. They work together in my life to make me a saner, more aware person.

What Are Your Intentions?

This question always makes me think of an awkward guy meeting his girlfriend's father for the first time. The father, ever so protective, wants to know the long-term hopes and dreams this poor kid has regarding his daughter. My Dad used to joke about having a gun and a shovel upstairs when he met a new guy of mine. My brother would help him out as well, but normally in a more "teenage boy" way like telling a very unfortunate boy who once called me, How can your name be Rob? Rob is a boy's name and you sound like a girl. Ah, adolescence. Fun times.

I was thinking about intentions the other day in yoga because, before every class, my teachers always encourage us to set one. An intention, in the yogic sense, does not mean a goal. Philip Moffitt explains their differences this way: "Setting intention, at least according to Buddhist teachings, is quite different than goal making. It is not oriented toward a future outcome. Instead, it is a path or practice that is focused on how you are 'being' in the present moment." For example, I wouldn't set an intention for my practice of mastering a difficult pose. Instead, I might set an intention to connect with my breath more deeply during the next hour or two that I am practicing. Or to feel each pose in my body instead of just tuning out the physical sensations. The differences are slight, I realize, but clearly one is more about success while the other about presence. One is more about achievement while the other, mindfulness.

The struggle between working for success and presence happens both on and off the mat for me. I am an extremely competitive person who prides herself on her achievements. It's easier for me to feel good about myself if I have something to point to that is tangible that shows my self-improvement. T-shirts from finishing races, certificates of completions-- that's the stuff I want! The whole idea of striving for presence is so challenging because the art of being present in the moment is not measurable. Where are my results? How can I get a PR or some kind of certificate for that? Even a pat on the back would be nice. . .

The idea of setting intentions for presence easily translates to daily life. I have many dear friends who say grace before a meal together, reminding themselves to fully engage in the company present as well as their food. They don't set a concrete goal to have a really great conversation about politics (or whatever) or to finish their green beans (something I will never do because green beans are disgusting). These grace-ers grace because they want to be more mindful of the present moment. Saying grace is setting intentions.

Now, when I ask you What are your intentions? I hope your palms don't go sweaty and your voice starts to crack. Don't worry, my dad was just kidding about the gun and the shovel and my brother is not so tough. I'm simply asking you how you plan to live in the present moment.

Do You Need a Yoga Mat to Practice Yoga?

This question has been on many a yogi's mind lately because of an article in the New York Times from this last weekend. Mary Billard, its author, interviewed a number of yoga practitioners who are forgoing their mats in favor of a simpler practice. They are eliminating the barrier between them and their yoga studio floor, their living room carpet and wherever else they choose to practice. These yogis cite a number of reasons for this including the commercialization of yoga mats, their potential damage to the environment as well as a desire to get back to the traditional practice of yoga without all the accessories.

I, for one, love accessories. They always make an outfit and I believe the same can be true for a yoga practice (or any other kind of spiritual practice, for that matter). For me, having something tangible that symbolizes and signifies my yoga practice is extremely helpful. When I take my mat out, unroll it and get on it, I know it's yoga time. It's sacred time, ME time and quiet time. Even our tiny apartment transforms into a sacred space when my red mat comes out. If I didn't have the mat out, it'd just be the floor. And what would separate me from the cat hair my cat places strategically around the apartment to make anything dark I have on look disgusting?

I think what I am saying is, as humans, it is extremely helpful to have something tangible to help us get into a "sacred state of mind" (I think that's a Billy Joel Song?). Catholics call this the need for mediation. We need something to mediate our experience with the sacred because the sacred (or God) is invisible. Think of any kind of prayer beads: the prayer certainly could pray without them but it is so helpful to hold them while he prays because they are physical, touchable, just as we are. The feeling of the beads helps him know that he is engaging in a sacred act and it therefore encourages that sacred act.

I can certainly see that Yoga is a risk for becoming extremely commercialized but I'm not sure that is reason enough to ditch the mat. Take a look at what Jade Yoga is doing. Their mats are made sustainably in the U.S. and every time you buy one of their mats, they plant a tree.

Another reason I need a mat is because I am a sweater. I don't get this from Claudymom because she doesn't sweat, she glows. My sweaty hands and feet would cause me to slip all over the place on hardwood floors and I just don't feel like mopping every time I do yoga. Or slamming my face into the floor because my hands slip in Downward Dog.

I also really need the support of a good mat for my knees. The pose below, Anjaneyasana (low lunge), would hurt like a mother if I did it on hardwood floor. My cute red mat protects me. Hurray!

So, I am taking a different side here. As much as I love that yoga is being written about in the NY Times, I sure hope they're wrong when it comes to the trend of ditching one's mat.

No (wo)man is an island

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. 

-From John Donne's Meditation XVII        

I have been thinking about this poem lately for a reason that is almost too ridiculous to admit. In the spirit of the Real World confessional, I will come clean . . . I watched the first episode of TLC's Sister Wives. If you know what show I am talking about-- stop judging. You know you're dying to watch it! If you have never heard of this show, you're probably better off but I will inform you just the same. Sister Wives is a reality show following the lives of a polygamist family (one husband, three wives and their respective litters of children). 

I could go on and on about how sexist a polygamist lifestyle is and how I am shocked that Big Love was so damn accurate, but I won't. It's not super fun to read others' rantings. What I will say is that Sister Wives reminded me of something so true about our humanity: we crave community.

While I wanted to punch the husband in his face, I actually found myself identifying with much of what the sister wives were saying. They wanted other women around to help them with their kids, support their daily lives and be there if something were to happen to them. Of course I felt like shouting "get friends, not sister wives, you brainwashed idiots!" at the screen, but something stopped me. Even though I completely disagree with the way they have found their community, I can't disagree with their desire for it. 

After all, it is my desire for community that leads me to my faith. Even to my yoga practice. In both Christianity and yoga, community is supremely valued. John Donne's poem echoes the passage from 1 Corinthians 12 that compares a spiritual community to a physical body: every part is essential and, standing alone, can do nothing. For Hindues (who brought us yoga), the Bhagavad Gita asserts the connectedness of all creation over and over again.

Even if a person is not religious or interested in spirituality, I think we can all agree that we need each other. Things are just better together. Think about it: Harry Potter doesn't go searching for Horcruxes on his own but brings Hermione and Ron with him. 

Yes, that was a freak flag. 

So, just do me a favor. Don't take a sister wife. They're creepy. Find other ways to get your community on.

Namaste, St. Ignatius!

I'm not really into saints, even though I reference one in this post's title. Yes, I have a background in theology but saints are really just not my thing. Even when I was Confirmed as a 13 year-old and had to pick a saint's name to take on, I just couldn't get into it. I ended up picking St. Lucy because Lucy was my dog's name and I was into her.

St. Ignatius however, might be an exception. This person who lived 400 years ago has had a deep effect on my life. His way of thinking about faith is really the only reason why I haven't walked away (more like run!) from the Catholic Church and some of its not so progressive ways.

One of the most powerful things I can take from St. Ignatius is his commitment to "find God in all things." If you're not particularly religious, I think it's completely acceptable to amend this phrase to say "find sacredness in all things." Ignatius was convinced that the fingerprint of the Creator was upon everything-- that nothing escaped the love and beauty of God's hand. Even the ugly things . . . like acid washed jeans or (eek) spiders.

I find this notion to also be present in the practice of yoga. When we seal our hands together at our hearts, bow to each other and say "Namaste," we are actually acknowledging the sacredness in both ourselves and the life around us. The word "Namaste" literally translates to "I bow to the god in you" or, "the sacred in me bows to the sacred in you." In this way, each day presents a new challenge. Some days, I can easily see my own sacredness or self-worth. Other days, I struggle to see my own value and am overwhelmed by the good I might see in others. It's a daily process, this Namaste-ing. 

While I would love to pretend old Iggy practiced yoga back in 16th century Spain, I know it is just a pipe dream. I am amazed however, that, in different parts of the world, at different times, people were coming around to the same truths: that all human beings have worth and our world is filled to the brim with the the sacred. Ignatian spirituality certainly illuminates my yoga practice.

So, I say to you "Namaste" and hope you can say it back to me.                              

Can't you see this guy rocking a downward dog?

Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu

The above Sanskrit translates to "May all beings be happy and free."                                                

Last weekend, Labor day weekend, I went on a yoga retreat for three days. It was amazing! I had been dying to deepen my practice and looked into an opportunity at my studio, Yoga Tree (yogatreesf.com). I don't normally practice with her but I went with the lovely Chrisandra Fox on a "Heart of Renewal" retreat that she runs twice a year. It was basically a long weekend filled with lots of yoga, meditation, good food (from amazing organic, vegan food chef Meredith-- pranaful.com) and relaxation.

I was a little nervous to go. I'm not exactly a "typical" San Francisco yogi. I love meat. I am a somewhat practicing Catholic (albeit guilty and repressed-who isn't?). I'm sarcastic. I am not too experienced with chanting (unless you count "Yankees suck" as a yogic mantra . . . which well . . . maybe I do?).  I can't sit still long enough to do the horizontal portion of a crossword puzzle let alone meditate in some kind of pretzel position. I wasn't sure how it would all go but still, I was very excited. So I packed my bags and went, being careful to trade out my book Are You There Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea for something more "mature" and "yoga-ish."

I am so glad I went. The people were GREAT. Non-judgmental. Funny (sarcastic, even!) The food, though meatless, was excellent and fulfilling. I could totally be vegan if Meredith moved in with me and cooked for me. I felt very comfortable and very free to be who I am. I found out that I am NOT a "typical" yogi because there really isn't one. Again, yoga taught me to just accept myself and the people around me and let go of notions of "typical" or "normal." God knows I will never fit into any of them.

Oh, and that Sanskrit mantra above? Yeah, I chanted it. And I liked it.