This morning, as I was driving to work, I started thinking about a song that Kermit the Frog used to sing on The Muppets. I'm not sure of the name of it, but there is a line in it that goes something like, "It doesn't matter if it's not good enough for anyone else to hear.....sing, sing a song." It made me think about how often I censor myself, feeling as if what I have to say is somehow wrong or inappropriate or unwelcome or uncool. So much of the time, I only give voice to what I think is going to be met in a positive way. How much energy do I invest in vetting my words for their anticipated popularity, and how does that undermine my desire for authenticity?
The answer to #1 is a lot. The answer to #2 is a little more complicated. I think it's fair to say that my desire for validation is an authentic part of who I am. That desire has made me into a person who is often skillful with her words and actions, who is empathic and can anticipate and respond to needs quickly and efficiently. But when I don't put words to a doubt or a criticism or even an observation, just because I am afraid of someone's response to it, my desire for validation is overtaking a number of other important priorities, like a weed choking out the flowers in my garden. My agency as a human and my right to take up space are just as important as having someone tell me I'm right or funny or observant or sooo cool.
What's wrong with my voice anyway?
The answer to #3 is nothing, even when what I have to say may be critical or even wrong.
So, today, I'm going to try to sing my song. Will you?
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
One om for each other, one om for ourselves, one om for the people who will never know freedom
That's how one of my favorite teachers, Livia Shapiro, started class tonight. Then she proceeded to take us through a series of back bends, weaving in gems like "asana is both ecumenical and political." She talked about our rights in being human, and how the rite of asana practice acts as a vehicle to help us exercise those rights. She hit on social justice and the politics of our bodies at the same time that she guided us safely into and out of poses aimed at opening our shoulders, chests, hips, and thighs. Suffice it to say that I fucking love this woman! You can check her out at The Little Yoga Studio and the Yoga Pod in Boulder. Seriously, she offers some of the most intelligent asana instruction that you are likely ever to receive!
Livia was subbing tonight for another favorite teacher of mine, so I wasn't expecting to see her at the front of the room. And after class, in the process of thanking her for being willing to step in to someone else's class, she commented that she hadn't seen me for a while. This triggered a brief episode of blathering in which I commented on the fact that I was the worst student ever, was working on it, and that I would begin to fall in love and then pull back. She gave me a wry smile and gracefully told me to hang in there.
Wow. WTF. What WAS all of that? After a good cry and a walk around the block, here is what I think it was. What happens on the mat is also happening off of it. My resistance to committing to a teacher, to accepting what she or he has to offer and at the same time submitting myself to the discipline of showing up consistently, this pattern is not confined to my yoga practice. Afraid that I'll be disappointed, that I won't get what I want, or worse yet, that I will somehow be abandoned or humiliated, I don't open myself fully to experience, or opportunities for experience. It's much easier to hold back, to remain skeptical and "impartial," than to give myself over fully. For a long time I have been afraid to fall in love with anything and unwilling to engage in the work that falling in love requires.
I offer this bit of self-disclosure for two reasons. #1, it's important for me to admit this about myself "out loud." #2, I want to pay my teachers' wisdom forward. I may be a reluctant student, but I owe it to those who have shown up for me to share what I've learned. The next time I feel the urge to avoid when I know I should lean in, I'm going to notice it in a new way. The next time I make assumptions instead of having the courage to ask, I'm going to pause. And hopefully in the process of noticing and pausing, I can summon the courage to make a different choice. And do you know where we get so many chances to notice and pause, and to lean in and ask? On our mats.
Tonight, Livia asked us to make an offering, a prayer, of our practice. This is mine, right here.
Livia was subbing tonight for another favorite teacher of mine, so I wasn't expecting to see her at the front of the room. And after class, in the process of thanking her for being willing to step in to someone else's class, she commented that she hadn't seen me for a while. This triggered a brief episode of blathering in which I commented on the fact that I was the worst student ever, was working on it, and that I would begin to fall in love and then pull back. She gave me a wry smile and gracefully told me to hang in there.
Wow. WTF. What WAS all of that? After a good cry and a walk around the block, here is what I think it was. What happens on the mat is also happening off of it. My resistance to committing to a teacher, to accepting what she or he has to offer and at the same time submitting myself to the discipline of showing up consistently, this pattern is not confined to my yoga practice. Afraid that I'll be disappointed, that I won't get what I want, or worse yet, that I will somehow be abandoned or humiliated, I don't open myself fully to experience, or opportunities for experience. It's much easier to hold back, to remain skeptical and "impartial," than to give myself over fully. For a long time I have been afraid to fall in love with anything and unwilling to engage in the work that falling in love requires.
I offer this bit of self-disclosure for two reasons. #1, it's important for me to admit this about myself "out loud." #2, I want to pay my teachers' wisdom forward. I may be a reluctant student, but I owe it to those who have shown up for me to share what I've learned. The next time I feel the urge to avoid when I know I should lean in, I'm going to notice it in a new way. The next time I make assumptions instead of having the courage to ask, I'm going to pause. And hopefully in the process of noticing and pausing, I can summon the courage to make a different choice. And do you know where we get so many chances to notice and pause, and to lean in and ask? On our mats.
Tonight, Livia asked us to make an offering, a prayer, of our practice. This is mine, right here.
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