Yoga Teacher Training - Reflection 1

Hi! Welcome to YogaHour. My name is Julie. The word of the day is healing.

We sat in a circle and stood to make our introduction when our turn came. I like speaking in front of people, but I get a little flummoxed when there's a script, so I was grateful for so many introductions to come before mine.

YogaHour is a sweaty kind of yoga. I was curious if I'd actually sweat because I normally do not. I did. And it was great. The class. The challenge. The knowing I'd signed up for six months of this.

After the public class ended, the yoga teacher training(YTT)students brought out journals, pens, more water and we settled into class. The first night was an overview of what could be expected as well as the criteria for certification.

I was delighted to learn that much of the training is journaling and sharing what we've written in small groups. I was daunted to learn that we'd have pages of script to memorize each month for half of the trainings in order to attain certification. I am keeping my head and heart open to this task. Memorization is not my strong suit, but I have time to prepare, and many friends have offered to help me as I make my way through the training.

“Expectation creates tension...” this is part of a quote that was read last night and it reverberates still this morning. I can hear how it was meant in the context of first-night-of-class jitters, but it also frames some of the little heartbreaks I have weathered in the past few months and years. I set expectations that weren't reasonable for the circumstances. I am ready to practice letting go of expectations and allowing life to unfold before me. One teacher said something about being okay with not knowing or having the answers and I smiled. I've been saying that I'm comfortable with the unknown a lot lately.

I sat on my mat and thought, “This really was the best decision. I am exactly where I'm supposed to be tonight. And for the next six months.”

A while before Grandpa died, he told me he wanted me to find a hobby so that after he was gone I'd have something to keep me busy. To keep me company in his absence. I told him at the time that I had my writing, and that I'd be okay.

I had no idea at the time how much I'd wish I could tell him that I now also have my gardening and this training. They are filling my life, my time, and my heart in the most beautiful ways.

I have my cooler bag packed with snacks and drinks. I'm bringing a second journal because I'll fill journal #31 today. I had to wait for my computer to finish its updates, so I cleaned my room, read a few chapters of The Light We Lost, started a load of laundry, and planned the ways that I'll spend the post-class hours this afternoon and evening. And still was able to get this blog post written in advance of having to leave for class.

Life is good. Namaste.

On the cusp

I sat in a circle on the floor of the yoga studio where I practiced. We weren't practicing yoga this particular evening. We had gathered for a goal-setting workshop.

I hadn't been practicing long, but I had already begun to feel the effect of how yoga can and will transform one's body, mind, and spirit. And so in that space, I began dreaming BIG: I was going to write a book and I was going to teach yoga. I may have also dreamed about being able to do the splits by the time I turned 40.

Those first dreams seemed impossible at the time, but in the spirit of yoga, anything is possible. I wrote them down. I went home and put the worksheet paper up on the wall where I could see it. At some point, I took down the paper, but I did stop thinking of those goals. Writing them down made them something real to work toward.

If memory serves, in five years I would take yoga teacher training and in ten years, I'd write a book. Life got a hold of me and did some things different. In under five years, I'd written a book-length manuscript.

Tomorrow, I start yoga teacher training.

I feel jittery. Like standing in line for a roller coaster that looks equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. I also feel ready. I know it's time to get a little rattled. I've been here before, but this time I know that when it's over I'll be wiser, calmer, and more grounded. I KNOW IT.

The jitters come from a place of knowing that I won't be the same person when these six months of intensive training are behind me. What will these practices, poses, and the new knowledge of how to use them create in me? How will I move differently in the world? How will I interact differently with people?

For once, I like not having the answers. I like being on the cusp of something good that will challenge me in ways I've not yet experienced.

It's going to be so good, and it's going to be so hard. I am getting so much more comfortable—comforted even—in this dichotomy. I am going to bend myself, physically and metaphorically, into new shapes, knowledge, and spaces.

This is proof that goal-setting works. I am making those words, on a paper I no longer have, come to life. It is going to be an amazing journey. 

I've also learned that we don't have to achieve all the goals we set. Like the splits. I decided I didn't need to accomplish that one. Yoga has taught me what I can let go of too.

Namaste.

On Progress, Neighbors, and Paying it Forward

The men's volley ball coach at the small Iowa college I attended was like an older brother to me. On occasion, we'd go out to dinner. I'd tell him all the things swirling in my early twenties head and heart. He'd tell me he trusted me and my decision making and to stay the course. Whatever course that was at the given time. He wouldn't let me pay. He always told me, “When you have an opportunity to help someone else, pay this meal forward.”

I've never forgotten those kindnesses, and I keep an eye out for ways I can pay him back by paying it forward.

The first summer I was divorced I felt like a terrible neighbor. I was generally the last one in the cul-de-sac to mow my lawn and sometimes I let it get TALL before I handled my business. I was so emotionally drained and physically exhausted. The idea of working all day and then coming home to more work felt daunting. I did what I could and extended an extra dose of grace to myself on the days I couldn't do anymore. I was in the thick of figuring out what solo homeownership looked like for me. At this point, things didn't look good.

A few times that summer I pulled into my driveway and realized that someone had done the job for me. I could have wept with relief and gratitude. I thanked my neighbor profusely (after I figured out which one had done the good deed.)

Tonight marks a new chapter. We had something to attend right after work and then I planned to come home and mow when it was cooler and still light out. I'd have one major responsibility done before the weekend kicked into high gear. Our event ended later than I'd expected. I came home and changed into my yard-dedicated overalls. Undeterred, I pulled out the mower and made a few swipes in my front yard. Suddenly, I pushed the mower into my neighbor's yard and decided this was an opportunity to help my neighbor.

She is a mama with three children and is newly separated. She's in the thick of mothering her children and figuring out what solo life looks and feels like for her.

I mowed about half of both of our yards when she came out and asked, “What are you doing?” I told her I was mowing while I had a little light. We talked for a few minutes, the light dimmed more, and then I resumed my task. She ran back out a few minutes later with plastic container of pasta.

My heart swelled. Ahh, we're taking care of each other. This is when life is at its best. I accepted her gift knowing what it feels like to accept help and want to exchange the kindness.

This is a big night for me. Not because I did something nice for someone else, but because I proved to myself that I am whole in a way I haven't been before and it feels so, so good. I am in a place that doesn't feel so depleted, confused, and endlessly long. I have the energy to help my neighbors in a way I wasn't capable of three years ago.

I really have the best neighbors, and I feel honored to have the opportunity to return the kindnesses they have extended. Being neighborly feels so good. It helps make sense of a world that most days feels senseless. Progress, indeed.

The New Walking Season

This summer marks the third summer that I have walked around the neighborhoods near my office building. The first summer the feature of the route was a beautiful fountain outside the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. I started there, took in the beauty of the sculpture within the fountain, closed my eyes to trick my brain into thinking I was near an ocean, and then resumed my path.

The following year major construction near the fountain discouraged me from taking that path. The clanking sounds of metal work did not induce feelings of relaxation and getting away, so I mapped out another route. One that had lots of shade and also featured a lovely little park, also possessing shade and a drinking fountain.

This summer I've chosen yet another path. The features of this route are the hills for more of a workout and another park. What is notable about this park is that it was my destination early in the summer four years ago before life as I knew it fell apart. 

I enter the park this summer from a different street. By this point in my daily walk, I'm ready for a rest. There are two cement benches flanked by two enormous trees. There's a name and tribute etched into each bench.

From this vantage point, I look south toward the bench that I sat on four years ago. I marvel almost every day at how different I feel from the woman who sat on the wooden bench those years before. This realization helps explain also the reason for my different routes each summer. It's intentional. When I walk the old paths, I remember the old thoughts and worries that accompanied me on those walks. It's a accurate measure of how far I have come in a few years. I don't really want to revisit those thought patterns and so a new path is the blank slate on which this season's thoughts can imprint.

This summer I feel freer than in years past. I use the time this summer to listen to audiobooks—the surest way for me to whittle down my ever-growing reading list.

I have also taken up gardening as a new pastime—initially out of necessity—but now after three weeks of hard work and pure enjoyment, I can't wait to get out to my hard after work and on weekends. Over the months, I have plans to write more about this, but for now I have this to say. My walks have taken on an explorer-like quality. The other years had an archaeological quality. I was digging deep to figure things out. This summer, there's less work and more play woven into my lunch time reverie.

Yesterday, as I passed the front yard that plays host to a raised bed made of stone,I saw the gardener responsible for the ingenious design. I told her that her raised bed of stone had inspired me to consider how I could repurpose a stockpile of pavers I have stacked up in my yard. That statement set off a lovely conversation. I asked random questions as they came to mind and she was free with her knowledge and information. Her biggest gift, aside from the offer of giving me some of the cuttings she will have when she thins out her flower beds, was when she said, “I don't always know what will work. I give it a try and see what happens.” I needed to hear someone who clearly knows what she's doing to take such a playful approach to gardening. Playful approaches. That's what I'm after in most areas of my life these days. It's a new way of being for this serious minded woman, but I have every indication that the playfulness of my youth is right below the surface and only needs a little urging to blossom. Like the plants I've already planted and the seeds I will sow in my garden this weekend. 

In this season of learning as I go, letting the path lead where it will, I plan on taking her up on her offer.

So many good things have happened to me since I added walking to my regular routine. I look forward to what this summer holds.

I am lonesome.

When I started this blog five years ago, I hadn't calculated that in chronicling my writing pursuits, enumerating each rejection toward acceptance by a publication, that I'd also be recording the ups and downs, ins and outs of my life in general. Now, I'm so used to coming to this space and doing exactly that. I have a new entry to make tonight in this ongoing chronicle.

I understand better now that five years ago I wasn't yet able to comprehend what life would look and feel like if I didn't hide behind the facades of “Everything's fine! Really!” I plodded along, making the best of untenable situations thinking that was the best strategy—the one that would serve me, and my daughter, best.

As I've written many times, I was wrong.

If you've followed this story for a few years, you know the tide changed—and in shorter time than I expected things changed for the better. I have this blog and the friends who coached me to tell my stories to thank for that.

This evening I had plans to talk with a friend who lives too many time zones away. It takes some maneuvering for our schedules to jibe, which means we don't talk on the phone much.

While I was on my lunch walk, I got a message that he needed to reschedule our call. Things come up. Of course we can find another time.

But then I felt this wave of disappointment wash over me. I kept walking up the hill, feeling the afternoon sun heat up the skin under my denim shirt. I did a mental scan of my thoughts and sensations inside my body. My reaction was growing bigger, sadder, angrier. I asked myself, “What does the moment, this reaction of mine, have to teach me?”

See, that's how I'm different these days. I let myself feel all the feelings, and I don't berate myself for what answers surface. I noticed that my reaction was bigger than the phone call cancellation called for. Things come up. I wasn't mad about that. I'm flexible. I can deal.

I kept walking. Then I sat in the shade, caught my breath. My daughter who is home bound on summer break FaceTimed me. I was glad for the distraction. We talked for awhile and then still keeping her company, I headed back to work. The walking is SO good in moments like this. It ensures that all the sensation, all the feeling keeps moving. It doesn't have a chance to get stuck.

Over the next few hours, with the help of some friends who heard me out as I texted my way to better understanding myself, I discovered that indeed, the canceled phone call was not the source of my angst. The deeper answer was that for as much as I say that I love being single and I love my own company, and I am relishing my alone time, the truth is I feel lonesome.

Over the past three years, I kept those feelings mostly at bay with two long-distance friendships that served as buffers. We were in regular contact and so even though these men lived out of town and our contact was primarily by text, I felt like I had company.

These friendships were crucial to helping me settle into my new life, and I am eternally grateful to them. But as with the ebbs and flows of all aspects of life, these friendships changed. While I know these changes are for the best, it doesn't change that I miss the company.

I am lonesome, which feels different from being lonely. I don't want to fall in love yet. I don't have the energy for romance while I have an eleven-year-old asking if I've been on a date on the weekends she's not with me. That's new territory that I need more time to adjust to--I'm not ready for all of that.

What I am ready for is a guy friend who lives in the metro area. To have someone who will watch the new episode of David Letterman's My Next Guest Needs No Introduction on Netflix. Someone who will meet me for a walk around Creve Coeur Lake, go kayaking, or meet for coffee after yoga.

My current situation bores me. I feel like a broken record vacillating between loving my independence and wishing I had someone to share time with. Today I decided it was time to try something different, and I'm the only one who can change the plot line. I'm not sure what different looks like yet, but I know that doing the same thing—waiting at my library for handy, bearded readers who like to travel and listen to Avett Brothers-and expecting different results is insanity. It's also yet to work.

So maybe I'll try online dating, or join an adventure book club or fill-in-the-blank (I'm open to ideas). I took no big actions tonight other than baking fish and veggies, watching the two West Wing episodes I know will make me cry, and writing this post.

Historically, the best things have happened when I decide it's time for a change and to do something that scares me. We'll see what happens. You know I'll keep you posted.

Rejections 16 and 17

The rejections are mounting! Rejection 16 came in January when I did not hear from Real Simple Magazine about my entry to their essay contest which asked the question, What was the happiest moment of your life? It is typical that a publication will only inform the winners, so when I don't hear anything around the date specified for announcements, I am confident that I can call it a rejection.

I have submitted to Real Simple numerous times, and I fought this year's topic, not knowing what might stand out to judges as an authentic, thoughtful answer to the question. A friend told me that the magazine didn't want my consternation, they wanted my essay. With usual directness, he told me to hurry up, pick a topic, and get to writing.

I chose the story of reconnecting with college friends who I hadn't seen for nearly 20 years and what I learned about myself as a 40-something compared to the twenty-something I'd been the last time I was with these friends. It wasn't my best work, but I was glad to get the words on paper and to email my submission.

Here's an excerpt from “Happiness in the Aftermath.”

“Post-divorce life keeps teaching that 'what is' should not be compared with 'what once was' or 'what never was.' I am writing a different divorce story. One where I am happy to be on my own. Happy to co-parent my daughter in collaboration and civility with her father. I no longer feel anxiety about what the future may bring. I have tapped into the fun of making up the rules as I go. This weekend confirmed again and again that I have emerged from the aftermath of divorce, happy and joyful. I feel whole and content...”

Getting those words on the screen to re-read to myself is valuable and worth the effort—regardless of where in the publishing world those words land.

This 300 Rejections journey reminds me repeatedly of what's important: Committing and showing up to write. The outcome and quality are secondary. Quality work is a by-product of showing up. Rejection 17 is a stronger submission than Rejection 10 by virtue of the fact that I continue to stretch myself, to swim in words, and discover what's inside that needs to be expressed.

MC Yogi, a yoga teacher and thought leader, posted this phrase on Instagram today: Practice makes progress. I like it better than what I usually tell my daughter, Practice makes proficient.

In the last year or so, I have begun dreaming of giving a TED Talk. It's one of those big, scary goals that I have no idea how to get from here to there to achieve. I first have to figure out what idea of mine is worth spreading, which is the tagline of TED talks.

Today I stood in my daughter's school learning commons (aka the library) and told the librarian about my burgeoning writing pursuits. I told her the back story of 300 Rejections and how I have turned what many writers experience as disappointment and discouragement into motivation, celebration, and a measuring stick for my own grown as a wordsmith.

In the brief conversation, we both heard me say something so elemental, we stopped and gasped. I reached for a pencil and she went running for a piece of paper. I may very well have found my TED talk! Now, the marinating of the seed of an idea will begin. I'll think about it in the shower and on the drive to work. Ideas will sprout as I mow my lawn. I know today that while I may very well be on to something, I have more life to live, more stories to stockpile before this idea turns into to a speech that I craft and practice inside and out.

I also know that this idea wouldn't have happened without these rejections, which is another thing to celebrate.

Rejection 17 was an essay I wrote as an answer to the essay query, How to Survive a Disaster? The deadline was January 31—two weeks after my grandpa's funeral. I channeled my grief and energy into writing this essay, and the result is a four-page essay that I am deeply proud of. It took so much out of me in the days following my grandpa's death that I didn't write anything substantive for months after.

I stalked the web site on April 30, the day the announcement was supposed to be made. Then I forgot about it until a few days ago. The announcement was delayed. While I didn't find my name listed, at least I know definitively that I can count this one as Rejection 18.

I feel strongly about this essay, so I have two more places I want to submit it to before I publish it here. So, I'll either get Rejections 19 and 20, or I'll get my first 300 Rejections-inspired acceptance. I'll report back when I know either way. In the meantime, keep doing whatever it is that you do that lights your fire, keeps you up late or wakes you up early. We need to keep bringing those things that light us up into the world.

Anniversary

Since execution of the 40/40 list three years ago, I now mark time differently than I did before. I observe life events as anniversaries more readily than I have in the past. The things I honor are obscure but full of meaning—equal parts celebrating the every day moments that become monumental over time while acknowledging how far I have come.

This weekend marks the first anniversary of me chopping off my hair. It was such a change for me that for the first thirteen weeks, I documented the rate of hair growth. I wanted to get a sense of what this new cut would look like in all its stages of growth and how long I could get by without a trim. I was surprised that it took more than three months before the second cut was imperative.

I've thought a lot about this hair cut over the year. I have learned six things:

1. I have a cowlick I didn't know I had. It's in the back. Northeast of my left ear. It's more prominent when my hair grows out. It is giving me the practice in letting go of seeking perfection. Some days no amount of goop will tame it, and I have come to embrace of that rascally element. Plus, I can't really see it unless I turn my head to the right, so I don't do that much.

2. With this haircut, I can no longer where my beloved hats. This realization stung at first. My hat collection and my insistence on wearing hats throughout adulthood and against the fashion grain were two ways I set myself apart from my peers and asserted confidence in inhabiting my own particular skin. With time, I have accepted that my hat wearing days are over, and I am closing that chapter by liquidating some of my collection. When it's time for wearing hair accessories again, I'm going to keep my eye out for cool headbands and fascinators. Maybe those will be the new thing I use to set myself apart. Or maybe I'll stick with being really confident in who I have become. See #3 and #4.

It's a little bit like when I discovered that I'd outgrown my beloved Notting Hill DVD from the early 2000s and put it in the donation pile. I was incredulous at first, but it felt right to let it go. Same with the hats.

3. I am no longer photogenic. Longer hair that framed my face served me well in photographs throughout my life. I regularly took good ID photos, which was so weird. I believed most of the time that I looked better in photos than I did in real life. It's taken some adjustment, but now I am confident living with the reverse situation. I like that I feel confident in real time. 

4. This haircut is the physical representation of a lot of mental, emotional, and spiritual transformations that have taken place in the past three-plus years. When I look in the mirror, I remember how I am not the same woman. I am sturdier, more confident, less scared and reactionary than I have been in the past. I know that I have put in the time to grow as a person, mother, and writer.

5. My already low-maintenance morning routine requires even less time, which gives me more time to sleep, talk and laugh with my daughter, and do light housekeeping before work.

6. Hair is serious business. I am the happiest and healthiest I have ever been. It is a major achievement in being human to reach a state when one's interior and exterior match.

Cowlick mentioned in #1
photo: CJM

Easter morning, fresh cut, goop applied

Three weeks later, fringe beginning to show at left temple
also: doing what I love, talking about writing at a young authors conference