Thinking Yogi

The intersection of two loves: yoga and writing.

As we’ve been celebrating and reflecting on Bloom’s 10 year anniversary with our staff, teachers, and students over the past month, certain conversational themes have continually reemerged.

“Can you believe it’s been 10 years? How does it feel?”

They’re hard questions to answer. On one hand it feels like the time has flown by, and on the other I can’t remember what used to occupy my thoughts when I wasn’t musing about yoga class schedules, massage appointments, the best way to build community, or how to continually improve our teacher training curriculum. I can’t recall a time when I didn’t have to fight the urge to keep working late at night or on weekends because of a pesky sentence in my latest blog post that just wasn’t quite right. Zach and Kerry at Bloom's Grand Opening in 2004

How do you describe the experience of spending each day focused on the tasks at hand – gradually growing our class offerings and developing new programs – then waking up one day at a party with 100 smiling faces toasting the fact that 10 wonderful years have gone by?

It feels like a time warp, it feels just right, it feels like yoga. Now a decade in, I know so much more about what’s important and where to let go.

When Zach and I were first married 14 years ago, we struggled to find that very balance. We were young, strong-willed, competitive, playful, and fiercely in love. Our good days were exquisitely fun, inspiring, and full of laughter. Our bad days, well….

We spent a lot of time in those first few years learning how to fight. At our weekly doubles tennis match with another young couple, half the time one of us would throw a racket or storm off the court enraged at the others’ unsatisfactory play, and we wouldn’t talk to each other for the rest of the day. Those fights felt so important in the moment (and surely they were – I mean, tennis is serious business). Our poor tennis friends couldn’t understand why we cared this much about a game. But it wasn’t what we were fighting about that mattered. What mattered was learning to communicate, to disagree, to express strong emotions, and to parse out what counts and what should just be forgiven and forgotten.

Thanks to those tumultuous early years and our hours of conversational nit-picking, after slugging through day after day of little fights, pettiness, and silliness, Zach and I are now able to work our way through a disagreement in a much more civilized way. So much so that I sometimes have a similar shock of recognition, a feeling of amazement as if I just woke up one day and we knew how to communicate. Because it's such a stark contrast it can be tempting to see it as more a magical transformation than a gradual evolution, as if those 14 years of consistent conversations had nothing to do with it. But truly, it was slow and often very painful (especially for our friends who had to witness it), and now here we are.

My relationship with Bloom has undergone a similar evolution, though fortunately much less dramatically since Zach and my relationship provided the training wheels for learning this process of gradual change. Rather than having to deal with drama or petty fights at Bloom, challenging incidents would pop up, like in early 2005 at our very first Midnight Yoga workshop when we had 35 enrolled students and a waitlist and we also discovered a serious leak in the studio where class was to be held just an hour before start time. I ran around like a crazy person, placing buckets and towels and calling our property management company with politely-worded threats about why this was an emergency that needed immediate resolution (as if a leak is ever that easy). Though it was not how I’d envisioned our first big workshop going, class went fine despite the musical accompaniment of drops in buckets and a blue tarp sprawled across a ladder decorating the room.

What I know now after years of day-in and day-out operations is that there's always something. In the early years, I’d face a challenge that seemed devastating at the time (a beloved teacher moving out of state, an unhappy student, a leak, a technology fail that meant we couldn’t run credit cards during a busy class sign-in). As I was dealing with the incident I’d console myself with the thought that when this was over, things would go back to normal.

But like life and love, there’s no normal with a small business. There is only change. The yoga of long-term commitment is knowing that you can’t always predict what the change will look like, but if you let go a little and roll with it, you’ll make it through just fine.

As a young married couple and new business owners we approached every problem like it was the first time anyone in the world had faced such a challenge, but 10+ years of commitment and consistency has shown us that, thankfully, we are not unique. The world has seen infinite other loves, other fights, other businesses before us, and will see many more after us.

10+ years feels like trust and steadiness, even when the ground is shaky. It’s knowing that when the city tore up our street right before our big 10 year anniversary party, it was inconvenient but survivable. We trust that opening our doors every day and doing our very best has gotten us this far, and will move us into the future, too. I’m infinitely grateful for both my wonderful husband and the incredible community that is Bloom. These experiences of love, challenge, and commitment have helped me grow in more ways than I can name. Here’s to the next 10 years of both, day by day. I can only imagine where we’ll go in that time.

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On our daily walk to school, my kids and I pass a stretch of sidewalk on Rockwell that had been crumbling over the past year. More accurately it had evolved into a pile of rubble with a few patches of solid sidewalk. After reporting it to 311 a few times, I’d eventually just grown accustomed to dodging the dodgy parts and held out only a faint hope that someday it might change.

Then on a recent morning that was not much different from the one before it, the kids stopped in their tracks when they saw that the whole stretch had been dug up. The crumbling sidewalk was now a long ditch of dirt surrounded by yellow plastic tape and bounded on both sides by a sign that read, “Sidewalk closed. Please use other side.”

But somehow, every time I walked the kids to and from school for the next week, I’d find myself standing in front of that sign, not having had the presence of mind to alter my usual course before getting there. Judging by the growing rut that was developing in the grass next to the pit, the other commuters who marched this path were doing the same. All of us ignoring, or simply forgetting about, the sign’s plea until it was too late and habit won over. Once the concrete set a week later, the sidewalk was reopened and we all kept on in our usual way, the ruts of our daily walk again hidden by smooth, gray concrete.

When yoga practice becomes just another rut

Because the physical part of yoga requires repetition of the same shapes and breathing practices again and again, your time on the mat could easily become just another of life’s habitual routines. You know the drill: chaturanga, up dog, down dog, repeat. On the other hand, when you go to class and your teacher inspires you to try a different variation or prop set-up for a pose, when you cultivate a certain quality of attention to your practice, yoga can be a tool for uncovering ruts, much like a construction crew’s sledgehammer.b2ap3_thumbnail_Down-Dog-Rut-2.jpg

Down dog is a classic rut pose. Because the pose makes an appearance in almost every class (often multiple times if you’re practicing sun salutes), yoga practitioners often develop habitual down dog routines. Some people are wigglers, foot-pedalers, or sighers. Others are head-nodders, shoulder-hangers, or constant-adjusters.

I have my own little habits, and I’ve been paying closer attention to them this week on the mat. When I move from cobra into down dog in a sun salute, there’s a lot of oomph involved in simply getting my body from a prone position to an upside-down one. With all my attention on the muscular work of pushing up against gravity, hand and foot placement isn’t usually the first thing on my mind. But once I’m back in down dog, upside-down, feet staring me in the face, those little misalignments become glaringly obvious and the recovering alignment-stickler in me almost can’t take it. Is there anything wrong with making a few adjustments to my foot positioning once I get in the pose?

Of course not. But……

Here’s what I learned: my down dog adjustments are pretty much the same every time. A ha! A rut!

If my right foot always ends up a few inches forward of my left, that means my innocent little down dog foot adjustments were obscuring and deepening a rut in a way that has implications on strength, flexibility, and balance from one side of my body to the other. While my foot position in down dog isn’t a huge deal in the grand scheme of things, what I hadn’t been seeing because of this hidden rut revealed something bigger than just my lack of “perfect” alignment.

How to break out of ruts on and off the mat

Breaking out of a rut in your practice does not necessarily involve practicing a new or more difficult pose. It simply involves practicing differently.

Imagine your mat is made of wet concrete so your down dog footprints and subsequent shifting are made visible. How does that change the way you move into the pose?

Check your attachments at the door and instead be open when a teacher suggests a new variation or prop set-up for a familiar pose. What can you learn physically, mentally, and emotionally from a different approach?

If yoga makes you stronger and more flexible, great.

If it helps you to find greater peace and calm, fantastic.

But yoga’s greatest gift may be something else entirely.

What if instead of going on autopilot through chaturanga, up dog, and down dog, you could move consciously enough to discover a long-held habit? What if this simple practice of integrating body, mind, and breath could follow you out of the studio? What if you were able to be more present in conversations with people you love, more aware of the changing leaves on the route you habitually take to work, better able to recognize your ruts (physically, mentally, and emotionally)?

The crumbling sidewalk and slight inconvenience of its repair helped me to see something that had been hidden in plain sight, and it reminded me of why I keep coming back to the mat. Yes, I practice because it makes me feel better physically, mentally, and emotionally. But I don't just want to feel better today, I want to grow and change and become a more fully expressed version of myself. I want to bloom. You can only change what you can see. I'm incredibly grateful to have the help of a mindful approach to yoga to reveal my habits and patterns in a way that’s as plain as a footprint in wet concrete.

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After 18 years, I’m still amazed at the magic of mindful yoga practice. How is it possible to come to the mat feeling blah, mopey, achy, low energy, foggy, and pessimistic, only to step off the mat 90 minutes later feeling brand new?

This morning I woke up with that itch, that antsy feeling. My thoughts were jumbled with all the things I needed to do to get the kids out the door and myself to work and, while I didn’t feel any particular pain or discomfort, I just didn’t feel right (or at least I didn’t feel as good as I knew I could).

“I WANT YOGA!” my body/mind whined.

“Soon,” I comforted. “Today.”

I dropped the kids off at school and although my first instinct was to simultaneously jump into email and the fifteen things on my day’s to-do list, I knew I needed to prioritize yoga instead.

By the time I stepped off the mat 90 minutes later – once I had satisfied that physical/mental/emotional need to practice – I was a different person. My body pulsed, my low back was warm and spacious, that pesky shoulder and neck tension melted away. It felt like my entire body was breathing.

It’s incredible, it’s like magic. How in the world does this work?

Yes, as a diligent student and dedicated teacher I’ve done my homework – I know that yoga can help:

  1. Raise levels of the brain chemical GABA (higher GABA levels are correlated with a lower incidence of depression)

  2. Release less of a tension-triggered cytokine (a type of protein that can make you feel tired and moody)

  3. Lower blood pressure and slow the heart rate

  4. Engage the parasympathetic nervous system (responsible for the “rest and digest” functions of the body)

  5. Enhance circulation, facilitate healthier digestion, and promote better sleep

  6. Increase strength and flexibility, thus reducing everyday aches and pains resulting from weakness, instability, or immobility

  7. Improve posture in daily life and counteract the impact of excessive sitting on the hips and low back, while reducing the effects of forward head position on the neck and shoulders

Terrific! I’m completely on board with all of that.

But somehow, that laundry list of benefits doesn’t do justice to the way I experience my body and mind after practicing. The whole is so much more than the sum of its parts. I feel like myself again after yoga, or rather, I feel like my best self.

Let me be clear - there are many approaches to yoga, and while all have their merits, all are not equal.

Some yoga masquerades as fitness (or rather, fitness sometimes masquerades as yoga). This is the version of yoga as calisthenics, pushing, striving. By isolating the physical aspects of the practice, by focusing solely on asana (postures), only one of the eight limbs of yoga, this approach floods you with more of the same things you may already suffer from in daily life –  busyness, aggression, doing.

Given its innate physicality, it can be easy to turn yoga into just another workout. But if your practice simply becomes another way to beat yourself up or compete with your neighbor on the next mat, yes, you will get stronger, yes, you will become more flexible, but you won’t experience the magic I’m referring to.

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Something incredible happens when you approach yoga mindfully and with an equal focus on effort and ease. There’s no mistaking it - a mindful yoga practice simply feels different, and the effects of such an approach are profound and last far longer than the typical post-savasana-high.

Unlike almost any other form of physical activity, yoga integrates the body, mind, and breath. It engages the whole person, and its benefits are rooted in physicality but go deeper than the physical to beautifully counteract the stresses and impact of daily life.

Mindful yoga practice helps you cultivate the ability to discern, to develop greater self-awareness, and to know your body, mind, and breath better so that it’s easier to listen to your needs on a moment-to-moment basis. This is the magic that, like Dorothy in her ruby slippers, you’ve always possessed. Yoga just teaches you how to access it.

When I came out of my first savasana 18 years ago, I didn’t know what hit me. I’d been an athlete and a dancer all my life, so I was no stranger to my body and to how great it feels to move. But something was different with yoga from the very first time I tried it.

I became a yoga evangelist! I insisted that my mom and dad try it and cajoled friends to join me forclass. I just knew that the world would be a better place if everyone practiced yoga daily.

I completed my first yoga teacher training two years later, and I’ve been a dedicated student, practitioner, and teacher ever since. My husband and I opened our studio 10 years ago and, fortunately for our friends and family, I’ve mellowed a bit over the years.

While I still occasionally have the urge to get on my soap box knowing there are people who haven’t tried this incredible, powerful, and empowering tool for body/mind health, I know Yoga doesn’t need me to speak for it. Yoga Matters because the benefits speak for themselves.

When you leave class feeling happier and healthier, your mindful yoga practice has made a difference in your body and mind.

When you find a way to get to your mat on a busy day, yoga creates time and space and puts things in perspective (and even turns your world upside down for a few minutes!).

When the cumulative effects of your practice allow you to react calmly rather than blowing up in a moment of conflict, yoga is doing its job off the mat, too.

Yoga may not be for everyone, but it’s most definitely suitable for anyone who wants to try it. Amen to that.

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As a yoga teacher and studio owner, friends often guiltily confess to me how long it’s been since their last yoga class, or profess that this will be the week (or month or year) they’re finally going to commit to taking yoga regularly.

The conversation usually goes something like this: “Every time I go to class, I feel great afterwards. But I just can’t seem to fit it into my weekly schedule. I’m so bad.”

Can you relate?

I certainly can. It’s frustrating to desperately want to do something good for yourself, only to continually watch as other things get in the way.

Yoga was my introduction to the concept of self-care. There’s something powerful about the practice of getting quiet and still and paying attention to what’s happening on a moment-to-moment basis in your body and mind. The more time I spent on my mat, the better I was able to understand myself and my needs. In the time since I began practicing yoga 18 years ago, I’ve experienced a complete shift in how I look at the time and money I spend caring for my body and mind, and I’ve made self-care an important part of my vocabulary and my daily life.b2ap3_thumbnail_Massage-with-text.jpg

If 18 years of self-care trial and error have taught me anything, it’s this: though we profess to want to take better care of ourselves (whether that means incorporating yoga, massage, exercise, reading, hobbies, or some other self-care routine into a weekly schedule), just wanting to do it isn’t enough.

Most self-care routines are destined to fail right from the start, no matter how many times you hear yourself talking to friends about wanting to make it happen. I’m grateful to have an established self-care routine at this stage in my life, and I know I wouldn’t have been able to swing these past 10 years of being a business owner and a mom without it. But it didn’t happen without lots of thought, effort, and continued rededication to the cause after losing my way day after day, year after year.

Self-care is no accident. To increase your chances of sticking to the routine, ask yourself these five questions first:

1. Do I deserve it?
This is a biggie. In order to have any hope for sustaining a self-care routine in the long term, you first need to get honest with yourself. Unless you believe you really deserve to feel good, your self-care routine doesn’t stand a chance.

Say it with me: “Taking care of myself is not a treat, a splurge, or an indulgence.” Self-care is a necessity (particularly if you spend much of your days caring for others), and it’s a desperately undervalued but basic survival skill of successful adults.

2. What am I willing to give up to make it happen?
It all comes down to math. If there are a finite number of hours in the week (and unfortunately there are), and you’re already filling all available weekly hours with various activities – eating, sleeping, working, commuting, caring for children or pets, watching TV, keeping caught up with the latest Facebook happenings, and so on – something’s gotta give. You can’t insert a new routine into hours that are already spoken for. That means you’ll need to give serious thought to your current time allocation to decide what you’re willing to part with in order to make time for yourself.

I’ll schedule a yoga class into my calendar just as I would a meeting so that it becomes a priority for me to attend. Give your self-care routine a presence in your calendar like you would for any other daily or weekly obligation, and resist the temptation to let other things encroach on that time.

3. What strategies have I used to successfully integrate other routines into my day?
You’ve already mastered the skill of sticking to a variety of routines on a daily basis. You likely brush your teeth a couple times each day (maybe you even floss for extra credit), eat 3 meals at approximately the same time each day, and if you have kids or pets or even plants, you’re able to do all of that PLUS manage the routine needs of another living thing, too.

Consider what has enabled you to make those routines successful. You identified the need, found a time in your day when you could consistently stop other things to focus on the routine, and then you just had to commit to doing it again and again.

When it comes to starting a self-care routine, it’s easy to start out strong. Then you miss a few days due to unforeseen circumstances (work, family stuff, or just plain busyness), and the whole plan seemingly flies out the window.

But think about it: if you accidentally miss brushing your teeth one night, you don’t just decide to never go back to brushing again (or at least I hope you don’t). You start the routine over the very next day. Self-care routines work the same way.

You will have slip-ups, days or even weeks where you just can’t make your self-care routines happen. Expect it to happen, acknowledge it, adjust your schedule if needed, and then remind yourself it’s important and recommit.

4. How can I make it easier on myself?
Imagine what it looks like to take good care of yourself. Close your eyes and picture where your self-care routine takes place. What do you need in order to make it happen? Self-care routines that are inconvenient or unpleasant are sure to be short-lived, so consider what you could do to take away any barriers that may exist.

When I was trying to solidify my home yoga practice, I always felt like it took me a while to figure out where to practice and to find my mat and props, and it became an excuse to not get on the mat at all. Once I found a lovely wicker basket to organize my props right next to my practice space, that barrier was gone and it made it way easier to get on the mat.

Since Bloom opened 10 years ago, I’ve been scheduling monthly massages and they’ve helped me manage what used to be a chronic neck problem. I love massage and it’s certainly no chore receiving a session, but I’ve made it easier on myself by setting up a reoccurring reminder in my calendar to book an appointment each month. That way, I don’t have remember when it’s time to book again. I just schedule, enjoy, and repeat.

5. Am I willing to stop apologizing for taking care of myself?

Self-care comes in many forms. For some people it means making 15 minutes each morning to sit in a comfy chair with a hot cup of tea before the rest of the household wakes up. For some it’s getting a pedicure and reading a magazine. For others it’s taking a yoga class or going for a run or getting a massage. It doesn’t matter what your routine is, what’s important is that it’s something that makes you feel better.

Imagine you were in the midst of your self-care routine and you ran into a friend. Would your first tendency be to apologize or to rationalize the indulgence of taking time just for yourself?

If so, I encourage you to explore what it would feel like to completely own your decision to care for yourself and to say goodbye to apologizing for feeling great. It’s empowering, liberating, and it may inspire others to similarly own their self-care routines. Imagine what the world would be like if everyone took better care of themselves….

Here’s to your health and a consistent self-care routine that makes you feel at your best!

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Within moments after bringing the kids home from camp, dragging myself and two drawstring bags stuffed full of swim suits, towels, sunscreen, water bottles, and lunchboxes through the front door, it began. 

“Can you help me find my baseball glove, Mom?”

“I want to watch TV!”

“Mom, can I have a snack?” (A favorite in our family. I’ve always suspected that when my kids see me coming to pick them up they imagine me as a big, juicy, steaming chicken drumstick.)

With each pull at my pant leg and each subsequent question, even when asked politely, I could sense my hulk-style evolution towards Mean Mommydom. My answers got unnecessarily curt and I gritted my teeth so as not to blurt out, “Just leave me alone!”

I wanted to be a mom so desperately in the years before my kids were born. I remember looking at myself in the mirror and wondering what it would feel like to have a baby, my baby, in my arms. What I was unprepared for was the intensity of the wanting on the other end, too.

Even as they’re gradually becoming more independent at 8 and 5, my children want a lot of me. They often still need full body contact in the form of cuddles, hugs, and kisses; they want to tell me about something unfair that happened at camp that day or ask me for help opening a new package of art supplies. I’m totally on board with this, most of the time.

But sometimes the wanting overwhelms me. After spending the bulk of my day working and going through the various routines to take care of my family’s needs, at the end of the day it can seem that there’s nothing left for me.

After my Gentle Yoga class a few weeks ago, one of my wonderful, thoughtful students said, “I feel so taken care of in your class. It made me wonder – who takes care of you?”

I hugged her and nearly cried because it’s the same question that had popped into my head that very morning as I was on my mat.

Taking care – of children, aging parents, spouses, friends – can be demanding, but harder still is consistently making time for self-care. Why are the needs of others so obvious, so impossible to ignore? Who, finally, will take care of you?

b2ap3_thumbnail_your-mask-first.jpgWe’ve all heard it before: put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others.

But there’s something important missing from that advice.

Once you’ve put the child’s mask on and he’s out of danger, there’s no need to be a martyr and take yours off. You don’t have to wait for another crisis to put yours back on again.

Of course there will be moments when the needs of those in your care necessarily (but temporarily) overtake your own. Whether your child comes home with a hurt (physical or emotional), your aging parent takes a turn for the worse, or a friend is going through a crisis and needs your support, sometimes the needs of others are intense and urgent and it’s a wonderful thing to be the one who is able to take care.

But when the immediate needs pass, what do you do? Do you find a way to make up for your overextension, or do you keep yourself perpetually in caretaking mode, resentful of the fact that there never seems to be enough time for you?

Any day when I practice yoga, sit for meditation, take a run, walk, bike ride, swim, connect with a good friend, or go to bed early with a good book, I’m doing what no one else can do for me. I leave the proverbial oxygen mask on for a good long time. I breathe in, replenish, and smile. I breathe out and answer for myself that essential question: who takes care of me? I do.

As the kids continue to bustle with post-camp questions and requests, I know they just want me to put on their masks, to help them come down from the day. But right now, after a late night spent working to make up for an afternoon of extra playtime at the park, my mask needs to come first.

“Guys,” I say, crouching down to their level, breathing deeply and feeling Mean Mommy melt a bit. “I just need five minutes with no one asking me for anything. Okay?”

They look at me for a moment, then nod. They’ve heard this before and though it’s not their first choice, they’ll do their best. My five-year-old daughter waits a whole minute before starting to ask me for something, then catches herself and stops mid-sentence. I hug her and feel taken care of.

After the five minutes are up I switch gears and let myself be needed again. Then when they go to bed, I pretend I’m my own mother and have a short debate with myself about the choice between work and sleep. I imagine how beautiful it would feel to heed rather than fight my droopy eyelids, and crawl into bed shortly after.

The next morning after I drop them off at camp, rather than immediately launching into battle with my email, rather than ripping off the mask, I bring myself to my mat for a gentle yoga practice. I move consciously and breathe deeply, because no one else can do it for me.

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