Sigue siguiendo

Things are trundling along. Seven people came to my Monday night class last week, a new record for me in that space so I am excited and humbled and working extra hard to make sure my classes are varied, fun, and challenging to the myriad of levels that are attending lately. The most exciting part is that the students are repeats; that is to say, it wasn't random that seven people showed up that night, I play a part in their presence at my class...suffice to say that I'm doing something right, and I'll be honest, after almost a year of barely one or two people showing up, it feels really good.


Next week is the one year anniversary of the first class I ever taught at Balance in Motion. Teaching yoga is absolutely 100% the opposite of what I imagined it would be during the year I was perpetually enrolled in various trainings and workshops, the year that I attended yoga classes at least five times/week, (even working at the studio to balance this passion--my biggest expense aside from rent), the year I was more-or-less sober and celibate, the year I (and here's where some yogi-speak comes in) remembered my essential nature, and finally stopped filling up the gaps with ridiculous, short-term flings, or searching for answers at the bottom of a pint. I had multiple dreams, vivid, realistic dreams of giving birth, my belly full and ripe; I'd wake up trembling, not so much from the actual details of the dream but from the fact that I knew in my heart I was giving birth to a new part of myself, a delicate, vulnerable part that I would have to hold close and nurture to fruition. It was an exciting time.

Cut to nearly exactly a year to the day later--I experienced some health issues that were quite the opposite of giving birth to something. I won't go into detail here because it's not the place but it was a sharp juxtaposition from my previous year of growth-in both cases, my internal landscape manifested itself physically. I was scared. I had forgotten, in my excitement, that for anything to truly blossom and flourish, old growth must be cut away to make room for the new. I learned that sometimes it feels liberating and expansive to let go of the old; other times, it sucks and I want to do whatever it takes to hold on to it, even after it's no longer useful. It's that old metaphor about the plant: if you don't transfer a plant every so often, it becomes root bound and dies. Same goes for us--my question is, why is the new pot so damn terrifying???


It is a difficult lesson to learn, and one I am still learning, every day. The yoga practice has illuminated the very aspects of myself that I used to run from. I don't know why I ever thought this would be easy! Because it's not, it's actually really fucking intense. That's why this practice works. It's uplifting in that it celebrates all the wonderful things that make you who you are; but it's also really hardcore sometimes to have this very honest mirror held constantly in front of you, and to STILL keep coming back day after day to your mat as a student, practicing, inquiring, listening. I know there is this stereotype of the always-blissed-out yogi, and while I have had moments like that, I've also had the opposite: moments where I feel like a dragon and all I want to do is spit fire at the instructor; or moments at home, where I roll out my mat only to do a couple poses before bursting into tears. I'm not going to tell you it's fun all the time, because that would be a lie, and I'm trying not to do that anymore...


Teaching yoga is an honor and a privilege. I am working on breathing into the growing pains, recognizing when I start to feel anxious about the new growth, and moving forward anyway. It's hard, but it's so worth it. See you on the mat! xoxox