Tuesday, June 24, 2014
I can't straighten my arms and other issues of the day
Well, it's Tuesday and my arms are still killing me from CrossFit. I'm probably mentioning that first, since my break down yesterday, just putting it off or trying to post something more interesting than me falling apart. I can't take the bend out of my elbows, so teaching this morning was a bit Tin Man-like. I felt pretty good about class, although it's hard for me to be objective anymore. I keep thinking, did they like it? Did I adjust/assist, enough/properly, how was my voice?, Did I pay attention, keep my eyes open, etc? I am a bit obsessed with 'fixing it' though. I discovered last night, that my parents instilled some of this in me, I'm trying not to blame them, although that's tempting. My mom is a retired school teacher; she told me last night that she has always had problems with eye contact. My dad kept talking about fixing it. There is not a linear solution. Fuck, it would be nice if there was, step 1, 2, 3,...solved! Oh and fast? Is there a fast way to do this? I think what I might do is just go do yoga by the lake when it's sunny out. See if I can meet people there and maybe start a little group. My mind spins when this happens AND I WANT TO DO EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING TO FIX IT. I need to be reminded that it is a process. I have to get this shit under control though...before I go home in July.
Monday, June 16, 2014
We don't need fixing, nothing is broken
Today has been a very hard day for me. As much as I want to tell you I got to lift weights, had a good belly laugh, made some tasty food and taken a yoga class or something and I'm feeling inspired, I can't.
I headed on in to teach a flow class this afternoon, I fell apart. I was a stuttering basket case, who said not once but twice 'up dog' instead of half way lift...like wtf?! No connection, I wanted to hide or And normally, I would make a joke and shake it off. If people laughed, I relaxed, because you know we're all human. It's nice as a student to know that your teachers are the same as you, that they're not perfect, that they are VULNERABLE. What a word. Vulnerable. I very much dislike that we have created a culture that looks down on this important feature and some of us continue to deny it to ourselves and criticize others for it. Listen, no one likes being wrong, sad, angry, whatever label you want to give those failures and dark feelings, but when we don't allow ourselves space and we bottle all of it in, beating ourselves up, allowing our thinking and actions to go down the rabbit hole, where does it get us? We suffer more, we take it out on others, whatever the lash out seems to be, or lash in, isolating ourselves from the world. I so badly want to put myself out there and I have from time to time, but how can I live out loud all. the. time. That sounds so cliche, that even I threw up a bit in my mouth too. But if it's cliche, then it must be true....or something. Where is the balance? What the fuck am I doing? Now that happened, do I fear for my job? Am I going to get fired? (shut up, little voice saying yes!) This is the cycle and my practice is to notice those voices & cycles but not go along with them for that nasty roller coaster ride.
Failure allows us to get creative. Let me elaborate; so you've got your plan and you're on your way and BAM! (Epic?) Fail. You have your fit, you cry, it wasn't supposed to be this way. The good news is, failure isn't finite. You step back and you get to try something else, if you choose to.
On days like today, I think about my Dad and what he would do. If I were call him now, he would remind me that 1. Things could always be worse, 2. That this isn't really that big of a struggle, even if it feels like it, 3.tell me some metaphor or euphemism to farming, machines, or baking bread. And I am feeling nostalgic about something in particular. My Dad has never feared (or at least outwardly feared) taking apart a machine, he farmed for 20+ years and now owns a bakery, something always breaks, sure he'd swear and yell, throw things, BUT he would take it apart. Piece-by-piece until he either found the broken cog or until there was nothing left to take apart. He has told me that more often than not, nothing is broken. He might take the time to clean the dirt and grease off. Then he would journey back, putting each screw, nut, and bolt back in what he thought was the right order. And turn the key or push the power button. A lot of the time, the pistons would fire and the engine would turn over, other times, it would sputter. He has said, more often than not, the tractor or oven or stove, didn't require any new parts, that simply putting it back together did the trick. I have to remind myself that we are not machines, we don't get to swap out the 'bad' parts, but, shit, wouldn't that be easy? I digress. But rather, that we can take ourselves apart, voluntarily or not, see ourselves for real, and then put ourselves back together. Cracks and all. And that process might allow us be comfortable in our skin, to be vulnerable. After all, the cracks let the light shine through. (Ok, so you might have just thrown up again, #sorry #notsorry)
So, as I dry my tears, possibly just to allow for more to flow or only so I can see the TV while House of Cards is on, I am left with a choice. Well, probably several choices. My choice, right now, is to slow down, try not to 'fix' everything at once, as I tend to do, but to just allow space for myself, to be right here, in this fire. To simmer. And to not worry or anticipate the next choice. To live free. To take myself, screw-by-screw, and put it back together. The way I want. Even if I fuck up 12098432 more times.
(Shift you left knee back!)
Well, I'm off to call my Dad....
I headed on in to teach a flow class this afternoon, I fell apart. I was a stuttering basket case, who said not once but twice 'up dog' instead of half way lift...like wtf?! No connection, I wanted to hide or And normally, I would make a joke and shake it off. If people laughed, I relaxed, because you know we're all human. It's nice as a student to know that your teachers are the same as you, that they're not perfect, that they are VULNERABLE. What a word. Vulnerable. I very much dislike that we have created a culture that looks down on this important feature and some of us continue to deny it to ourselves and criticize others for it. Listen, no one likes being wrong, sad, angry, whatever label you want to give those failures and dark feelings, but when we don't allow ourselves space and we bottle all of it in, beating ourselves up, allowing our thinking and actions to go down the rabbit hole, where does it get us? We suffer more, we take it out on others, whatever the lash out seems to be, or lash in, isolating ourselves from the world. I so badly want to put myself out there and I have from time to time, but how can I live out loud all. the. time. That sounds so cliche, that even I threw up a bit in my mouth too. But if it's cliche, then it must be true....or something. Where is the balance? What the fuck am I doing? Now that happened, do I fear for my job? Am I going to get fired? (shut up, little voice saying yes!) This is the cycle and my practice is to notice those voices & cycles but not go along with them for that nasty roller coaster ride.
Failure allows us to get creative. Let me elaborate; so you've got your plan and you're on your way and BAM! (Epic?) Fail. You have your fit, you cry, it wasn't supposed to be this way. The good news is, failure isn't finite. You step back and you get to try something else, if you choose to.
On days like today, I think about my Dad and what he would do. If I were call him now, he would remind me that 1. Things could always be worse, 2. That this isn't really that big of a struggle, even if it feels like it, 3.tell me some metaphor or euphemism to farming, machines, or baking bread. And I am feeling nostalgic about something in particular. My Dad has never feared (or at least outwardly feared) taking apart a machine, he farmed for 20+ years and now owns a bakery, something always breaks, sure he'd swear and yell, throw things, BUT he would take it apart. Piece-by-piece until he either found the broken cog or until there was nothing left to take apart. He has told me that more often than not, nothing is broken. He might take the time to clean the dirt and grease off. Then he would journey back, putting each screw, nut, and bolt back in what he thought was the right order. And turn the key or push the power button. A lot of the time, the pistons would fire and the engine would turn over, other times, it would sputter. He has said, more often than not, the tractor or oven or stove, didn't require any new parts, that simply putting it back together did the trick. I have to remind myself that we are not machines, we don't get to swap out the 'bad' parts, but, shit, wouldn't that be easy? I digress. But rather, that we can take ourselves apart, voluntarily or not, see ourselves for real, and then put ourselves back together. Cracks and all. And that process might allow us be comfortable in our skin, to be vulnerable. After all, the cracks let the light shine through. (Ok, so you might have just thrown up again, #sorry #notsorry)
So, as I dry my tears, possibly just to allow for more to flow or only so I can see the TV while House of Cards is on, I am left with a choice. Well, probably several choices. My choice, right now, is to slow down, try not to 'fix' everything at once, as I tend to do, but to just allow space for myself, to be right here, in this fire. To simmer. And to not worry or anticipate the next choice. To live free. To take myself, screw-by-screw, and put it back together. The way I want. Even if I fuck up 12098432 more times.
(Shift you left knee back!)
Well, I'm off to call my Dad....
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Get comfortable with the uncomfortable
I recently moved across the country from my tiny hometown of Bloomer, WI (that's Wisconsin, just saving you the time to Google it.). Fun trivia fact: Bloomer is the jump rope capital of the WORLD. We had competitions until high school for the most jumps in 30 seconds. My highest ever was in the 3rd or 4th grade at 44 jumps. Anyway, I digress, (this is gonna happen all the time).
So, now I'm out in Seattle. I moved to teach yoga full time (I also have a 'real' part-time job, working from home. People have a hard time believing one can teach yoga full time and it be a 'real' job.). The first month was good, easy-ish. Month #2 and beyond has been a struggle. I've been trying to sit with this discomfort, letting it 'burn out' but HOLY FUCK it's hard. But this is my current practice, on and off my mat.
So, now I'm out in Seattle. I moved to teach yoga full time (I also have a 'real' part-time job, working from home. People have a hard time believing one can teach yoga full time and it be a 'real' job.). The first month was good, easy-ish. Month #2 and beyond has been a struggle. I've been trying to sit with this discomfort, letting it 'burn out' but HOLY FUCK it's hard. But this is my current practice, on and off my mat.
I did finally find a CrossFit gym I like, that isn't crazy expensive and the workouts are what I wanted. Mainly lifting, short WODs, some stretching/mobility.
I made this for lunch:
It's Salmon, cooked with ghee, lemon juice, and capers. I tried to reduce the sauce with coconut milk but I think I failed, but it didn't taste bad. That's sautéed spinach & asparagus underneath (I used ghee & salt).
I hang out with these guys a lot:
The black one is mine, Charlie and the other little nugget is Zoey.
This afternoon, I'm preparing a Beatles playlist for class. Life is hard :)
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