My teacher, Ed

When I heard the news of Ed's passing I think I was in shock.  I knew he wasn't well but I still wasn't prepared for this news.   The guilt I feel for not participating in his care at the end weighs heavy on my heart.   I should have made time to go visit him.  Thankfully, I told him many times over the years how much I loved him and how important he was to me.  I'll have to hold on to that while I carry this guilt. 

I first met Ed at Yoga on Main in 2007.  I was convinced he was my guru even though he wanted no parts of that!  I looked up to him as my teacher and spiritual guide for many years.  He wasn't an easy teacher. Truth be told, he mostly ignored me at first.  He rarely answered my questions.  It took years for him to take me serious as a student.  Even then he was harsh with me.  His harshness only made me work harder for his approval.  I'll never forget the feeling of getting a star on my Ayurveda homework with a little note "Great work".   I felt like I won the lottery!  I still have that homework assignment.  

When I asked him if he would be willing to lead a study group on the Upanishads instead of an answer he gave me a challenge.  "You find 5 people interested and I'll do it." I accepted the challenge and started recruiting. At first I was literally bribing my friends with dinner at my house if they would go to Ed's for the study group.  Every month I was practically dragging people off the street so that I'd have 5 people to attend the study group.   Eventually, a small group of serious students would consistently show up, month after month and the group grew. 

The hours we spent at Ed's little cabin in the woods were magical.  The wood stove and the giant pot of homemade chai kept us warm while we watched the birds and listened to Ed's stories.  Sometimes we would roll our eyes when he would recount the same story for the 100th time with new embellishments every time he told the story.  Still, we knew how lucky we were to be there.  It felt like church for us.  It was a sacred space filled with years of spiritual practices that the energy was palpable.  After a while, someone else took over organizing the study group.  Most of the students from the original group moved on.  I continued to attend for a long time but then... I too, stopped attending.  At first, the schedule didn't work for me and then I felt disconnected from the group.  

I have so many Ed stories rolling around in my head right now.  I remember one night after yoga teacher training Ed and I were walking to our cars.  He was telling me that he was doing some chores at his house and he got hurt. It made him worry that if anything happened to him no one would even know because he was alone in middle of the woods.  When I asked him what I could do to help him he said "find me a nice lady."  Instead, we compromised.  I committed to checking in with him every day to make sure he was ok.  He happily agree.  Each day I would either call, or email him.   This went on for several years.  Some days he would exchange some pleasantries and other days just a simple "OK" to my question "how are you doing today?".   There came a point when he had a new group of students that he was interacting with on a regular basis and we agreed that I no longer needed to check on him daily. I'm so grateful to this group of students who have been caring for him until the end.   

Once, when Ed learned that I was teaching a workshop on Sadhana he pushed a book into my hands and said "If you're going to be teaching Sadhana you should at least know something about it".  This was one of the times when his harshness really hurt.  However, another student pointed out that he must trust me if he was willing to loan me one of his books.  I was so nervous that something would happen to the  book during the month I had it that I carried it around in a ziplock bag.  I would only read it at the dining room table with a clean tablecloth.  It was at the dining room table that the front cover of the book fell off!!  I was horrified! After hyper-ventilating for an hour I frantically searched the internet to find a replacement.  The following month when I returned Ed's book, still in the ziplock bag, I explained what happened.  I offered him both the original and the replacement copy, practically in tears.  He grabbed the original and brushed it off saying "That happens with books from India all the time".   It was only after I had read the book that he  would engage in a serious conversation with me about Sadhana.  

I could fill a book with stories about Ed.  Maybe I'll write a series of posts to share some of my favorite stories.  I'll call it "Ed says".   I'll end this post with the story of the last time I was with Ed before he started to decline.  He invited me to teach his Ayurveda students a class on Ayurveda and Yoga.  I was scheduled to teach for 2 hours. I was so nervous teaching in front of him but once I began I found my rhythm and the time flew by.  During the break he came over to me and told me that I did a fantastic job and he was impressed with the material I had prepared. So much so that he let me teach the rest of the class that day.  The star on my homework felt like winning the lottery.  Receiving positive feedback on my teaching Ayurvedic yoga felt like.... I don't know.  I can't find the words to describe how that felt.  Honestly, it felt like he finally saw me as a serious student.  

When I was leaving after that class he told me I was a good teacher. As I hugged him good-bye I told him that it was because I had good teachers like him that I am able to be a good teacher.   My heart is broken that we didn't have more time together but I know that I was blessed to have spent so many hours seated at the foot of my guru.  I will honor his memory by continuing to share the teachings I learned from him.  

Oh... one more story,   I was trying to figure out why I felt such a strong connection to a teacher that I didn't know very well.  Ed said to me "You may not have known her very well in this lifetime but there's no doubt that we have all done this dance together in another lifetime."   The thought of sharing another lifetime with Ed as my teacher gives me some comfort tonight.  I wonder if he'll be telling the same stories in the next life?? 

One day I'll tell you about the time I brought Ed the soup he requested when he was sick.   That was another time when his harshness hurt.  He could be such a cranky old man at times but I loved him and my life is infinitely better for having had him as my teacher. 

 Until we meet again.... 

What would you say to your 19-year-old self?

 

When I was 19 years old I didn't know a damn thing about life.  I certainly didn't know a damn thing about myself (I just didn't know that at the time).   Today, at an age much older than 19 I sat down with this stack of journals and read the thoughts of my 19-year-old self.  

This particular stack of journals I started when my first child was born.  I had intended to write to my children in them and present them to my kids when they had their own children.  That's your first clue of how little I actually knew about life; to think that I would have the time and energy for such things.  I did manage to keep writing for about five years.  This is impressive when you consider I was working full time and was essentially the sole caregiver for my babies.  But I digress....

It was fun to read how excited I was at each milestone, first smile from baby, first tooth, first step.  It was hard to read how scared and sad I was so much of the time.  I wasted so much energy worrying.  Truth be told I still struggle with worry sometimes.  Some entries were so boring...." today we went for a walk and picked dandelions.  Others were about important events both in the world and in our family.  Page after page there's an undertone of both hopefulness and sadness.   I thought about burning these books so many times.  I had abandoned the idea of giving them to my kids long ago.   After all, these are my stories and my insecurities that will do them no good.

In one of the early entries, I wrote that I hoped my kids would one day read the journals and get to know me.  In those days, I wasn't comfortable opening up about how I felt or what I thought.  Honestly, even in the journals I was making excuses for other people's bad behavior and never fully expressing how I really felt.  I suppose I felt like I had to censor some things since my intention was to one day give the journals to the kids.  There was a twinge of sadness at the thought that my kids would need to read my journals in order to get to know the real me.  I've since learned that kids are much more perceptive than we give them credit for.  

The decision to read them before I burned them was a good one.  It's spring, which always has an air of hopefulness.  The windows are open and the gentle breeze carries in the sweet smell of the Lilac while I read.  A few things stood out to me.  A big one is that although I have changed tremendously since I wrote those words some parts of me have stayed the same.  My heart's desire has always been to create a life where my children grow up knowing that they are loved.  I wrote often about hoping to create a peaceful, simple life.  I do believe I've succeeded in both.  

Life has taken so many unexpected turns.  Some joyful and some sorrowful but each designed to bring me to this moment. I admit that the road to get here was not the road I intended to travel but nevertheless, I have arrived at the life that my 19-year-old self hoped for.   Sitting here, listening to the birds chirping while my children share their own experiences and insecurities with me as they navigate their way through the early years of motherhood, I feel a great sense of contentment.   

I've learned so much about myself over the years and if I could go back and talk to that 19-year-old girl I would tell her that the road ahead is bumpy and sometimes scary but that she is stronger and braver than she knows.  I would tell her that as long as she follows her heart every step of the way life will be more beautiful than she ever hoped for. 

What would you tell your 19-year-old self?

It dawned on me this morning.

I went out early this morning at 6am to get some fresh fruit and yogurt. The air was cool and clear for a Sunday in July.  When I got home I sat down at the dining room table to drink my coffee.  That's when it dawned on me.  I was sitting looking at my beautiful plants and at the box of craft supplies.  I had come full circle.  I've been spending time gardening, crafting, and entertaining.   I've been feeling at peace with the pace of life.   

I wondered what came first.  Was it the peace and contentment that brought me back to doing the things that I loved or was doing the things I loved bringing me the feeling of peace and contentment?  Why do we stop doing things that bring us joy?  

Either way, gratitude is the overwhelming feeling today. I'm grateful that I had the courage to make the hard decisions which lead me to this point in my life.  Contrast always catches my eye when I look at artwork or nature.  Today, contrast is catching my attention as I appreciate the sweetness of this present moment when I remember the stress and tension that used to be my life.  Sure, I still have stress, tension, and challenges.  The difference now is that those are only moments and not pervading my whole life. 

Tell me, what brings you joy?  Have you experienced moments of peace and contentment? What were you doing when you experienced those moments?  What is it that you are grateful for today?  

Message from the garden

 

"Now I know why not everyone has a garden, it's hard work" This was Jake's observation this morning while helping me in the garden.  It is hard work but honestly, what isn't these days?  

I'm an amateur gardener.  I dig a hole, plant something, and hope for the best.  That's probably not the best technique but I tend to learn better by actually doing whatever I'm trying to learn.  Each year I learn more and more.  Some years are plentiful and others not so much.  Some problems are in my control, like learning to prune the tomato plant and fig tree.  Other things are out of my control, the critters and the weather for example.  

The first couple rows of beans I had planted early in the season weren't looking so good.  I debated about pulling them out and starting over.  This morning I had to add more string to support them!  They not only bounced back, but they are thriving.

The same thing happened with the Basil plant that was in my kitchen window.  Most of it was dead and while I was taking it to the trash can I noticed one teeny tiny shoot on one of the stems.  Instead of throwing it out I cut away all the dead parts and planted the stem with the tiny shoot in fresh soil and took it outside.  Today I needed to re-pot it in a bigger container.  

I moved on to pulling weeds from the fire pit area.  Last year we put down cardboard, then a layer of weed blocker, and topped the entire area with rocks.  Yet, I still need to pull weeds from the area which got me thinking about resiliency.  

Resilience (from the Cambridge dictionary) means the ability to be happy, successful, etc. again after something difficult or bad has happened.  It also says the ability of a substance to return to its usual shape after being bent, stretched, or pressed.  

While some weeds came out fairly easily, others had much deeper, stronger roots.  Those weeds I left alone.  I figured, after all they went through (cardboard, weed blocker, rocks) their resiliency earned them the right to be there.  These persistent weeds, with their deep, strong roots, were reflecting back to me my own resilience and the resiliency of all women in this country.  Why are there still those who fail to see that we have earned our rights? 

I've experienced difficult and even bad things, I've been bent, stretched, and pressed in so many areas of my life.  Today, I'm sweaty, achy, and exhausted but my roots are deep, I have a support system and I've earned the right to be here.  At times I feel like a teeny tiny shoot holding on and reaching for the sunshine.  At times, I'm tired and ragged.  Still, like the persistent plants in my garden with their strong roots, I continue to grow.  Sometimes, it's not the plant but the environment that needs changing in order for it to blossom.   

Some gardens grow in nice, neat rows, others grow wild and untamed.  Both are beautiful and both can be bountiful.  One isn't better than the other.  The choice of neat and tidy or wild and untamed is up to the gardener.  How we each chose to live our lives is up to us.  

Like most women in this country I have been contemplating the ramifications of the Supreme court's decision to overturn Roe v Wade.  Although I personally am against abortion for me I respect the rights of each woman to make the decision that she feels is best for her and her situation.  Life, after all, it not always neat and tidy.  Sometimes things outside of our control happen and life becomes messy.  Who can presume to know what's best for someone else? 

What came to me as I was pulling weeds is that it may take some time to gather our energy and start the arduous journey of pushing up, once again, through all the barriers put in place to keep us down.  The work women have been doing for decades has strengthened our roots so that we can continue to grow.  We have earned the right to bodily autonomy through our strength, resiliency and persistence.  We can't give up now.  

If you prefer a nice, tidy garden where everything is under your control then by all means grow that type of garden at your home.  If you prefer your garden wild and untamed then by all means grow that type of garden at your home. There is enough room in the world for both.  

 Imagine if you tried to go into your neighbor's garden and decided that your way of gardening is the only way and started implementing your ideas in their garden.  You might think that's ok because you truly believe your way is the right way.   Would you be okay with your neighbor coming into YOUR garden and implementing their ways in your garden?  After all, they too feel their way is truly the right way.  

Remember, at the end of the day, the only garden you have the right to tend to is your own.  If you want to grow Swiss Chard in your garden... Go for it.  But please don't tell me what to grow in my garden.  Honestly, if we all focused on tending to our own gardens we'd be to tired to care what the neighbors are doing in theirs.  

 

  

Nothing lasts forever, not even YOM

A musician friend once told me that when you're making music the pauses between the notes are just as important as the notes themselves.  The importance of pauses has become a recurring theme for me.  Typically, my motto is to simply plow through to the next task.  It took years for me to realize the value of simply pausing and waiting until the next step becomes clear. 

Right now, at this moment, the next task isn't straightforward.   I thought that by the time I got to this day I would have a clear path forward.  That hasn't happened.  All I know for sure is that this weekend I will be teaching my final classes at Yoga on Main.  

Truth be told, I thought Yoga on Main was a magical place that would go on forever.  I never thought the day would come when Yoga on Main no longer existed.  My heart is heavy today.  I know that yoga teaches us non-attachment.  I know we learned that everything is temporary.  I know that it's the teachings that are magical and not the structure that we call "Yoga on Main" still, I'm only human and my heart feels heavy.  

There are no words to adequately express the love and gratitude that I feel for all the teachers that I've studied with over the years, to name a few:  Ed Zadlo, Shiva Das, Betheyla, Paula Tepedino, Shakti Durgaya, Christopher Burns and so many more.  I'm grateful to Jessica Golden for entrusting me to be her sidekick as we did our best to navigate the challenges that came with the running of a yoga studio through a global pandemic, civil unrest and so much more.  We could write a book about our adventures.  It would surely be a bestseller, filled with drama and comedy! 

I can truly say that each person I met at Yoga on Main has had a lasting impact on my life, both teachers and students.  

There were challenges too, HOLY HELL were there challenges over the years!  I came face to face with some pretty big egos, including my own.  Those challenges taught me valuable lessons but the blessings and friendships far outweighed the difficulties.   

I can honestly say that I am not the same person I was when I first walked in the doors of Yoga on Main. I could never have imagined the wild ride that I would be on for the last 15 years.  I have shared my darkest days and my best days with the YOM community and it's the community that I will miss most of all.  I will miss the chai and chats that were the norm after yoga class.  

When it became clear that the time had arrived to say goodbye my first thought was that I will plow through and continue to teach yoga on zoom.  When we faced a global pandemic I was grateful for zoom.  It turned out to be a great way for us to stay connected and to continue to practice together.  I was grateful when I thought it would only be for a few months.   It was convenient to not have to drive 45 minutes and have to circle the block 28 times to find parking.  It wasn't so convenient in so many other ways.  Virtual hugs cannot compare to Shiva Das' famous hugs. 

Anyway, the time has come.  I do not have a clear path in front of me. What I do know for sure is that a pause is required.  For the last 7 or 8 years, I have worked 2 or 3 jobs at a time.   Working 7 days a week.  It was necessary but exhausting.  There have been many huge changes in my life as well these last few years.  Changes that I haven't fully processed yet. 

I feel a great sense of loyalty and responsibility toward the Yoga on Main community which is why the decision to take a pause from teaching weekly yoga classes was so difficult.  In order for me to continue offering yoga authentically, from my heart, I need to take time to reflect and contemplate how I want to be of service in the future. 

My intention is to take the summer off from teaching.  I want to focus more on my personal sadhana, work in my garden, finish editing my memoir, and welcome my newest granddaughter into the world at the end of the summer.  

My hope is that by the fall the path forward will become more clear to me.  Until then "may the long time sun shine upon you, all love surround you, and the pure light within you, guide your way on".  

Om Namaha Shiva!  

A householder's guide to Enlightenment

As soon as I opened that dusty old Rubbermaid tub, I knew I had fallen down the rabbit hole. I spent the next 3 days looking at old family photos.  The saying goes, "The days are long but the years are short". It feels like another lifetime and yesterday simultaneously. 

Those long days were so hard.  On a daily basis I would think to myself "damn women's lib!!"  All it did was make my life harder.  I was expected to work full-time AND raise children, AND keep house, AND volunteer at the kids’ school, AND be a good wife, friend, daughter.  On a daily basis I felt like I was juggling balls of fire and more often than not, dropping a few.  Most nights I'd go bed with that nagging feeling in my gut that I was failing.  The photos tell a different story.  

Life in those days was a three-ring circus but we did have fun.  It's always fun at the circus.  My kids grew up with chickens, and dogs, and parrots, and cats.  They always had lots of family around and friends.  We had great adventures and created all sorts of fun crafts.  The house was filled with Disney movies, and singing and lots of playing pretend with baby dolls, super heroes and Legos. There were books, crayons and markers everywhere and an almost constant sound of basketballs.  Riding bikes and climbing trees, trick-or-treating and sleep overs. 

There were also tears, and yelling; lots of yelling. Let's not forget the fighting.  "She's looking at me!!!" was a very common exclamation at our circus.  I missed the memo about the bake sale at school so I was the mom with the donut holes from the 7-Elven but I wasn't the only mom.   I forgot to wash the sleeping bag for daycare.... but I wasn't the only mom.  We were late to school; I was late to work.  There was an incident with a winter coat that landed ME in the principal’s office and eventually to the counselor's office.  (You can read about that on my post titled "My lowest motherhood moment").  

As my kids got older, the circus changed but there was still juggling.  There was still fun and fighting, laughter and tears.  Did I ever tell you about the time that my 12yr old fired the babysitter?  Yes, you read that correctly.  I'm not sure what I was more shocked about; the fact that my 12yr old fired the babysitter or the fact that the babysitter listened to her and went home.   We are quite a cast of characters. 

In those days, I would "go to Yoga" on Wednesday nights.  Most weeks I felt like I was holding my breath until Wednesday when I could breathe.  I would rush home from work, pick up the kids from after care and bring them home.  I'd give them a quick dinner and rush to yoga.  It was 1 hour, once a week that was just for me.  I didn't feel guilty about it at all.  Until, that is, parent-teacher conference with Tayler's kindergarten teacher.   That's when Mrs. Baker informed me that she felt I wasn't giving Tayler enough attention.  She came to that conclusion because Tayler told her that I don't study her alphabet with her.   You see, I was so good at studying that Tayler didn't realize our nightly game of alphabet bingo was actually studying.  When you have children, you live in constant fear about what is going to come out of their mouths.  If you ever need a good laugh, volunteer to be the class room mom in kindergarten. 

There's no doubt in my mind that Yoga made me a better mother.  Not only did yoga/meditation give me the tools I needed to stay calm and present but I believe that the benefits of my practice had a ripple effect on the children.  I remember one day; my son was having a meltdown.  It had been a rough day for all of us.  I could total relate to how he was feeling because I too was on the verge of a meltdown.  Instead, I sat on the floor next to him.  He screamed.... I practiced the Ujjayi breath.  The louder he screamed, the louder I'd make the breath sound.  In between his screams he would look at me; curious. Slowly, he began to match the rhythm of my breath.  Eventually, he crawled into my lap.  We both felt better after that.   

I remember daydreaming about the day I would have more time to practice.  I used to daydream about going to yoga retreats and immersing myself in the "Yoga lifestyle".   I so badly wanted to go to India.  I was convinced that I would never truly be a yogi if I didn't go to India.  I wasted so much time thinking that when my children grow up, I'll be able to "fulfill my dharma".  

 As the saying goes, the days are long but the years are short.  I've been studying and practicing for 27yrs.  I never did make it to India.  I've never gone on a yoga retreat.  I did however manage to take nearly 2,000 hours of yoga teacher training.  I've been blessed with many incredible yoga adventures.  I've met tons of amazing people along this yoga journey.   

I turned 50 this past August.  My children are all grown. No more chauffeuring kids, no more cheering from the bleachers, no more parent-teacher conferences.  I have more time.  This mid-life space is a really interesting space to be in.  I have more time to do all the things I've always dreamt about doing only to find that those things don't seem important anymore.   Looking through the photos, I realized that I've been living my dharma all along.  Raising kind, caring, compassionate, creative children is the most important practice in the world.  Fulfilling my duties as a householder was how I honored God every day.  

The year I got lost

How do I begin this story?  It is after all, a story.  A true one but a story none-the-less.   A defining moment in my life but still, I acknowledge, a story.   

At first I thought the story began 10 months ago when I was attacked in Yoga-land.  However, as I mentioned already, this is a true story and if I'm honest the story began many lifetimes ago.  The "attack" was simply the trigger that sent me into the most recent spiral. 

Three months into the COVID19 crisis I found myself terrified every time my kids went to work that they would contract this potentially deadly disease, and trying to adapt to a virtual life.  Work, teaching, socializing all shifted to staring at a  computer screen for most of my day.   

Then June happened.  My dog, Luna, who I love like my child was having trouble breathing.  I was given 2 options 1) surgery that cost $8,000. (which might as well have been a million dollars) 2) Put her down.  I was devastated.  That was just the beginning.  Thanks to the generosity of my family and friends  I was able to pay for Luna's surgery.  The day of her surgery we had some freak storm that literally lasted all of 5 minutes but caused thousands of dollars in damage.  A huge tree in my backyard came down taking with it my fence and shed and lots of other things including the power lines.  

That night I couldn't sleep.  I didn't know if Luna would survive, I didn't know how I was going to re-pay everyone for the donations.  My virtual life came to a screeching halt without electricity. Luckily,  I was able to charge my phone in the car since I was waiting for an update on Luna. She wasn't doing as well as we had hoped after the surgery.   At 2am I decided to check my emails to distract myself for a while. 

It was at that moment, in the middle of this traumatic day that a "trauma informed" yoga teacher decided to attack me.  You see, it was June 2020 and the United States was on fire.  There was a deadly pandemic raging, there was political and civil unrest.  It was in the middle of this traumatic moment in my life that I was told that I hadn't done my part for social justice.  I was attacked for not being sensitive to the needs of  people who have experienced trauma.   It was also brought to my attention that I was contributing to the "cultural appropriation" of  yoga.  

At first, I tried to defend myself.  Then I got angry and decided to back away from yoga, social media, and basically everything and everyone that wasn't required or my family.  Then the downward spiral began to speed up.  Self-doubt set in and I started to think maybe she was right.  Maybe I am a terrible person.  Maybe I am not good enough.  Maybe I'm not doing enough. Maybe I am contributing to the suffering of others.   Once the spiral of negative self talk gets going it's like a runaway train.  

I defended myself over and over, I got angry, then I got to work.  I needed to improve myself.  I read books, watched videos, listened to podcasts.  The more I learned the more confused I became.  That's when it dawned on me.  Maybe, just maybe, she was wrong.  I'm not a terrible person.  I am good enough.  I am not contributing to the cultural appropriation of yoga.   I do care deeply about social justice.  

I will continue the practice of self-reflection and I will continue to work on self improvement.  What I won't do anymore is defend myself or explain myself.  I ask that you judge me on your own personal experience with me and not by the words of others.   

I have one more thing to ask of you.  Remember that everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Therefore, before you make the choice to verbally attack someone consider the possibility that your words may trigger that person back into self-destructive habits. 

"Trauma informed" means to recognize that trauma comes in many forms and in order to truly offer "trauma informed yoga" means that you are kind, gentle, and compassionate with everyone.  Before you make the choice to verbally attack someone ask yourself how would I speak to this person if I knew they were a victim of years of verbal abuse in the past? 

  The first rule of yoga is  AHIMSA.... Do no harm.