It started last year as something I would often say in conversation when complaining about something or, to be honest, talking about someone else complaining about something.

“Yeah, you know, serious first world problems. What are we going to do?”

A lot of this has been influenced by leaving the first world and realizing how fortunate I am.

I’ve spent a lot of time at my non-yoga-teaching job over the past 8 1/2 years hearing, solving, and reporting these types of problems. (I have often referred to this job as “interpreter of rationalities.”) Working with the general public in a theatre, you wouldn’t (or maybe you would) believe the “problems” that come up. It’s been a long practice in patience and compassion to be present with adults who absolutely lose their s***t over things like not having fresh cream for coffee, hating the ink used to print a program (not dark enough – clearly it is a dark grey, not a true black), having to wait to go inside the hall due to being late, etc.

Applying the old yoga adage, “I see you, I see myself,” I started reflecting this back on me and seeing where my silly “problems” are coming up.

Over the past months, I’ve been making an extra effort to turn my first world problems around into moments of gratitude. Here are some examples:

• In the car: parking lots, traffic, distances, people parking on my street etc. (Gratitude: I live where I live, I have a car that is paid for and running, I have these places to go….)
• Opening up the pantry and refrigerator and declaring, “There’s nothing I want to eat!” (Gratitude: I have food and a choice of what to eat. I can go out and pick something up from a restaurant…)
• When I was uncomfortable and pregnant (Gratitude: Being pregnant without complications…), looking at photos of us in Thailand and wondering when I’ll wear a bathing suit like that again and when, oh when, will I get to travel? (Gratitude: I have traveled and been able to sit on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world with my favorite person in the world who always reminds me to cut it out while telling me he thinks I’m beautiful…)
• Supplementing the feeding of my baby with formula. (Gratitude: I don’t have to be there every single time she’s hungry – freedom! There is an alternative to safely help us keep up with her appetite when I can’t feed her enough….)
• When I really want to take a shower and the water doesn’t get hot quickly enough. (Gratitude: I have running water…hot water is a bonus….)
• Deciphering health insurance and coordinating maternity leave. (Gratitude: I have health insurance. I have great health insurance. I can take months off from my FT job to be a mom.)
• When Netflix Watch Instantly is glitchy – the video and audio don’t match up or it just freezes (Gratitude: Do I really have to spell this one out?)

You get the idea. So where are your first world problems? How can you turn a perspective of lacking into a reminder of abundance?

From the moment we are born, we literally get in our own way.

When human beings are born, we cannot see very far or distinguish the senses very well. We cannot hold up our heads and have no control over our hands and legs. Babies have crazy arms. One of the most common daily phrases around here for the past two months is, “Get your hands out of the way!” In the first month, she would be surprised and start crying when she hit herself in the face. Even now, at two months, her little hands get in her face when she is trying to eat. They flail around when we are trying to dress her and get tangled up when we’re trying to get her out of the car seat. Her hands keep her from getting things she seems to want. (again, how did we make it through evolution? I mean, horses can walk right after being born…)

When she gets in her own way, however, she is learning. The times she seemed to inadvertently knock her pacifier out of her mouth (and start to cry until we gave it back) led up to that day when she grasped it, held it on her own and then put it back in her mouth.

Not only do we put up our own obstacles as infants, we also begin to exercise the amazing capacity to learn from them.

We tend to resist rest when we need it the most. 

Another common saying in our home these days is, “You would feel so much better if you just went to sleep! You’re acting crazy because you are tired!” We all do this, don’t we? We avoid taking child’s pose when we lose our breath in class. We stay up late, cram our lunch breaks (or baby nap breaks) with things that we can later list as being productive.

These observations are simple. More and more, I’m finding the simple things are the hardest things.

So let’s all continue the humbling practice of noticing where we get in our own way. Let’s continue the practice of learning from the obstacles of our own making. Let’s support one another in our personal practice.

Most of all – for goodness sake, let’s encourage and support one another to rest! (Like now – why are you on the internet? You could be napping or taking a walk!)

A woman walked out of the building and said, “Please. Please be quiet. We have teachings and meditations going on.”

We apologized and decided to leave, but I admit that I rolled my eyes. I know, Ahimsa fail. Here’s why….

Our first day in Bangkok, we decided to walk to a temple that sits on top of a big hill. We could see it from the guesthouse where we were staying.

To get there, we first walked along a canal on a walkway that was about five feet wide. Lining the walkway were homes. Some homes doubled as shops for motorcycle repairs, food, souvenirs….name it. There were also tents and carts selling produce, fish, and various noodle concoctions. Chickens ran around, fish were pulled out of the canal, we constantly dodged the oncoming motorcycles.

When we got to street level, we found ourselves in the middle of a huge political demonstration. Not an orderly one, like the one we went to in San Francisco before the Iraq War. There were trucks and cars parked seemingly at will in the street, all with loud speaker systems blasting music and speeches. Motorcycles and cars still wove through to get through the street, so we had to be very careful about crossing. We were also dodging food vendors and crowds of people who were very ready to voice their opinion about politics. To them, it was organized. To us, it felt like chaos.

All along, I was thinking, “It’s going to be quiet at the temple. It will be peaceful there.”

We got to the temple grounds and bought bottles of water. (I should also mention that it was really, really hot in a polluted city and I was wearing an adorable black sundress that was now sticking to me like a second skin.)

There is a long, long stairwell that winds around the hill to the top of the temple. It was quiet for about five minutes and then the loudspeaker system kicked on as a monk began teaching. Sounds cool, right? Well, it was really loud, in Thai, and did not stop the entire time we were there. The temple was crowded. The constant clanking of bells, fellow travelers, and the sounds from the political demonstration built heavy layers of sound over the droning voice of the monk.

“Maybe at the top, next to the Buddhas, it will be quiet.”

Upon entering the temple, we were bombarded with offerings for sale. Bells, candles, lotus, incense, marigolds, birds…you name it. And it’s not like there was a counter where someone just asks if you would like to buy something or politely asks, “May I help you?” We were practically being told: “You buy good luck – bells? Incense? You buy! Lucky Buddha!” The cramped space was full of people praying, taking photos, or just hanging out. Our senses were overloaded.

Who knew a Buddhist temple would be one of the most chaotic places I had ever been?

We took a different route back to the guesthouse, just wandering through the streets of Bangkok in the general direction (“The canal is this way, we’ll figure it out from there….”) and found a small neighborhood wat. I went inside and sat on the scratchy carpet and just took in the silence. I was hot and my head was buzzing from all the sensations. My hair was sticking to my forehead and the back of my neck. I looked at the Buddha statue and had a realization.

He was smirking.

In the middle of all the noise, smells, and sounds – all the Buddhas were just hanging out with a smile (or smirk) on their faces. They were in the quiet all along. I realized I had just had one of the best hours of my life. I loved it. I absolutely loved every minute, smell, and sound of it.

This happened over and over again. The temples were the loudest, craziest places we encountered. I even had a man literally put incense in my hand in front of a statue in Cambodia and then tell me, “Miss, you must give money for offering to lucky Buddha.” (That Buddha was definitely smirking.)

I decided to surrender and just ride the hustle and bustle throughout the journey. At the famous reclining Buddha, I tossed coins into the brass pots and enjoyed every loud clank. My ears were ringing after I got through the line, but I loved it.

I am not a Buddhist. There are some teachings in Buddhism that have helped me in my life. It really wasn’t until I encountered the hustle and bustle of Southeast Asian temples that I realized how little I know about what we talk about on a daily basis in yoga classes.

I learned more from those chaotic times of letting go of how I thought a Buddhist experience “should” be and laughed at myself for even having expectations. Seriously, what is a middle class white girl from the Bible Belt who teaches yoga in California doing with expectations of how one should experience a Southeast Asian temple?

(Now I have a bad case of wanderlust – where are we going next? Can I really take my infant to Cambodia?)

I’ve always been fascinated by how the brain works. This goes back to being a musician. My teacher also had a fascination with the brain. Why did we practice scales and start each practice session with a carefully constructed warm-up series? Yes, to wake up our muscles and prepare the body for the act of playing the instrument, but also to train the brain.

The brain, he told me, can get lazy. It tends to think, “Oh, I know how to do this,” and checks out while we’re playing sometimes – which is when we make mistakes. He taught me ways to deconstruct and reconstruct passages to remind the brain that it really wasn’t as smart and perfect as it thought it was.

As I’ve written many times before: yoga, music – same thing! In my experience, so much of the yoga philosophy – kosas, chakras, etc. – is supported, enriched, and sometimes even better explained by scientists. Considering my formal education in science ended with a chemistry class [that was an absolute, disorganized mess] in high school, I am drawn to scientists who can explain complex things to lay people like me.

The week before the birth, I was spending lots of time revisiting and discovering some science stories and writers. Here are some highlights:

If you watch any one of these, watch this one. Jill Bolte Taylor, a brain researcher, shares observations she had throughout the experience of having a stroke. It’s fascinating and beautiful.

“I am the life-force power of the universe. I am the life-force power of the 50 trillion beautiful molecular geniuses that make up my form, at one with all that is.” ~ Jill Bolte Taylor

One of my favorite science writers is Jonah Lehrer. He has a great website that will lead you to articles, video, and other media. I highly recommend his book Proust Was a Neuroscientist – each chapter is dedicated to an artist and how they made a big scientific discovery years (decades!) before hard science. Example: Like the title indicates, Proust makes the connection between taste and memory before hard science. I’ve seen him speak twice. Here’s a video about the brain and decisions:

No list like this would be complete without mention of Oliver Sacks. This Ted talk about the brain and hallucinations is absolutely fascinating. There are several videos on his website about the music and the brain, as well.

Here is the last talk I’ll share for now. V.S. Ramachandran talking about what brain damage can reveal about how the brain works.

Here is this three-pound mass of jelly you can hold in the palm of your hand, and it can contemplate the vastness of interstellar space. It can contemplate the meaning of infinity and it can contemplate itself contemplating on the meaning of infinity.” ~ V.S. Ramachandran

“Prana is God’s breath. Prana is the energy permeating the universe at all levels…All vibrating energies are prana…it is the hidden and potential energy in all beings, released to the fullest extent as a response to any threat to one’s survival. It is the prime mover of all activity. It is the energy that creates, protects, and destroys.” ~ BKS Iyengar

I had a post in progress about how climbing the walls sounded like fun – if only I could climb them without hurting myself! I was getting restless and uncomfortable, feeling every moment of the past 9 months. I trashed it today. Instead, I’m happy to post this:

She came a week early and, goodness, was she excited to get here! It took 4 hours from the first  wave of mild contractions to delivery. She was literally almost born in the car. Literally meaning actually – ten minutes after the nurse midwives got me out of the car into the delivery room, she was here.

There was no time for drugs, tubs, or anything. I don’t say that out of pride, but out of bewilderment – the last thing I said before we left home went something like this, “I’m not interested in being some @#$%ing hero. Tell them to give me the drugs when we get there. This @#$%ing hurts.”

Going back to we teach what we truly need to hear:

Send the breath to wherever you feel tension, stress, unease. Wrap it up in an inhale and let it go in an exhale.

It all seems to come back to the breath for me through this whole experience. Pranayama – focusing on the breath, sending it to wherever there was pain/sensation got me through that experience. The breath anchored me to each moment. It was a 20-minute car ride to the hospital. My husband calmly put his hand on my back (I was adamant about lying on the floor of the car) and repeated, “Remember your breath.”

The body awareness cultivated through regular yoga practice – specifically bandhas, pelvic floor  - helped tremendously. However, it was breath that delivered her and gave her life.

When I say storm, keep in mind that one thing I really miss about the Appalachian summers of my youth are the dramatic thunderstorms that came each afternoon and evening. That distinct feeling and smell in the air as they approach, looking up to see if the clouds are dark yet to signal a run for cover. The mix of fear, awe, and excitement as we count seconds between thunder rolls and lightning strikes watching the storm roll in from the comfort of our home. Something is going to change, things are going to get blown away, the power will go out, something might get smashed, but it is a force of nature that can’t be stopped. There’s a mix of patience and anticipation that comes with watching storms roll in.

The past several weeks have been very challenging on my ego. I am discovering just how much of a, “but I can do it all AND have it all!” person I am now that I am in a situation where I am truly not in charge. My life and my body are in surrender (note: surrender does not mean “giving up” – more on that in another post) to this little girl and the process of bringing new life into this world. Let me tell you: It is humbling and I don’t think I’ve every really used that phrase to the extent I use it right here right now.

I have been realizing, more and more, that we truly do teach the things we most need to learn.

Here are some things I often talk about in class:

Ahimsa: Non-harming.

“The definition of Ahimsa is to live so fully and presently in love that there is no room for anything else to exist” ~ Julia Butterfly Hill

Rest: one of the most advanced yoga poses known to humans.

You are perfect just the way you are.

Each body, each person is different. Don’t compare yourself to others.

A foundation of an honest yoga practice: Ahimsa is being kind to your body by honoring it as it is. Being kind in thought and action towards yourself and others. It means sometimes, you really have to give yourself a break.

This one has been hard.

About a month ago, I started feeling some pain under my skin around my belly button. When I brought it up with my midwife, she told me it is my rectus abdominis muscles separating. (Those are the “six-pack” muscles.) Apparently, it’s completely normal, especially with petite women. Despite the “it’s normal,” assurance, I kind of freaked out for a good week. It’s still small, but I can definitely feel it after physical activity – sometimes even walking for a few blocks or being in table-top hurts due simply to the weight of my belly.

I don’t want them to separate any further, so I have had to seriously cut back on asana. I can’t tell you how much I miss it. I miss the community. I miss walking in to the two studios that have been like home over the past six months and just moving and breathing the way I want to next to other people – especially right now with a completely open schedule. I have to take care of myself and do what I need to do, instead: take it easy.

I realize I have been comparing myself to others. The other women in the community who seemed to have been practicing regularly right up to their due date. (there are LOTS of yoga babies arriving in the Sacramento area. It’s crazy!) I have no idea, really, what their experience has been/is. Being patient with the rational knowledge that arm balances, jump-backs, back bends (not recommended for the ab thing) and inversions are just not in my practice today but will be back soon has been an increasing battle with my ego. However, doing those poses would be doing just what I encourage students not to do: watch other people and do something that could lead to an injury rather than listen to the body.

What this has taught me: I really, really appreciate asana and the community of yoga more than I ever have now that I am limited. I get so excited to teach and provide a space for other people to experience and explore the amazing ways our bodies move, breathe, and feel.

What I have to look forward to: There is going to be a long road back to regular asana practice and my expectations will have to shift. The opportunity: I will be able to re-learn poses I have been doing for years and, as a result, be able to teach them more effectively. (Bhujangasana, can’t wait to see you again. I think we’ll have the opportunity to really get to know each other this time around.)

Despite the gradual separation of muscles and changing energy levels of each moment, I still wasn’t getting the message I need to chill the eff out. I have been making great effort to “fit it all in” before the baby comes by working, teaching, and committing to all sorts of things over the past eight months. (It’s even hard for me to let someone carry my groceries to the car. I’ve only relented once.)

My body kept dropping hints and then finally said, “Fine. You think you don’t need rest? I’m going to open up and bring a nasty cold that will land you on the couch for close to a week.” I spent last week 35 weeks pregnant with a cold. I had no choice but to rest.

Okay. I get it. I have a hard time taking it easy. I have a hard time letting my body rest. I have a hard time finding compassion for myself.

But don’t we all? Isn’t that why those teachings hit home no matter how many times we hear them? Isn’t that why it matters each and every time we say them?

At the end of many of my classes, I say something to the effect of:

Honor where you are on your path.

That, right there, is my yoga practice right now. That is the teaching that guides how and why I teach, how and why I take each breath and step in my life. Maybe I say it so frequently because I really, really need to hear it.

It’s called a practice for a reason.

Had I been in a group facing this question a couple of years ago, I would have taken that as an opportunity to step into the retail area of the studio for the very important task of getting some tea or hiding in the bathroom.

I’m okay with this question now and it has been quite a long road to get here, which I have written a bit about before (see my article on elephant journal, which is an edited version of this earlier post).

Speaking of God, I really enjoyed watching this talk by Eric Weiner this morning. (If you haven’t read his first book, Geography of Bliss, go get it now!)

The ultimate goal of religion is not God, it’s Life. Love it.

At my FT job, I’ve had the opportunity to work with several writers and speakers – he was one of my faves. He was in between his trip to Nepal and Turkey working on this book and I just really appreciated his no-b.s. approach to all the “bliss” and “God” stuff. 

His new book, Man Seeks God, is next on my list – I have a paper to write on a book I need to finish this week for my last teacher training and I’m using his book as the carrot to get the work done. 

Related post: It Works

It’s been an intense year of learning to accept and live with grace.

I took two Anusara workshops in the fall and was introduced to the “Open To Grace” philosophy. As one of the teachers said: When life gives you something you don’t want, you can take it anyway (like you really have a choice) and choose to make something beautiful out of it.

I’ve gotten so much that I have happily accepted this year. I’ve also experienced being handed so many difficult things that I didn’t necessarily want.

For most of 2011, we have held equal amounts of joy and sorrow. Joy for the baby girl who will join us in March and equal sorrow as my second dad (a.k.a. father-in-law) drifted out of this life due to esophageal cancer.

As we sat with our grief and tried to wrap our head around it all, I remember one conversation in particular with my family as we talked about losing him and welcoming Baby Girl. We realized that all our joy and sorrow, equally expansive, come from the same deep well of love. It’s okay to be sad (such a simple word for such a painful emotion) just as it is okay to be happy.

So as I sat in the memorial service for my second dad, I thought about how my in-laws took the short-lived battle with cancer one day at a time realizing there were things they could control and things they could not – not resigning, allowing themselves to feel, and practicing a radical acceptance. I thought about the last time I saw him, in the hospice with his dogs in bed with him and family surrounding him. Losing count of how many times we said I love you as he shifted in and out of lucidity. It was like watching someone dissolve.

How fortunate Baby Girl is to inherit a legacy of kind, loving men in her life and for how much love is going to surround and support her.

My word for 2012?

Gratitude

Just got these lovely cards made from a seller on etsy….

“Every lover on a mission shift your known position into the light…Every glorious disaster every bond is gonna bring you faster out into the light”

I love how they just sing “FREEDOM!” at the end of the song (and there’s a theremin, how cool is that?)

I love to play this loud and sing it at the top of my lungs in the car when no one else is around. “This is my life and freedom’s my profession….There is a core and it’s hardcore / All is hardcore when made with love/ Love is a voice of a savage soul / This savage love is Undestructable!” (Of course, I found a video with lots of Eugene Hutz photos. Couldn’t help myself!)

Philip Glass always sounds like breathing, flying, swimming, living, soaring, etc. to me.

As the old saying goes: You can take a girl out of the South but you can’t take away her Southern Rock….

Love the expansive textures of this song….

End mixtape. Have a beautiful day!