Exciting news! This coming weekend (3-4 Sept) is the first ever Sydney Evolve Yoga Festival... and I'll be teaching there!
The website describes the weekend as: "A coming together of the yoga and wellness community, Evolve is a weekend of yoga, massage, meditation and more." Included with an admission ticket: yoga classes, workshops, breathing sessions, meditation sessions, talks on health, and exhibitor stalls. There are five rooms of concurrent events, so you can choose what you'd like to do throughout the day. In advance, tix are $32 for one full day of events, or $55 for the entire weekend.
HOWEVER, the head of the festival asked me if I knew anyone who would be willing to volunteer. So, if you are interested in attending for free, let me know and I'll put you in contact with the organizer!
I will be teaching Saturday:
11.15-12.15 My body, My home yoga workshop
12.30 -1.30 Vinyasa yoga class
Check out the full timetable at: yoga festival program.
I'd love to see you there! Hope you are happy and healthy!
Yoga love!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
challenging normality
challenging normality. what does that immediately bring to mind? i'm not talking about believing in vampire neighbors, and i'm not talking about wearing undies on the outside. what i mean is challenging what we think of as normal.
"normal" in our yoga: opening into the same variation of trikonasa each time. ignoring the chaturanga and zooming through our vinyasas. doing the same closing sequence at the end of each practice.
"normal" in our environments: walking by the bum that lives on the corner a few blocks away each day and not really registering his presence. buying a coffee without acknowledging the barista.
"normal" in our heads: having to do two more things before going to bed. cursing the driver in front of our car who cuts us off.
what happens if we do a pose differently? or go to a yoga teacher's class we don't normally practice with? it sometimes feels uncomfortable, or challenging. what happens if we offer some food to the man living on the street, or say hi to the person making our coffee? those things may feel uncomfortable, or awkward. and what happens if we change necessities or responses in our minds? that can feel uncomfortable, or frightening.
for me, challenging the normal in my head is the hardest, and is very scary. i can convince myself that my thoughts are all completely rational, and somehow i believe this most of the times. but i was reminded of how abnormal my reality is today while reading a book by a woman who is in recovery from EDNOS (eating disorder not otherwise specified). she wrote about her treatment center and the "crazy" things people said and did inside (including herself). but over and over throughout the time i spent reading her accounts, i found myself thinking "what, that's not normal? i think that all the time!" oh, wait. it probably isn't normal; i've just convinced myself it is.
i've convinced myself that it's normal to do a minimum 75 minutes of cardio each day. why 75? because "regular" people might do 60, and i'm a fitness instructor, so i need to do more. also, if some unforeseen natural disaster occurs, i may need to take a day off, and i need to have at least 7 hours done in a week. and this is normal to me because i run marathons and teach fitness classes... and thus socialize with other runners and instructors. these highly competitive people will talk about hours of training as if it is nothing. i listen to athletes talk about their schedules and think, "eh, i could do that." but is that normal? to convince myself i have to do all of this every day? in addition to committing time to my work, my home responsibilities, my relationships... and my yoga/myself?
i've convinced myself that it's normal that i count every single calorie that i eat and expend, that it's ok to ask for every single item cooked in a specific way, to not eat something when i'm hungry because i think it is a "bad" food, unsafe, or because i haven't expended enough energy in the day to earn it. my brain constantly whirs numbers, adding, subtracting, estimating, compensating, and planning. this is normal to me because i've been doing it forever. i have millions of friends who diet, eat strange things or don't eat other things, or who regularly skip meals for "reasonable" reasons. and all of them say or post things about these habits regularly, infiltrating my mind and further cementing my version of normal. but is that normal? to convince myself that i'm not allowed to have dinner until i've burned another 400 calories? to tire my body until i don't have the energy for the things i want to do in my life?
we all have things we do: things we've rationalized to ourselves so often that we've forgotten we're rationalizing. it may be in your yoga, your environment, your head, somewhere else, or even a combination of places.
when i reflect on my version of normal, i can realize that some things are out of balance. but we often don't reflect on our normal. why would we? it's normal! ...what happens regularly; what we're used to. then, when something comes along to challenge that normality, we're surprised, a little shocked even. maybe a little sad or ashamed. thinking about my own normal, and what i regularly steal from myself, is upsetting.
challenging that normality is the next step: taking baby steps away from our comfort zone to find new normals. it may be different for you, but for me, it's easy to challenge myself in my yoga or in my environment. i don't mind trying new things, doing things differently, or being totally opposite to every other person on this planet. but challenging my crazy-mind? now that's a tough one. practicing in other areas of my life makes me feel like i'm taking baby steps (i taught a weird freestyle movement breathing-pattern-thingy in my yoga class tonight--does that count? i waited and watched someone taking a short video instead of rushing around the back of the videographer in a frenzied rush--does that count? i sat and relaxed for 10 minutes and then walked instead of running to make the earlier train--does that count?). baby steps everywhere!
but tonight i'm going to try to take a normal step. we'll see how it goes.
"normal" in our yoga: opening into the same variation of trikonasa each time. ignoring the chaturanga and zooming through our vinyasas. doing the same closing sequence at the end of each practice.
"normal" in our environments: walking by the bum that lives on the corner a few blocks away each day and not really registering his presence. buying a coffee without acknowledging the barista.
"normal" in our heads: having to do two more things before going to bed. cursing the driver in front of our car who cuts us off.
what happens if we do a pose differently? or go to a yoga teacher's class we don't normally practice with? it sometimes feels uncomfortable, or challenging. what happens if we offer some food to the man living on the street, or say hi to the person making our coffee? those things may feel uncomfortable, or awkward. and what happens if we change necessities or responses in our minds? that can feel uncomfortable, or frightening.
for me, challenging the normal in my head is the hardest, and is very scary. i can convince myself that my thoughts are all completely rational, and somehow i believe this most of the times. but i was reminded of how abnormal my reality is today while reading a book by a woman who is in recovery from EDNOS (eating disorder not otherwise specified). she wrote about her treatment center and the "crazy" things people said and did inside (including herself). but over and over throughout the time i spent reading her accounts, i found myself thinking "what, that's not normal? i think that all the time!" oh, wait. it probably isn't normal; i've just convinced myself it is.
i've convinced myself that it's normal to do a minimum 75 minutes of cardio each day. why 75? because "regular" people might do 60, and i'm a fitness instructor, so i need to do more. also, if some unforeseen natural disaster occurs, i may need to take a day off, and i need to have at least 7 hours done in a week. and this is normal to me because i run marathons and teach fitness classes... and thus socialize with other runners and instructors. these highly competitive people will talk about hours of training as if it is nothing. i listen to athletes talk about their schedules and think, "eh, i could do that." but is that normal? to convince myself i have to do all of this every day? in addition to committing time to my work, my home responsibilities, my relationships... and my yoga/myself?
i've convinced myself that it's normal that i count every single calorie that i eat and expend, that it's ok to ask for every single item cooked in a specific way, to not eat something when i'm hungry because i think it is a "bad" food, unsafe, or because i haven't expended enough energy in the day to earn it. my brain constantly whirs numbers, adding, subtracting, estimating, compensating, and planning. this is normal to me because i've been doing it forever. i have millions of friends who diet, eat strange things or don't eat other things, or who regularly skip meals for "reasonable" reasons. and all of them say or post things about these habits regularly, infiltrating my mind and further cementing my version of normal. but is that normal? to convince myself that i'm not allowed to have dinner until i've burned another 400 calories? to tire my body until i don't have the energy for the things i want to do in my life?
we all have things we do: things we've rationalized to ourselves so often that we've forgotten we're rationalizing. it may be in your yoga, your environment, your head, somewhere else, or even a combination of places.
when i reflect on my version of normal, i can realize that some things are out of balance. but we often don't reflect on our normal. why would we? it's normal! ...what happens regularly; what we're used to. then, when something comes along to challenge that normality, we're surprised, a little shocked even. maybe a little sad or ashamed. thinking about my own normal, and what i regularly steal from myself, is upsetting.
challenging that normality is the next step: taking baby steps away from our comfort zone to find new normals. it may be different for you, but for me, it's easy to challenge myself in my yoga or in my environment. i don't mind trying new things, doing things differently, or being totally opposite to every other person on this planet. but challenging my crazy-mind? now that's a tough one. practicing in other areas of my life makes me feel like i'm taking baby steps (i taught a weird freestyle movement breathing-pattern-thingy in my yoga class tonight--does that count? i waited and watched someone taking a short video instead of rushing around the back of the videographer in a frenzied rush--does that count? i sat and relaxed for 10 minutes and then walked instead of running to make the earlier train--does that count?). baby steps everywhere!
but tonight i'm going to try to take a normal step. we'll see how it goes.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Just Breathe.
breath is an amazing thing. freaking amazing! the thing is, it's easy to forget how amazing it is, since we breathe automatically. every day. all the time.
i was reminded how amazing our breath is while watching a sitcom a few days ago. in the sitcom, a pregnant woman's boyfriend attended a lamaze class with her. he remained calm during the class, but after the class, he was talking to his friends saying "they expect her to deliver a baby just by using her BREATH!!"
i heard him say that, and i laughed so hard i started crying. once i caught my breath, i smiled. yes. i had forgotten how amazing the breath is. i was (am) stressed. i was (am) exhausted. i was (am) super low energy. i was (am) overburdened. over the past month, i've still been practicing and teaching yoga regularly, but even my yoga-breath was a little autopilot.
it took a freaked-out dad-to-be on an old UK sitcom to make me remember. but i remembered. MY BREATH IS AMAZING!
over the past week, i have been thinking about the breath: how it supports us, how it sustains us, how it gives us life. ...how it calms us down and repairs us when we're stressed/exhausted/super low energy/overburdened.
want to be amazed too? feel your breath: sit in a comfortable sitting position on the floor. sit tall with a long spine. take long, slow breaths, in and out through your nose, using ujjayi breath (how to do ujjayi breathing) if you like. with the first breaths, feel your belly expand. with the next breaths, focus on noticing your lower back expand. then, take your attention to the side bodies expanding. finally, feel the expansiveness through all the areas simultaneously. take another ten breaths or so, noticing the lightness and openness you've created. just by breathing.
just breathe. JUST BREATHE!
i was reminded how amazing our breath is while watching a sitcom a few days ago. in the sitcom, a pregnant woman's boyfriend attended a lamaze class with her. he remained calm during the class, but after the class, he was talking to his friends saying "they expect her to deliver a baby just by using her BREATH!!"
i heard him say that, and i laughed so hard i started crying. once i caught my breath, i smiled. yes. i had forgotten how amazing the breath is. i was (am) stressed. i was (am) exhausted. i was (am) super low energy. i was (am) overburdened. over the past month, i've still been practicing and teaching yoga regularly, but even my yoga-breath was a little autopilot.
it took a freaked-out dad-to-be on an old UK sitcom to make me remember. but i remembered. MY BREATH IS AMAZING!
over the past week, i have been thinking about the breath: how it supports us, how it sustains us, how it gives us life. ...how it calms us down and repairs us when we're stressed/exhausted/super low energy/overburdened.
want to be amazed too? feel your breath: sit in a comfortable sitting position on the floor. sit tall with a long spine. take long, slow breaths, in and out through your nose, using ujjayi breath (how to do ujjayi breathing) if you like. with the first breaths, feel your belly expand. with the next breaths, focus on noticing your lower back expand. then, take your attention to the side bodies expanding. finally, feel the expansiveness through all the areas simultaneously. take another ten breaths or so, noticing the lightness and openness you've created. just by breathing.
just breathe. JUST BREATHE!
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Perfection = Happiness
Perfection... what a scary word. Just typing the word and beginning to think about what it means gives me a mini anxiety attack. How can I ever reach perfection? By its very definition, I'm sure I can't. And yet, I still keep trying.
I try to accomplish more at work, do more yoga, spend more time with Billy, and still have some time for myself. As I was trying to get the most bang for my buck out of my Thursday, I was cramming in a 30 minute yoga practice posted on yogaglo.com. We were working handstands, and the teacher said something like "being able to float through handstand in each vinyasa wouldn't necessarily make someone happy."
What she said was true, but how often do we think that perfecting that next asana, that next transition, or completing a little more at our jobs will make us happy? Perfecting my handstands is a goal of mine; something that drives my yoga practice. And, I'll admit, the thought of the perfect handstand makes me a little giddy at the potential happiness that will so obviously accompany it. I always want more chances for perfection, for the happiness of perfection.
On Friday, at the conclusion of a hectic week where I felt I hardly accomplished anything, I told Billy that I wanted a re-do for the week. I wanted to start again and try to make it perfect. Billy told me that, luckily, I do get a re-do: the next week. And after that, another week. There's always another week, and another chance to make it perfect.
Hmmm. Sounds eerily familiar. Similarly, I always get another day for my yoga practice. I always get another opportunity to perfect that next asana... not that it will be perfect the next time; not that my perfect trikonasana one day will even be perfect the next time I attempt it.
And that's the crux of it. The practice, the doing, the day-to-day, is the perfection. Returning to something, committing to it, giving myself over to it, and being it. ...that provides me with perfection: the perfection that I experience in each day. Not the perfection of a pose, not the perfection of a completed job--but the perfection of simply being and doing. And there's happiness right there in that perfection.
That revelation may seem mini, but it's slightly earth-shattering for me. Maybe my life is perfect. Maybe I can be happy with that perfection.
So the next step in my practice (both on and off the mat) is to recognize that each day's perfection is another chance for happiness. If I just allow it.
I try to accomplish more at work, do more yoga, spend more time with Billy, and still have some time for myself. As I was trying to get the most bang for my buck out of my Thursday, I was cramming in a 30 minute yoga practice posted on yogaglo.com. We were working handstands, and the teacher said something like "being able to float through handstand in each vinyasa wouldn't necessarily make someone happy."
What she said was true, but how often do we think that perfecting that next asana, that next transition, or completing a little more at our jobs will make us happy? Perfecting my handstands is a goal of mine; something that drives my yoga practice. And, I'll admit, the thought of the perfect handstand makes me a little giddy at the potential happiness that will so obviously accompany it. I always want more chances for perfection, for the happiness of perfection.
On Friday, at the conclusion of a hectic week where I felt I hardly accomplished anything, I told Billy that I wanted a re-do for the week. I wanted to start again and try to make it perfect. Billy told me that, luckily, I do get a re-do: the next week. And after that, another week. There's always another week, and another chance to make it perfect.
Hmmm. Sounds eerily familiar. Similarly, I always get another day for my yoga practice. I always get another opportunity to perfect that next asana... not that it will be perfect the next time; not that my perfect trikonasana one day will even be perfect the next time I attempt it.
And that's the crux of it. The practice, the doing, the day-to-day, is the perfection. Returning to something, committing to it, giving myself over to it, and being it. ...that provides me with perfection: the perfection that I experience in each day. Not the perfection of a pose, not the perfection of a completed job--but the perfection of simply being and doing. And there's happiness right there in that perfection.
That revelation may seem mini, but it's slightly earth-shattering for me. Maybe my life is perfect. Maybe I can be happy with that perfection.
So the next step in my practice (both on and off the mat) is to recognize that each day's perfection is another chance for happiness. If I just allow it.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Balancing Truths
Balancing on the mat is difficult. There's swaying, adjusting, twitching, and, sometimes, falling. And when I fall, I tell myself, "it's ok... get back up and try again!"
I've learned to do the same thing in my life, which is usually a good thing. But sometimes, my "there's always tomorrow!" optimism can be a downfall. Like when I use it to rationalize my way into doing something destructive.
Have you ever been optimistically destructive? It can be as simple as having a piece of cake instead of some fruit by telling yourself that you'll go back to eating healthy tomorrow. Or it can be a little more destructive.
I'm really good at sabotaging my good intentions by optimism (it sounds like an oxymoron, doesn't it?). The really hard part is being honest enough with yourself to recognize the difference between optimism and optimistic destruction. Being honest with myself is harder than the balancing, and no one can really help me do it. Like everything else, I just need to practice.
One way I practice being honest with myself, though I didn't realize it until I really thought about it, is through yoga. Noticing feelings, whether they are physical or emotional, and deciding what I need to do with the feelings on a moment-to-moment basis, as part of being present during my yoga practice, is teaching me to recognize what I'm feeling and notice how I'm responding off the mat.
Now here's the really scary part... where I bare my experience. Tonight I really wanted to engage in my own special destructive tendencies--binging and purging. It's been a while since I've done it, and my partner was out having dinner with a friend tonight--which meant a few hours to myself this evening. First I wavered in the balancing: walking through the grocery store I picked up and then put down three different items that I thought about buying to take home to eat and throw up. Next, I played games: if I call Billy and he knows I'm thinking about it, then I won't do it because he'll be looking for the signs when he gets home. I also played the optimistically destructive card: "what's one more time; I won't do it for another few months afterward." Then still wavering, I took a long shower to delay my choice.
In the shower I thought about what I was doing, and I practiced being present and identifying what was really going on. I recognized the urge I was feeling as well as the optimistic destruction tendencies I was engaging in. I felt really uncomfortable with the urge, uncomfortable with the responses, and uncomfortable with being forced to make a decision. I felt like I'd lose if I binged and purged, but I'd also lose if I didn't fulfill the urge.
Then I realized that what I really wanted to do was get rid of all of the discomfort.
And, so, finally, I sat myself down in front of the computer to purge some emotions and balance the scales. And here we are. Do I feel comfortable now? Yes and no. I'm certainly standing back on two feet... but I've also exposed more than I typically like to. ...What I feel best about is the moment where I allowed myself to be fully present and honestly assess where I was and what I was feeling. Hey, it's practice.
I've learned to do the same thing in my life, which is usually a good thing. But sometimes, my "there's always tomorrow!" optimism can be a downfall. Like when I use it to rationalize my way into doing something destructive.
Have you ever been optimistically destructive? It can be as simple as having a piece of cake instead of some fruit by telling yourself that you'll go back to eating healthy tomorrow. Or it can be a little more destructive.
I'm really good at sabotaging my good intentions by optimism (it sounds like an oxymoron, doesn't it?). The really hard part is being honest enough with yourself to recognize the difference between optimism and optimistic destruction. Being honest with myself is harder than the balancing, and no one can really help me do it. Like everything else, I just need to practice.
One way I practice being honest with myself, though I didn't realize it until I really thought about it, is through yoga. Noticing feelings, whether they are physical or emotional, and deciding what I need to do with the feelings on a moment-to-moment basis, as part of being present during my yoga practice, is teaching me to recognize what I'm feeling and notice how I'm responding off the mat.
Now here's the really scary part... where I bare my experience. Tonight I really wanted to engage in my own special destructive tendencies--binging and purging. It's been a while since I've done it, and my partner was out having dinner with a friend tonight--which meant a few hours to myself this evening. First I wavered in the balancing: walking through the grocery store I picked up and then put down three different items that I thought about buying to take home to eat and throw up. Next, I played games: if I call Billy and he knows I'm thinking about it, then I won't do it because he'll be looking for the signs when he gets home. I also played the optimistically destructive card: "what's one more time; I won't do it for another few months afterward." Then still wavering, I took a long shower to delay my choice.
In the shower I thought about what I was doing, and I practiced being present and identifying what was really going on. I recognized the urge I was feeling as well as the optimistic destruction tendencies I was engaging in. I felt really uncomfortable with the urge, uncomfortable with the responses, and uncomfortable with being forced to make a decision. I felt like I'd lose if I binged and purged, but I'd also lose if I didn't fulfill the urge.
Then I realized that what I really wanted to do was get rid of all of the discomfort.
And, so, finally, I sat myself down in front of the computer to purge some emotions and balance the scales. And here we are. Do I feel comfortable now? Yes and no. I'm certainly standing back on two feet... but I've also exposed more than I typically like to. ...What I feel best about is the moment where I allowed myself to be fully present and honestly assess where I was and what I was feeling. Hey, it's practice.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Adapting to Extremes
Some weeks are crazy: exciting, stressful, emotional, upsetting, or busy... and some weeks are all of those things. This week was one of those weeks. The week began amazingly: On the weekend I went to an awesome Anusara yoga workshop with John Friend; went on an beautiful beach walk with a good friend; got "free hugs" from adorable young boys on the beach; and came home tired on Sunday night to dinner cooked by my husband. My heart was as stuffed as full as it could get.
Then there was Monday. Obama announced to the world that bin Laden was dead. My entire self felt full. But I wasn't really able to define the feeling--it was confusion about all of the responses I was feeling, a nagging reminder that bin Laden was not the entire anti-American movement, mixed with some sadness for the lost of a human life. Whatever feeling that might be called, it didn't feel good. And watching American reactions from Australia, as well as being one of the only Americans in my workplace and fitness environments, I felt extreme pressure to comment on the whole situation and to respond to the numerous questions I received.
The rest of the week seemed to follow the same pattern--intense highs and lows with tremendous levels of stress on top of the other extremes, with an injury thrown in for good measure. Maintaining my sanity throughout the week seemed to be secondary to just making it through the week at times. I felt proud of myself for making the small windows of time to get on my mat, but I also felt frustrated and unbalanced. My yoga practice was minimized to gentle yoga for short stretches of time to compensate for both the injury and the minimal time I had to devote to it this week.
I think that was the key to the "success" of making it through the week, though: adaptation. Even though it was, at times, unwilling adaptation, I adapted. And that's something we all have to continue to do: grow, change, accept, repeat.
On the Saturday ending this week of extremes, I woke up exhausted and unwilling to try to do anything. I didn't want to work, play, relax, or be. But I did a little hard-work-adapting, made it through Saturday, and on to a Sunday filled with love. Today (Sunday) I reconnected with an old friend: we met in a park and then came across a Buddhist festival where we created lotus lanterns out of paper. After we finished gluing the paper petals on the paper base, we were invited to write a wish on a piece of paper and to hang it from the bottom of the lantern.
Putting together the layers of the lotus lantern with my dear friend felt like the perfect ending to my extreme week. I think my lotus lantern wish will be for continual, but perhaps slightly easier, adaptation. And I'm manifesting it out to the rest of you--I wish that your adaptation is also continuous and that you are accepting of the changes you experience. That's a hard sentiment to fit on my slip of paper attached to my lantern, though, so I'm writing and wishing it here. x
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
A box of happiness
This morning one of my friends told me that he put a postcard I sent him in his keepsake box, a box that he goes to for positivity when he feels down. I was touched by the sentiment. But, I also felt a twinge of excitement, like one might feel on Christmas Eve. A box of happiness, I thought… what an amazing thing to have!
I want happiness in a box. Some happiness I can access when I need it, happiness that I can take from as I please. I don’t expect to always just be able to find it; I would pay for it, especially if it was packaged in a pretty box with a pretty ribbon. And, because I’m a good shopper, I would naturally find it on sale and score a great bargain. And I would buy some for all of my friends. Imagine my popularity!
But, of course, as a yogini, I have to say all that I need I already have. No shopping required: it’s inside of me. The happiness is there, waiting to be accessed.
But if that’s really true, why is it so hard sometimes? I’ve been particularly stressed for the past couple of months: lots of visiting with friends, sandwiched between lots of travel, smothered with lots of work and conferences. That recipe of busy has left me feeling really depleted and like I don’t have any happiness for myself, much less any to offer to share with my friends, family, or yoga classes. I haven’t even blogged (ack!).
Hearing from my friend this morning that my postcard meant so much was a reminder: I do have that reserve inside, and apparently I am sharing it, even at times when I may not realize or remember it. In fact, recalling the short conversation with my friend ignites a spark of happiness in my heart. And deep down I know that my heart has endless happiness contained within it.
Now, to figure out how to unwrap the rest of it.
The more I think about it, though, even my friend’s box of happiness was coming from within. I mean, after all, he was using tangible things to remind him of happiness he had previously experienced. So certainly tangible reminders can work to tap into happiness stores. And I found that spark while remembering the conversation I had this morning. So reminders of warm conversations with friends can find some happiness.
But I want to take these sparks and stoke them. I want to be warmed by the fire of my happiness, not just reminded of it.
So my challenge for my next yoga practice (two hours from now!), and your next yoga practice, whether it’s today or next week, 10 minutes or 90 minutes: start with a morsel of happiness. Focus on that bit of happiness and remember how your heart felt, how your body felt, how you felt during that time. Spend a few minutes focusing on the warmth of that happiness.
Then, use that as your intention for your practice. Offer that small kernel as a beginning. And then? Explore. Open. Begin to unwrap. Keep searching. Offer a little more warmth to yourself as you need it throughout your practice.
Find the inner box of happiness. Open it! And then maybe try to share a little with others you encounter.
I want happiness in a box. Some happiness I can access when I need it, happiness that I can take from as I please. I don’t expect to always just be able to find it; I would pay for it, especially if it was packaged in a pretty box with a pretty ribbon. And, because I’m a good shopper, I would naturally find it on sale and score a great bargain. And I would buy some for all of my friends. Imagine my popularity!
But, of course, as a yogini, I have to say all that I need I already have. No shopping required: it’s inside of me. The happiness is there, waiting to be accessed.
But if that’s really true, why is it so hard sometimes? I’ve been particularly stressed for the past couple of months: lots of visiting with friends, sandwiched between lots of travel, smothered with lots of work and conferences. That recipe of busy has left me feeling really depleted and like I don’t have any happiness for myself, much less any to offer to share with my friends, family, or yoga classes. I haven’t even blogged (ack!).
Hearing from my friend this morning that my postcard meant so much was a reminder: I do have that reserve inside, and apparently I am sharing it, even at times when I may not realize or remember it. In fact, recalling the short conversation with my friend ignites a spark of happiness in my heart. And deep down I know that my heart has endless happiness contained within it.
Now, to figure out how to unwrap the rest of it.
The more I think about it, though, even my friend’s box of happiness was coming from within. I mean, after all, he was using tangible things to remind him of happiness he had previously experienced. So certainly tangible reminders can work to tap into happiness stores. And I found that spark while remembering the conversation I had this morning. So reminders of warm conversations with friends can find some happiness.
But I want to take these sparks and stoke them. I want to be warmed by the fire of my happiness, not just reminded of it.
So my challenge for my next yoga practice (two hours from now!), and your next yoga practice, whether it’s today or next week, 10 minutes or 90 minutes: start with a morsel of happiness. Focus on that bit of happiness and remember how your heart felt, how your body felt, how you felt during that time. Spend a few minutes focusing on the warmth of that happiness.
Then, use that as your intention for your practice. Offer that small kernel as a beginning. And then? Explore. Open. Begin to unwrap. Keep searching. Offer a little more warmth to yourself as you need it throughout your practice.
Find the inner box of happiness. Open it! And then maybe try to share a little with others you encounter.
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