Bravery in a different package.

In September my daughter Lucia started sixth grade at a huge public middle school with over 1200 kids. Lucia is a natural at school. It comes easy to her and she loves it. The transition to this new environment went well too, with the exception of one seventh grade girl who consistently bugged Lucia. The bugging turned to teasing and after a few months, it was just downright bullying.

Lucia wanted to handle it on her own. She didn't want her parents to talk to the teachers or the school counselor or the other girl's parents. We coached her as well as we could, role playing things to say, brainstorming what, if anything, might be provoking the behavior. My partner Nancy even gave her a boxing lesson one night after dinner.

A few days before winter vacation, the bullying behavior peaked. This was the same day that Lucia had told the girl face-to-face, in a serious tone, that she did not appreciate or like her behavior and she wanted her, in no uncertain terms, to STOP.

The final straw was when the girl stole Lucia's lunch box out of her locker, took it onto her bus and taunted Lucia from a bus full of other kids. Somehow Lucia got the lunchbox back. When she finally made it to my car, she said, "I'm done Mom. I want you to call her parents."

The rest is really history. I called her mom. She was incredibly gracious, and the next day at school was great. Lucia reported that things felt really different (and good).

Lucia tried. She tried really hard. She asked for advice, for guidance, for support. But in the end, she just needed a break, some help. Asking for help is one of the hardest things to do. To say, "I can't do it alone" takes courage. I'm certain that Lucia's experience this year won't be her last battle in middle school. She'll have other opportunities to stand up against bullies, to find her strength and fight back. But I'm proud of her for asking for help, for listening to what she needed.

In the yoga room when I'm practicing, I push myself. I get a lot from trying hard. I like the challenge. I like the way it makes me feel, the endorphin rush I get, the pride that comes from the struggle. There are times though that I need a break. I can't stand on one leg any longer. My body needs a rest. Sometimes I ignore that message and I keep fighting. That's the moment when my yoga practice goes out the window. I'm no longer listening to what I need, I'm just pushing myself to stay in the fight. When I do listen, when I rest in Savasana or Child's Pose, that's when I'm still doing my yoga. I'm listening to myself and truly hearing the internal messages.

How we are in our yoga practice is a microcosm of how we are in life. For many of us, asking for help is hard to do. We often ignore that message when we hear it, choosing instead to stand in a place of pride from doing it on our own. A daily yoga practice that offers us challenges is a great place to start listening more deeply to ourselves. Work hard on your mat, fight the good fight, and practice listening to what you need.

Failure is not a dirty word

Last week I took Aimée's Vinyasa class. About halfway through the class, she stopped us and gave a little introduction about the next posture we would do. She said, "a lot of this sequence is built around failure. When we do this next pose, be open to failing."

As we set up and attempted Firefly pose, most of us did fail, even the teacher. After class, I told Aimée how fun the sequence was. She looked relieved and said, "I taught that earlier this week and it was a total bust."

"Why?" I asked her.

"Because I didn't tell the students they could fail," she replied with the clarity only someone who'd seen both sides could offer.

For some reason, failure is a dirty word in our culture. But why?  Failure is the only way to get to where we want to go. How can we learn what we need to learn without failure. I will need way stronger arms and core to do Firefly. If I just popped into it when Aimée offered us the posture, that would be a bore.

As a parent, I often think about what "failure" means to my daughter. I see her, even at age 12, resistant to trying new things for fear that she'll fail. When does this message start and how do we counter it, make failure something to expect instead of something to avoid?

Maybe it is the overt invitation to fail, an explicit offering that unifies us in the experience instead of divides us. Some people are naturally more pliable in certain directions, born with openly rotated hips and short arms and punching biceps. Other people, like me, have hips that naturally rotate more internally and long, Olive-Oilesque arms. I'll fail more times at doing arm balances that require deep, open hips and others will struggle more to do binding poses with their arms and legs like eagle.

It's okay to fail. It's important to fail. I invite you, me, all of us to fail. Next time you come into the yoga room, give yourself a strong, clear invitation to flounder a little bit, to teeter, to fall out, to fail. Let this be the starting point for the rest of your life. What have you wanted to do but avoided because you were afraid to fail? Notice what you've been avoiding and step into those places. Reclaim it, rename it if you want to. Failure is not a dirty word. Thanks Aimée.

An Ode to My People

My little village is comprised of two As, one D, two Es, one F, a J, three Ks, 2 Ms, 2 Ps, Rs, Ss and one Z.

Aimée is an actor and you can definitely tell. Her classes are dramatic and creative as hell.
Alyssa is wise, well beyond her young years. Her knowledge of anatomy makes postures so clear.
Dana's teaching is crisp, precise and merry.  Every Saturday she comes to teach us by ferry.
Emily is fierce is the kindest of ways. She challenges us to open our hearts every day.
Erika is our unique Jivamukti teacher. She learned in Berlin and captivates like a preacher.
Frani, dear Frani is the rock of our village. She's the calm in the storm. Having her by my side is a privilege.
Janet is soft-spoken and peaceful and kind. But she teaches some burners that will challenge and bind.
Katy the singer has a big open heart. Her class is consistent and challenging and smart.
Keely, though often is flying the skies, we love to see her and her sparkling bright eyes.
Kelly has shown me a broader perspective, a way to bring yoga to people who are often neglected.
Mary, sweet Mary has the most contagious smile. She'll teach you everything you need to know about a healthy lifestyle.
Meghan! Yay, you're coming back. One of our original, I welcome you home to this place. I've missed your gentle voice and your beautiful face.
Parvanah, the name says it all, a beautiful butterfly answering her call. 
Penni, you go girl, making us work in that room. Your passion and fire help all of us bloom.
Rachael, my sage, my guide, my advisor. You happened upon me and I am so very much wiser!
Reva, our baby, in all the best ways. You work and you work and I can see the change every day.
Seth, our lone hombre, I appreciate you dearly. You're thoughtful and open and wonderfully cheery.
Sunny, the fierce one, a strong, invigorating energy. You bring to us knowledge that's so complimentary.
Zahr, the last Z, the one I rarely see. It doesn't mean you aren't special to me.  
My village of letters, you are so very much more. You are the people I love and cherish and adore. 
Your presence in the world brings goodness to all who you touch. I am grateful to you and love you so much!

Dignity, Integrity, Humanity

Many years ago my twin sister Katherine gave me a little metal sculpture made of antique spoons. I still have the sculpture, a six-inch tall metal figure with a face on it and on the body, it says, "Dignity, Integrity and Humanity."

A few weeks ago, I parked in front of The SweatBox at 7:45am. As I got out of my car, I noticed a figure in a sleeping bag on the sidewalk of the brand new apartment building across from the studio. Next to the sleeping bag was a wheelchair. What do I do? Do I walk over and wake this person to see if they are okay? Do I call the police? The paramedics? I decided to wait an hour and go back out. When I peeked outside again at 9am, the figure was gone.

As I prepared to teach my 9:30am class,  this person was all I could think about. Did I miss a moment to connect with this other human? Have I lost my ability? Is this how the world is? How I am?

Before I started the class, I took a moment before the beautiful group of students to share the experience. "When you walk outside today, remember your humanity," I encouraged them. Spending the next 90 minutes in the yoga room with my students, seeing them all working very hard, struggling, each in their own way, I felt so grateful to be in this environment of love, kindness and vulnerability. At the same time, I felt utterly crestfallen about the state of the world.

My job as a teacher is to support and guide and love my students, to help shepherd them to places where they feel good and whole and at peace. These days, on the streets in Seattle, all over our city, there are people who are struggling, who are without support or love or guidance. They are without shelter, proper clothing, consistent food and water.

At the same time, there is development-- new places to live and eat and shop and do yoga. It's easy to separate, to find emotional safety in crossing the street or lowering your eyes. But what does that say? How does it make a person who is struggling feel? How does it make you feel to avoid or dismiss another human? I come back to the sculpture my sister gave me 20 years ago--"Dignity, Integrity, Humanity"-- a message that is so basic, and so important to remember. Every human being deserves these fundamental things. Our world, communities as small and blocks and as large as countries, will not survive without those things.

We are all human. No matter what your political beliefs, your income bracket, your skin color, your mental health status, national origin or hair color. Think about the heart that you nurture and open and connect with everyday in your yoga practice. Recognize how you feel when you are in a space where you are confident that you are being loved and supported and held. Practicing yoga, opening your heart creates happiness, joy, a sense of peace and ease. When you walk outside today on the Seattle streets that have become hardened and sad and desperate for so many, remind yourself that we are all human. Share what you have by showing humanity to everyone. Do what you can to give everyone some dignity and integrity. Challenge yourself to look at each and every person in their eyes. If you don't have money to give or something to share, don't avoid connection. Be a human in whatever way you can.