Make space to become creative.

When the Seattle Public School teachers started grumbling about a strike a few days before school started I talked to my teacher friend Kate about it. She schooled me on some of the issues, one of them being a decent amount of recess. Actually the teachers are only asking for a half-hour of recess which, if you ask me, isn't really decent, but it's a lot better than nothing.

We are heading into the fifth day of a Seattle Public Schools strike and, while I am getting a bit nervous, maybe even slightly scared of what will come, I fully support the plight of the teachers for more money, more control over testing and evaluation, and more RECESS. We don't think about recess much as adults. We grow up and it's time to go to work. Most of us squeeze in play time and don't give ourselves much of a chance to let loose and shake off our worries like we used to on the playground during recess.

I recently listened to a podcast by a neuropsychologist named Rex Jung who studies creativity. We cannot be in a constant state of knowledge acquisition, he says. We need to give our brain a chance to check out a bit, to have recess, in order to spread out and open up, to put things together. This is how creativity comes to us.

The teachers' strike comes at an interesting time for me. I planned The SweatBox remodel during this first week of school, after a busy summer filled with child care duties, knowing that I'd have lots of time to be at the studio-- working, planning, organizing, getting shit done. And I am, but this strike, and some of the teachers' motivation behind it, reminds me that part of getting my brain into a state of creativity-- making the new schedule, choosing the best paint colors, placing the art--- means shutting it off a little bit too.

During most of the year I use my Yoga practice as my recess. Or I go for a run. But when I'm very busy, like when I'm cramming a pretty significant renovation into 10 days, those practices fall away. "This is time limited," I tell myself. "After a week I'll be back to my regular activities. I can hunker down and be all in for this remodel until it's done. " I can do that, but should I? After hearing that podcast and listening to the teachers' share their passion for balanced learning through this strike, I'm pretty sure it's not the best approach for me.

On Thursday the contractors are grinding down the floors of the studio. It will be messy and loud. Today Darrell, my wonderful, very creative contractor said, "Laura, on Thursday and Friday it's going to be chaotic as hell in here. Take your daughter and go to the ocean. Turn your brain off and don't think about this project for a few days." That sounds like a really good idea. Unless, of course, there's school.....

The Best is Yet to Come

In 2012, after many years of avoiding and side-stepping, Barak Obama made the public statement that he was in favor of legalizing gay marriage. It is a rare moment when a very public figure declares, with grace and humility, that he has evolved, changed, grown. Obama's public acknowledgment was a humble gift to his public. It wasn't just his proclamation that he changed his opinion that touched so many; it was his public acknowledgment that he had evolved. Ultimately after the Supreme Court decision in June 2015, Obama came out in exultant celebration of legalized gay marriage.

"Progress on this journey often comes in small increments, sometimes two steps forward, one step back, propelled by the persistent effort of dedicated citizens," he said. "And then sometimes, there are days like this when that slow, steady effort is rewarded with justice that arrives like a thunderbolt."

That famous moment in time changed the lives of millions. 

Why did Obama change his mind? What small experiences in his life led him to open his heart and face his fears? Did he meet one person who radically changed his perspective? Or was it incremental, like he suggested, "two steps forward, one step back," lots of little experiences that ultimately shifted his perspective? I'm not sure it matters. When people open their minds to new and different ideas, when they face their fears, change comes and good things happen.

For the last two decades, Yoga has occupied a significant place in my heart and in my mind. I have deep gratitude for the way my practice has grounded me. For the past few years though, my Yoga has started to feel less like grounding and more like an anchor; I have noticed myself feeling stuck. I still love it, and I feel myself going through an evolution. A dedicated Bikram practitioner for over twenty years, I have found myself questioning my loyalty to a single practice, wondering if I am doing justice to myself and my students by practicing and offering just one style of Yoga. It is not that I have fallen out of favor with the practice. No way. I love the Yoga and I feel grateful that my 46-year-old knees can do the things they do. I thank my Bikram practice for that.

My personal perspective vis-a-vis Yoga has been to keep it safe, familiar-- Bikram Yoga is what I do. Bikram Yoga is what I know. And so, like Obama, I have clung tightly to what I know, what feels safe and free of conflict. My evolution has come in the form of many little baby steps of curiosity. What else is out there? Who else is wandering the streets of this amazingly Yoga saturated city? What are the students learning? What are the teachers saying? And so I began exploring. I went on my own Yoga adventure. It was scary at first to dive into this new world. I took lots of different classes, talked to different teachers, dipped my toes in the scary waters  of  "What if?" 

And here's what I've found. Like Obama, I take two steps forward--Vinyasa Flow is hard and fun! And one step back-- I need my Bikram to keep my knees healthy and my hips open. Hot Fusion is so efficient. But Bikram lets me really relax mentally. And with every new Yoga experience I have (and there are a lot of choices out there!), I find my perspective shifting. I want my home practice, my stable, grounding, familiar Bikram practice. And I want more. The world of Yoga has grown in leaps and bounds. The community has gone from itty bitty to ginormous in the past two decades. 

What I teach my students every day when I am at the front of the class guiding them is to take risks, to have adventure, to be open. And so here I sit, writing this proclamation of my own, acknowledging that I have had a closed mind, that I have been afraid. In my recent Yoga adventure I've seen so many great things, Bikram Yoga included. How will the future of The SweatBox look? Of course we'll maintain our regular amazing classes and teachers; changes will be slow and steady.The beautiful bright cherry red door that opens into The SweatBox will still open into The SweatBox. Who we are fundamentally will not change. We will always be caring, compassionate, knowledgeable teachers, committed to our students. But our door will be open a little bit wider, making room for new ideas, new visions. And if you're scared, tentative about the changes, I want you to know that I get it. I've been there. I still go there. But my mind is open now and it feels good! Remember your daily Yoga practice--everyday is different; it is a process that never ends. As we move into the future SweatBox, remind yourself that we are all a part of this process of discovery. Where this journey will take us isn't clear. If it was, it wouldn't be a journey. One thing I know for sure is that the best is yet to come. 

I get by with a little help from my friends.

On Friday at 3:00pm I headed back from Shoreline to Seattle. I had scheduled a 4:00pm meeting with my friend Genessa in Columbia City and a 5:00pm meeting with my friend Molly in Mount Baker. I'm never late, and often have to force myself not to be early.

At 3:45pm I had only gotten about 40 blocks on Aurora so I called Genessa and told her there was no way that I'd get to her by 4:00pm. She called me and we did some of our meeting on the phone. Genessa was completely empathetic to my situation. She told me how she'd been in gridlock two days before and had almost called the Seattle non-emergency police number to get out of it.

By this point, I had gotten off in Fremont to try and circumnavigate the traffic. After about 45 minutes of almost getting killed by doing illegal sprints across different intersections, I realized that the Fremont Bridge was also not an option.  I headed towards the University Bridge. I realized after 20 minutes that I'd never get over it so I turned back towards Fremont where I found myself hitting another wall of despair. I turned around again and headed down Northlake thinking, if I could just get to the Montlake Bridge, I could make my way to Lake Washington and finally get back to the south end. An aerial view of my car would have looked like a PacMan guy spazzing out.

I was completely clear at this point that I was not going to get to Molly's house in South Seattle by 5:00pm. Molly is a Seattle native. She's also got a really solid head on her shoulders and is one of the best people I know to help process and/or put out fires. I texted Molly that I'd never get there in time (for those of you wondering about all this texting in the car, I use voice texting).

Molly's response, "Take deep breaths and relax into it" was the last communication I had with anyone until I finally pulled into my driveway at 6:00pm. After getting Molly's text, I spent another 40 minutes trying to get to the Montlake Bridge, but once I got over, it was relatively smooth sailing.

The traffic was bad that day. Really bad, and I had no control. Nobody had any control. Yet somehow I thought that I alone could figure it out. I knew, after trying nine different routes, that crossing the Ship Canal was going to  be a long journey on that Friday afternoon, but I couldn't accept it. I had things to do, places to be. I couldn't let go of that, so I couldn't let go of the traffic. In not letting go, my anxiety was building. I had to pee. I was hungry. My schedule was being jacked. I was lost in it and unable to break out of my mental chaos.

Enter Molly. Molly's words were just what I needed to get out of my mental spider web. Sometimes, even when we know a truth, it takes an outside reminder to jog it into our consciousness. Thanks Molly. I'm grateful for friends like you who help me put out the fires.

You know what? You're really aggravatin' me.

Last week we hosted our three nieces (Lauren: 18, Nicole: 16 and Kaye:10 years old) plus one nephew, Will, age 7 from New Orleans. Our household isn't quiet-- Nancy and Lucia are big hip-hop fans and, unlike me, they love loud music-- but our household is generally calm. We're all big readers, we like to take baths, eat home-cooked, sit-down meals, play Scrabble.

Having five kids really takes parenting to a new level, even for one short week. I have all new respect for you parents of the masses. You are the shit. The grocery bill alone could bankrupt us. Besides the fact that the shopping selection has to accommodate all the different palate and dietary needs, there are so many mouths to feed.

On the flip-side, having an almost complete soccer team all the time is super fun. We went white water rafting, to a soccer game, took light rail, jumped off the magic tree in Seward Park, paddle boarded, played 1014 games of Bullshit and, when we weren't cooking huge vats of things to feed the masses, we ate dinner and lunch and breakfast all over Seattle. By the end of the seven days, we were all exhausted, in the very best way.

A few days before the nieces and nephew left, we had a big party to celebrate. The party went late and little Will lost his mojo. We put him to bed while the other kids and grown-ups were still raging. As I rubbed Will's back, talking him through a guided relaxation that I have done for years with Lucia, he seemed like he was drifting off. I started to rub his back more slowly and more lightly, employing my well-honed technique that allows me to leave the sleeping child without them knowing. Just as I thought he was asleep, Will turned to me and said, in a tone similar to something you might hear Danny DeVito's character Louie DePalma from Taxi say, "Y'know what? You're really aggravatin' me." I kept rubbing his back, and within minutes, Will was fast asleep.

The morning everyone left, I took Frani's class. Besides one home practice, I hadn't done Yoga in a week and I was really in need. We've been doing significant of changes in The SweatBox infrastructure and the details associated with this in conjunction with parenting five kids, had rendered me a little bit psychotic and a little bit catatonic. Finding my peace in the Yoga room was going to be tough. As Frani talked us into our first Savasana, I had a flash of Will's proclamation, "Y'know what? You're really aggravatin' me." And I could relate. I could totally relate. The voice in my head that was coaxing me to relax, to let go, to find peace was incredibly aggravating!  In that moment of trying to relax, I had literally hundreds of ideas, decisions, negotiations, that occupied every cell of my body.  Trying to disengage from that web was going to take more than a few encouraging words.

And then, like I often tell you guys when I'm the teacher, I told myself, "Laura, just keep trying." I did. And I got there. I found it. My peace. My breath. Myself.  Remember: the aggravation, frustration, irritation that often accompany Savasana are all part of the process. If your path was always direct, if you could always easily get to a place of relaxation, you wouldn't need Yoga. When you have those days, when you think you'll never get to relaxation, just keep trying. When you finally get there, it's a good, good feeling.

Confetti

When I teach Yoga my experience is always unique. Depending on the size, composition, intensity of the class, different things happen every time. A few weeks ago when I was teaching, I had this image, right at the end of class, of confetti floating around the room.

As a student of Yoga, I am familiar with the feeling of stirring things up in different postures. Oftentimes in Yoga, my mind is like a slide show. I'm thinking, then taking myself back to my quiet breath. I'm overheating and taking myself back to my calm focus. Sometimes thoughts I have in Yoga come back to me hours or days later. Some of them I never think about again. It's all part of what makes Yoga Yoga. We quietly let go of some things, and we become shockingly conscious of other things.

When we practice Yoga of any kind, there are releases happening all the time. It's what makes it feel so different, so good, so satisfying. We move our bodies into new and different positions and this also affects our brains, our hearts, our souls. By the end of the class, it's anyone's guess what's really going on inside. The mystery is part of the beauty.

And so that day when I was teaching, I envisioned confetti. The eighteen hard-working students were lying in Savasana, seemingly quiet, still, and calm. Through their hard work, they had used, and also released a lot of energy. It was whirring around the room, like a windy ticker tape parade. These newly cleansed bodies stayed in their quietude as I prepared to leave the Yoga room.  I could see it in my mind's eye so clearly, like confetti, the energy in the room moving. It would settle somewhere, at some point, but none of us knew exactly where. It was so beautiful to watch everyone, perfect in their stillness, open and ready to find out what would come from this festival of energy. Yoga, it's always a party.

Embrace the glory!

Have you ever done something you thought you could never do? Was it so out of your personal realm of possibility that you surprised yourself when it happened?

Since watching the Women's World Cup Soccer game last Sunday, I have been thinking about Carli Lloyd. Did she surprise herself with that hat trick? I read an article after that amazing show of talent and grace that Carli Lloyd actually visualized that she would score four goals at the finals against Japan on Sunday. She made three of those four goals--- in the first sixteen minutes of the game!

For me, the mother of a ten-year-old soccer player and fan who wears her hair now exactly like Alex Morgan, the young, highly endorsed star of the U.S. team (pony tail and stretchy pink headband), I am thrilled at the results of this year's World Cup. The are so many lessons to learn in watching those women play, for adults and kids alike.

When Carli Lloyd scored her third goal from mid-field, I felt my heart stop for a moment. For real. The shot alone was miraculous, but the third one, by the same player, in the first sixteen minutes of the game. It was almost too much to bear. How did Carli feel? How did her teammates and her coach feel? How does one process that amount of glory?

For most of us in our lifetimes, we won't have that degree of triumph in such a short window of time. But we can all have small moments and we owe it to ourselves to revel in those snippets of time, to embrace the glory that comes with surprising ourselves when we show up in new and different ways.

It happens for me in Yoga when I'm in a period of being well-rested, injury free, and full of clear intentions for my practice. In these times, I surprise myself and it feels great. I've written about this before-- about how Nancy and other students smile when they have unexpected moments in their Yoga practice. There's nothing better than witnessing those moments; I wish them upon all of my students, at least one time during every practice.

Oftentimes I invite my students to set their intention for what they want from their Yoga class and I usually set an intention for myself when I practice. The invitation to myself since watching the Women's World Cup is to explore new territory for where I can set my intentions-- to think about all of the places I can visualize and be open to thrilling surprises. It is, of course, in my Yoga practice, but it's also everywhere in the world-- in my work, my relationship, my role as parent, friend, sister, daughter, aunt and neighbor. Thank you Carli and all of the players on the U.S. World Cup team for the inspiration!

Panic first. Breathe later.

It's ten degrees hotter right now in Portland than it is in Seattle. Isn't that weird? I always imagine that Seattle and Portland have the same weather. When I was driving down here yesterday, I watched the outside temperature gauge on my car go from 85 to 93 to 97.  When I stopped for gas in Chehalis, I noticed that there was something dripping from the engine. A natural born panicker, I immediately popped the hood and poked around to find the radiator. Having no idea what I was looking for, I went around to my passenger door to dig out the manual from my glove box.

As I pulled out emergency energy bars and spare tampons from the glove compartment to dig out the instructions, a nice woman from Chehalis peeked her face around and kindly asked, "Something dripping?"

"Do you know anything about cars?" I whined.  Visions of being stranded with a broken car had already started infiltrating my headspace.

"It's the air conditioning," she said frankly. "I freaked out the first time I saw this too. It's just condensation."

"You saved me!" I smiled at her, thanking her profusely for taking me off the cliff with her mechanical expertise. I felt my heart rate slow down and my breathing return to normal.

That's when I realized that I have, in my four years of owning this car, never used my air conditioning for any sustained period of time. Now I know that there will be condensation under my engine when I use the air conditioning and I won't panic in the future. Why do I always go to panic first, before gathering full information? I think it is partly nature and partly nurture, and at this point, being almost fifty years old, I don't really care why, I just want to alter my future path so my heart doesn't do somersaults with every unknown that crosses my path.

I've been teaching Bikram Yoga for close to fifteen years, practicing for over twenty. I love teaching. I love my students. I love practicing. And, I want to keep growing. So, over the last several months, in an effort to improve my own teaching and practicing, I have been on an expedition to take many different kinds of Yoga classes with teachers I've never had.  I recognize, before every new class, every new teacher, that I get that panicky feeling of entering into the unknown. I feel my heart rate speed up, my breath get a little shallow.  Then, after class, I am pleasantly rewarded with the feeling of having successfully traversed my resistant path. I am breathing again and can experience that good feeling that comes after a Yoga class.

I could write twenty pages about this. My "panic first, breathe later" approach to life is exhausting and demoralizing at times; I feel like I've been trying to "solve" this problem for my whole adult life. But, as much as I hate the fact that panic takes up so much of my energy, I can appreciate that it is the entranceway to another really important road that I must travel. It is from the point of panic that I find my way to calm. And there's no better feeling than that.