Balance is found right on the edge of risk.

Today, I was in class, and I was working on balancing my body up on my hands in this ridiculous posture, bhudjipidasana. Dylan, the teacher, is helping me progress from the first step to the second step. The lovely thing about this posture is that while it takes strength to stay up there on your hands, the posture is more about balance as you move from one position to another.

Step one. Get your knees behind your shoulders and hook your feet and get them off the floor. 

Step two: Lift and hook your feet. (Damn this woman can LIFT!)

Step Three: Thread your feet through and roll forward so your head, chin or nose is just hovering. 

Today, as I was not quite floating up there on my hands with my feet hooked in front of me attempting to rotate forward slowly and in control, I fell down on my butt. Dylan came over and offered some sage advice.

"If you are falling down backwards, you probably aren't far enough forward to get your head on the floor." True, true. 

Then he said this gem, and I chewed on it for the rest of class. "Balance often exists at the edge of risk." or something like that, forgive me, I am paraphrasing. "In our New Age society, we often make the mistake of thinking we will find balance through some puritanistic behavior. Actually, balance rarely occurs without some degree of risk. You probably know this well, Kate."

Suddenly I'm thinking of the peace of mind I find when I'm on the edge of risk. So many people think that it is an endorphin rush, the sense of fear that keeps us coming back to the "edge". But that's not what I look for. That's not why I love riding my bike on technical terrain or climbing or skiing something steep... I love it because there is a moment where you chose to commit to the risky prospect, and after you are in, past the commitment point, and there is no turning back, your job is to simply be present in the most profound way. 

To feel your body and the earth beneath you and respond, with mindful balance, staying in that beautiful, tenuous place between complete disaster and total freedom. 

You can experience it standing on one foot, you can experience is walking on a slack line, you can experience it riding across a bridge, and dance and in yoga... 

I remember riding my bike down the biggest rock garden I've ever been in, and knowing that the consequences of falling, even though I was completely and totally covered in big hard core DH armor would be severe. Kurt was riding with me at Keystone that day, and he was already through. I didn't have the option of following his line, and in a rock garden like that you are reacting in the moment so much that if you TRY to follow someone else's' line, you are not in your own body, or in your own practice as it were.

One of those moments of bliss. This is me floating in silence over the insanity in Crested Butte, Colorado last year.

I remember realizing that the rocks were huge, and that I knew I needed to keep my speed up because the wheels won't roll over the huge rocks unless they are at a certain speed. I remember lifting my gaze and breathing out, and feeling the bike underneath me like an animal, like a snake moving fluidly and willingly over every single obstacle in its path. I could feel my hind feet and my front feet, like I do in yoga, I was hovering over the bike and it was coming into my body and dropping away, moving like a possessed rocking horse underneath me. The idea of consequence fell away. The idea of protecting myself fell away. There was only the sticky tires finding their way across the rocks and my body asking the bike to go this way and responding when it went another way. 

It was a slow motion conversation, and I was reminded about skiing steeps, or slack-lining across the freezing cold pond. When the terrain gets aggressive, you don't need to add aggression. There is enough Pita going on. You need to live in awareness and touch in that moment, moving with the earth not fighting it, not adding anything extra or unnecessary. 

I remember rolling out the bottom of that rock garden and looking up at Kurt's grinning face. "How you doing?" he asked. 

"Did not die." I answered, looking in awe at the ground I had just covered, and at my bike, and at my own body, and finally at my mind, able for some reason to stay calm and present and balanced on the journey. A huge wave of giddiness hit me. I was really grateful that it hadn't hit me while I was riding. I liked the peace during the journey more than the exuberance after. 

In these moments there is this magnificent feeling of freedom. Its just about your body, for me, its not about aggression or about achievement or about winning... it is about the moment where I choose to risk, but in an intelligent, informed way, because I believe I am ready. And the moment where I step across and over my fear, and hold it gently in my hand, and feel it sometimes pressing all around me, but my breath, calm and steady and sure, holds it away and off of my body. And the moment where time is suspended because there is nothing but the breath and the movement, no time before the decision was made and no time existing after in possible consequence. 

I believe that this risk exists in all forms. For some people, feeling, expressing and receiving love is that same moment of intense risk. Theses people can ski or ride the gnarliest terrain, but feeling their heart beating true for someone else is full of more consequence and fear than riding a rock garden with no armor. Finding balance, finding sensation in that moment of fear, breathing out and looking in the eyes of your love and laying down your fear and exposing your vulnerable heart can be as thrilling, and as challenging.

There is a moment of risk. And just on the other side of that measured risk is a moment of balance. And in that balance, freedom stretches endlessly in both directions.

Below, one of the deepest expressions of risk and balance and beauty I've seen. Enjoy!

I do believe you can be whatever you want to be. As long as that thing is you.

I think we spend a lot of time suffering in pursuit of some ideal, of trying to become an image or an idea of another person we have seen. No matter how hard I work, I am not going to become my friend Ann, and I shouldn't want to. First, "Is not possible." because she is she and I am me. 

We have different... everything. To want to become who Ann is puts me in complete denial of all that I am, and can be. I am not going to have waist length curly brown hair, amber eyes, an eight pack and nearly black skin. Because I have shoulder length blonde hair, nice broad shoulders, a two pack and lighter skin. 

Beautiful. For so many reasons. This is the picture in question.

WHY am I going on and on about Ann (not her real name)? Because I was on Facebook the other day (imagine that), and my friend Ann, an accomplished and amazing yoga instructor, had posted a beautiful photo. Now; she is a truly beautiful woman, she is in the bloom of love, and she is making choices that help her live the life she loves. All of these things help to make her spirit and her soul shine through in a way that shows as a very bright light.

Many people are inspired by her beauty, how down to earth she is, how real, authentic, loving and giving she is, and how hard she works. She is a truly talented instructor, and a great, giving friend. She has a tight circle of like minded, like bodied girlfriends who love life together. 

After Ann posted this photo, many people commented on how beautiful she looked, how happy, how amazing. One person posted that she thought for years that if she worked hard enough, she would have a body like Ann's. And then this photo went up, and it showed this person that no matter how hard she worked, she would never ever attain the transcendental beauty and health that Ann possessed. This person was attempting to compliment Ann by holding her beauty as a ridiculous unobtainable ideal. In the process, she shattered her concept of her own self worth, beauty and potential, maybe without even realizing it. 

This is the trap of comparison. And we are all guilty of it sometimes. It diminishes our ability to feel joy, to be ourselves, to live in gratitude, to have a real and connected relationship with anyone. This kind of thinking leads to retail therapy and plastic surgery, trying to become something that you are not, by virtue of costume or sculpture. 

This might be more what your body looks like. This is a strong posture from the Ashtanga series. Beautiful. 

And be careful here, as well. By saying "becoming something that you are not" does not mean that you are LESS than the person you are looking at or wishing you were like. "Becoming something that you are not" means literally trying to make yourself into something other than YOU rather than shaping yourself into the MOST, BEST you that you can become by honoring your body, your face, your personality, your potential. 

You can develop your talents, and learn new skills, and be inspired down a path that you never knew was open to you (see previous post... Don't become a yoga instructor, everyone is doing that). But to do it in hopes of becoming someone else, and perhaps having their life rather than your own... happiness does not lie in this direction. This is a surefire shortcut to the sadness sickness.

Hair and breast implants, butt lifts, and the best yoga outfit in the studio are not going to change your internal life, who you are and the lessons you need to learn in order to grow. You are carrying your shit around with you no matter how thin, tan, and resurfaced you become. You are you. And how you look on the outside is heavily influenced by how much grace and compassion you have on the inside. Its true. I know you've heard it a million times. But it is true. When you let go of needing to be seen a certain way, the beautiful you begins to be nurtured, and THAT light is as bright as anyones.

You live with your own set of unique lessons that need to be learned. You can live in denial of those lessons by turning your judgement on others, chasing the idea of being someone other than you are, and changing your body by force. 

Or you can surrender into your skin, find a little grace and compassion for your beautiful potential, not only as an athlete, artist or spiri, but as a person. As a friend. As a heart. As someone to connect to, as someone worth knowing.

I feel this way in my body. It doesn't look a lot like this. But it gets healthier all the time, and I am so grateful for that. 

It took me a few years to wrap my head around loving who I am without that meaning that I am complacent. I can see my body as my own now, without overlaying the picture of someone else who seems to have a "better" body. I can see other people's health, and see myself, and know that I can become a healthier me. And strive for that. And be grateful for that.

Yoga tends to attract bodies that are easily suited to it, its fun to do something your body is already good at, already designed to do. My body is heavier, thicker than many yoga bodies. I have short arms and a long torso. I will never be able to jump through my hands because my palms don't touch the floor when I sit up straight. 

THIS IS NOT A TRAGEDY!! As Prem would say, "Is not possible." It doesn't matter. So, I do this little scooty thing where I drag my feet through my hands. Rhada has to do the same thing. Long torso, short arms, incredibly beautiful woman. Will I ever look like my teacher in Aspen, Sharon Capplain? Well, she is a good foot shorter than I am, with a vata body, thin, reedlike, floaty. If I tried to look like her, I would be in such fierce denial of me that I would kill my own light. Extinguish it by trying to become thinner than my body's natural constitution wants me to be.

Speaking of lights that shine bright, This is Sharon. 

Can I make my body healthier? Yes. I can. I can be inspired by Ann's deep practice and the resulting amazing body that she gets to play in all day. It does not discourage me to see how her body continues to develop into a stronger, leaner, more flexible, more grounded, more open vessel. She was not perfect before she took this photo, and she has not come closer to perfection with this photo. She was healthy before and is becoming more herself in many ways that require a lot more work than just eating salad and going to class.

When I saw this photo of Ann, I thought, wow. Look at her becoming even more who she is. She is really tapping into herself, loving herself, growing and becoming. I wonder who I will be if I continue to do that as well? 

And I was saddened by the statement that was posted, although I understand where it comes from. Because when we are motivated from a place of yearning or desire, our ability to work toward a goal is tainted from the start. It isn't truly from or for our own integrity. It is to win, to be like someone else, to be other that we are, to by "better" so we can be "happier". 

I also think that seeing this kind of post can, if she lets it, diminish Ann's happiness. This is the selfish and cruel part of this person posting a comment like this. The poster is punishing Ann to some extent for being brave enough to work hard emotionally, spiritually and physically on herself. This is unhealthy, selfish behavior.

Ann could take on this imposition, feeling guilty for the bounty she has created in her own life. I doubt she will, but it happens. Many people who have this kind of toxic "why can't I have it too" energy try to bring other people who are blissful down, so that their lives are more attainable.

The problem is that you can not co-opt someone else's happiness. No matter how hard she tries, the poster of this jealous comment won't be Ann. And there is no doubt that she is suffering for it. Until she learns that she CAN let go of wishing, and become the most excellent version of herself. The most excellent version of herself today, and tomorrow and the next day. She can look for ways that she can grow and shine and become healthier from wherever she is, whether that's 100 pounds over weight or very injured, or just a little sad and unsure of who she are or what her worth is, or whatever obstacle she is facing. 

Look in the mirror and find the spark of you. You are beautiful. You can become whatever you want to be. As long as that thing is an expression that really truly honors who YOU are. 

But you aren't who I wish you were, I knew that before I even met you.

It wasn't until we rolled up into the Shala this morning, and Isaac's little flip flop clad feet came slapping up to us through the mud, and Bodhi put his helmet on the bike, and I stood up and walked through the mud up the ramp through the new wall which gets higher every day that I realized, kind of, that today was the day that everything, or maybe just two really significant things, were going to be really different.

Thanks, Prem and Rhada. 

We had missed Prem and Rhada's last class. I had, in my mind, had this day as the day we had to say goodbye for so long, that it already had sorrow attached to it.

But its different than I thought it would be. We are staying. Prem and Rhada are the ones that are leaving. They are off to the states to see friends and family for a month and a half. They have a good friend, Dylan, teaching.

I was so glad that there would be a great teacher here, someone who also studied with Pattabhi Jois. Part of me feels a bit sad not to be leaving for India in a few days, like I copped out of that adventure to some extent. Like Bodhi and I should be meeting Saraswati, and studying with her as planned.

But the deed is done, and there are so many good reasons to stay...

"I miss Prem." Bodhi said, and came to a sudden stop at the office. He looked up at me, and looked around. Something was different. Prem has become a Goo Remover for Bodhi. Prem, like Weems, plays with Bodhi, encourages him to be a kid, allows space for him to be who he is emotionally. They both hold space, let Bodhi be Bodhi, while helping him to find out what that means.

Bodhi suddenly seemed a little lost. "I know babe, I miss Prem, too." It was true. It seemed like a good idea at the time to stay....

But I like meeting new teachers and getting a fresh perspective, and Dylan seems really cool, and Prem and Rhada would only have someone really great teach in their shala... so I'm pretty stoked. Thats life, Prem and Rhada need to go do their thing, and its not good to get attached, and there are lots of teachers, and I'll learn something new.

But I miss them already. I hadn't realized how much I looked forward to seeing them every day. How nice it was to have them in my practice, how far into my practice they had come. I am changing because of the practice, and they are so much a part of that. Each in their own way.

Bodhi sat down on the step and started to play with Isaac. Abby came up and handed Bodhi something.  "Here, Bodhi. This is from Prem and Rhada. We missed you yesterday. They gave us these necklaces yesterday. They are just for us, from Prem and Rhada." Bodhi took the necklace and looked at it. He sat really still and turned it over in his hands. He was a little stunned. I expected him just to put it on and keep playing but he looked at it.

His face crumpled a little. "I miss Prem." he mumbled again, looking down at the necklace in his hands.

"Its okay, babe." I said. He put it on, and I went into the shala to set up.

There were only three people there so far, we were early. But it felt like because Prem and Rhada had gone, everyone had gone. On the other hand, it felt peaceful. I looked forward to some open space, I could be a little further up, closer to the front, no one distracting me, a nice view of the Buddha statue sitting in the pond, the light coming in through the bamboo fence.

Bodhi came in to stand next to me for the invocation. He looked up at me. "I miss them, mom." He whispered.

And then Prem and Rhada walked out of their house, backpacks on, ready to go on their next adventure. Bodhi ran through the shala and met them with Isaac and Abby behind the wall. I didn't get to see them say good bye, but I'm so glad they did. It feels like good bye forever, but the really funny thing is... we are here for so long that we will STILL be here when they get back!

Bodhi came back up front smiling, I saw through my feet as I hung upside down waiting for the prayer Prem and Rhada walk happily up to the car. It was funny not to go say goodbye to them. But I didn't want to interrupt the kids. It felt selfish to go get my own goodbye when the kids wanted to give their love.

Dylan came to the front. "Samasditihi" he said. Same program. This is how we begin. "Ommmmm" he chanted. Prem's deep resonating, confident voice was missing. In its place was a surprising sound. Dylan's Om was different. Wait a minute. Was EVERYTHING going to be different?

It was beautiful. Dylan began the prayer and he has a lovely voice. He sings it, higher in pitch and more sing-song. Bodhi sang along, not phased. I was equal parts entranced and confused.

Funny that, because in all my yoga practice I've never had the same teacher over and over and over again. There are usually three or four people who guide practice, and I just go to the Bikram studio and take from whoever is teaching.

Mysore practice is so different, you are on your own program on your own mat practicing at your own pace with your own breath. To have the same person show up in your bubble of consciousness and correct you and then walk away is soothing to some extent. There is trust there.

Today, I began practice and I felt the deep and profound silence in the room. It occurred to me that the room is always this quiet. That there is only the sound of breath and the plop of feet. It occurred to me that we are all moving very slowly. That this almost looks like TaiChi.

And then it occurred to me that even though I'm practicing meditation, staying on my mat mentally and physically, and working on my breath, hearing an ocean in my head, its usually really really loud in the room to me.

I haven't heard the silence before.

My mind has been too busy. Prem and Rhada make corrections, their movements and voices are part of the rhythm of practice. It was absolutely SILENT in Dylan's Mysore practice. I felt like time slowed down.

"Watch your breathing, your bundahs. Mulah Bundah, Udiana Bunda..."

Suddenly I missed Prem! Where was my teacher? Who was this guy, pretending to be my teacher, walking around in his shala?? What had I been THINKING? Why hadn't I gone to India?? If I was going to take from someone else, surely it should be someone from India!! From the source! I watched my mind go on a little judgement trip.

I found my breath and continued my practice. Give him a chance. Give yourself a chance. Where is all this fear coming from?

Dylan walked past me, helping other people in Down Dog, but not me.  (Was I on my mat and in my practice??) Where were Prems gentle, understanding hands, that ask so much of me? Where was fierce Rhada, asking me for more, but to know when it was enough? Where were my teachers???

I struggled with this all the way through the warm up. I got to the middle of Sun B and the breath and the rhythm took over. It was automatic suddenly, to some extent, but that was also a good thing, the physical practice was pulling me out of my judgemental mind and onto my mat. I found my breath.

I worked with Rhada in my mind. "STAND on your FEET, Kate. Lift your HIPS! Come ON!" I found myself a little.

The room, however, was loud again in my internal struggle. I reached for the breath. I let go of needing to hear Rhada and tried to just feel the posture, incorporate my notes, find the silence. The next flow stretched out long, things were slowing down.

Suddenly, my back was moving, feeling longer. My shoulders were stretching open. Dylan was adjusting me. His touch, like his voice, was light, melodious. I listened. My body moved with the suggestion.

He came back again later. We had a chat about my bind, he coaxed my knee gently down, a posture Ive been struggling to find depth in was suddenly there. He came back later. He sat down and we chatted about Navassana. I have trouble making my abs strong. Mula Bundah not withstanding, I use my psoas in this posture and I can't seem to make my abs strong.

Dylan had me lay on the ground and try a minuscule movement with my back. My weak, unused abs fired all at once. I could make change from here.

At the end of practice, I left the shala feeling whole, feeling light and happy and floaty. I still miss Prem and Rhada. But I'm grateful for the space they made for us to practice in. Im grateful for the foundation they laid for me to learn from another teacher as well. I'm grateful for the sudden shift, for the attachment practice, for the struggle to let go and the struggle to connect and the struggle to be open. We can not practice this enough in life.

And I'm so grateful for the beautiful, gentle teachings of Dylan. I can't wait to go back in the morning and practice again, in a silent room, with a quieter mind, open to a new teacher. Let the next unfolding begin!

Its Just Another Posture

So the ironic thing is that right after I wrote that post about accepting where you are and not needing more, I was asked to do Bhujapidasana. Rhada told me that I would do it on Sunday, after the rest day. 

Bhudjapidasana. Part One. 

I spent all day Saturday with the thought in the back of my mind. Would I be able to do it? Did she give it to me because she thinks that I think that I want to move on? I really do only want to move on if it is appropriate, and i trust my teacher completely to be the one to tell me if its time or not.

One of the things that I’ve learned is that what I’m capable of and what is appropriate to do in a long term day to day practice may be two different things. Could I haul myself up into a headstand? Yup. But I am not strong enough in my shoulders, forearms, back and core to keep myself lifted, to keep my head just barely touching the floor. So I don’t do them yet. And I wont do them until I’m so strong and so ready that I just kind of float on up there. 

Sunday morning came, and it was one of those random “stiff” days, where I just felt kinda tight. My “rest” day here is not truly a rest day. Bodhi and I get on the motorbike and ride through heavy traffic to Kuta Beach right after practice on Friday. He goes surfing and I either surf, swim, or get some work done on my tattoo. We mission around Kuta getting food and mosquito smoke, sleep badly in our hot, still, shitty fan room at the Sukah beach inn, and do it all again the next day. 

We head back Saturday evening, usually in a rainstorm after Bodhi is done surfing. By the time I hit my bed in Ubud Saturday night, I’m wiped. Sunday’s practice is usually a jolt of plugging back in to my breath and my practice after the intensity of our two day break. There might be a lesson for me here, as well. 

So Sunday’s practice was slow, tight. I was okay with that, I’ve learned to stop wishing and just find out where my body is on that day at that time and work from there. I got to Navassana, and Rhada came over. 

“Okay, now jump your legs past your shoulders, feet in front of your hands. Bend your elbows, and hook your right foot over your left foot in front of your face. Go.”

I did. I went. 

And I did not fall over, and I breathed and it felt good. Challenging, and good. 

And as I was sitting there breathing, I realized that it was just as challenging as Janushershassana A had been for me six months ago. Its just another pose. Not even that its the “next” pose, because that implies some sort of linear progress, but just a pose. And as I was propped up there, I saw this infinite number of poses and modifications stretching out ahead of me, and I was at this little point somewhere along the line, at a place where my body was challenged. 

Janushersasana A. This used to be impossible for me. I still have work to do here, but as Prem would say, 'Is possible."

I came out and sat down. I was satisfied, there is something nice about being ready to challenge your body and meet the challenge. I felt good, strong, safe and happy. I went into my finishing postures.

Later in the series, I was rolling back into Hallasana, and I felt that my back and neck were still kind of tight. I decided not to do the full closing sequence. I’ve always known to listen to my body and adjust my practice. Rhada makes me be even more diligent than I have been in the past about that. 

As I rolled out, I pulled a muscle in my neck. Its posterior scalene, on the left side, a main postural muscle that was severely challenged by my surgery. Its weak, but it has been becoming so much stronger. I’m not sure why it tweaked today, if it had anything to do with trying a new posture, or if it was just in the right position to be tweaked and it would have gone anyway. No one can tell.

The result of that is that I’m in big pain again. Three days of sensations similar to post surgery. There is fear there. Anxiety. My body has been healing, I want it to continue. Yoga is supposed to be good for me, why am I hurting? 

Because I’m human, and I have some muscles that are still healing, and honestly, there is a part of my physicality that will always be affected by my surgery, even though I’ve come so far. 

Halasana, plow posture. 

The next day, I went through the whole series, eager to get to the shoulder binds, hoping they would stretch my neck out. They did, but I was fatigued from pain. This was not my place of benefit. 

The next day, my practice was just the sun salutations A and B. That was my place of benefit, I had no wish or desire to even know another posture existed. With Rhadas patient and gentle help, I focused on my breath. I am trying to cultivate this juicy, incredible sound that Rhada can make in her throat, this warming breath. 

And so on and so on. Now, I’m back into the seated postures, my neck is healing. But slowly. Its just a posture, the one I’m currently doing. There is no point of having a goal, that takes the purpose of this healing practice and throws it right out the window. 

Question from a Reader: What do I do when I don't have a passion for anything?

I have a couple of friends who have asked me this question over the years. This is a hard one. Losing (or never finding to begin with) our passion often means we've lost our compass. Our internal compass that points the way to what is right and true for us.

Sometimes, we feel flat. Passionless, lost. Often times, we reach into the past, trying to recreate something that made us feel like we had promise. Sometimes, when we do that, we start living "in the glory days". All of our life in the present is focused on the fact that it was once good in the past and it will never be as good as it was.

Now, we are wishing. And wishing that something is other than it is is suffering.

This is also a trap for your will and your spirit. Looking up from the bottom of the well when things are not feeling so good is hard to do. Trusting that there is something out there for you, but you don't know what it is yet is VERY hard to do.

Our minds have an innate fear of the unknown. And if we find ourselves in a place where things are passionless, but familiar, we will tend to hang on to that feeling. Familiar, even when its unhealthy, feels safe.

The challenge here is to find your support group. Reaching out for help so you can have faith in yourself and in the future you will create is also hard. It means telling your closest friends, maybe only one or two of them, that you want to try something that is frightening to you. Maybe the thing you want to try is just admitting that you are unhappy. That can feel as scary as jumping off a cliff.

The thing that is beautiful is that there IS a path for you. That first step to health, the first step away from the flat, emotionless place is the hardest. Just in emailing me this question, my friend has taken that scary step.

Imagine you are standing on a grassy hill. There is a river below you. Across the river is your safe haven. A home, a place where people understand you, a place where a teacher will help you find your way. To get there, you have to cross a bridge. The bridge is made of glass. It looks like it is not there. The first step onto the bridge is going to be terrifying. Will it hold you? Can you stand on it? Are you crazy to even try? Once you take that step and you feel your feet underneath you, listen for the voices that are encouraging you on. Strain to hear them over everything in your mind that is telling you to turn back, this is unfamiliar and frightening.

Keep your gaze focused on what will really help you change your life, become who you want to become, healthier, happier, more YOU, more sure of yourself. Look across the bridge, not at your feet. Take another step. Eventually, you will know the bridge is there, and each step gets easier, as though there is sand sprinkled in the glass, and then some steel rods appear a little further on, eventually the bridge is wood and iron, sold and true. And then, you are on solid ground.

The reason we often get stuck in a flat, emotionless, passionless place is because something sad or traumatic has happened along the way. We begin to wish it hadn't happened. We see how things COULD have been, if only we had made a different choice, or not made a certain mistake, or been more patient, or loving, or giving. Or just a better person. We go down this spiral of self judgement that is so loud, and so full of blame, that it is paralyzing.

No wonder you can't find your passion. You've lost your sense of you. Your self worth. Step one: act compassionately toward yourself.

Do not judge.
Minimize harm.
Know that this will pass.

Say this out loud a couple of times. It is sound advice, and sound brain science from the folks who wrote "Wired for Joy" and run the Emotional Brain Training website. (Check it out, it is a powerful tool for change, based on the latest brain science.)

Step two: Find a friend or two that you trust and tell them you are trying to make a change.

Step three: Let go of needing to be in crisis and focus all of your energy on finding little places where you can make a positive choice. Make yourself a cup of tea. Turn off the television. Hug someone. Call your mom. Stand in the sun and feel the warmth on your skin. Hug your kid. Tiny things like this make cracks where joy can leak in.

Step four: Put yourself physically in places that inspire you. If you love the ocean but you are stuck at work, walk outside and stand by a fountain so you can hear the water. Let go of wishing you were at the beach and be appreciative of your love for water. Pay attention to what it is about the water that you love. Find gratitude for your connection.

Over time, you will find your feet, your compass will spin less violently, and you will be able to lift your head and notice, you may feel interested in something. This is the first step toward finding your passion.

I hope this helps!!

Much love,
Kate

If YOU have a question please ask it in the comments below! I'll do my best to answer it or find someone who can point you in the right direction. Thanks for reading!

Question from a Reader: How do I get past wishing?

• I got this email from a reader friend, and I thought it was worth sharing. In the Skiing in the Shower community, people tend to ask their questions privately to me, but some are so important for the rest of us, that they deserve their own post. 

  Thank you to my brave friend for sending in this question, and I hope the answer is helpful. If YOU have a question or a comment about anything you read here, or something you are facing in your life, feel free to post it as a comment, and I will happily do my best to answer you. I don't always have THE answer, but I think our experiences as humans are so similar, it helps to talk them out and realize you are not alone in your struggle, or in your joy. 

  
  

  From the Reader:

  I read your new post about loving someone who is gone. You said "If, in the space of missing we begin wishing, this is when attachment begets suffering". I agree with that. What i struggle with is how do i get out of the wishing phase. I get stuck here, feeling that suffering, trying to change the world to suit my wishing. How can i move from wishing to accepting?

  
  

  From Kate:
• 
  

  This is a good question! Wishing is the root of all suffering, it's what we as humans are wired to do. It's hard to change.
  

  Think about it this way. If you cut your foot, it is cut. You can't go back in time and unmake the wound. And wishing it wasn't cut isn't productive, all it does is focus on the unchangeable aspect.

  If you can look at your foot and say, well, my foot is cut. I accept that as my new reality. Things will be different for a while while this wound heals.

  Now, you can make proactive choices around healing. Maybe stop the bleeding first. Wash it. Bandage it. Then care for it as it heals.

  Your heart is just the same. Accepting that the one you love is gone is hard. Work toward that place first. Don't try to fill that place with blame or anger or sadness or happiness or someone else. Just let that wound be there. Accept that you have a wound. Then, stop the bleeding. Let go of wishing it was different. Begin to do things that help you to heal. Be with friends, ride your bike. A broken heart is like a broken bone. It takes time and patience to heal well. Compassion for yourself without going into self pity or blame for the other person goes a long, long way.

  Xoxo I hope this helps.

I'll start tomorrow, and other bullshit we believe.

A few days ago, I caught myself being lazy. I wonder how often I have this pattern happen in life and don’t notice it. I discovered it during Mysore practice, where the volume seems to be turned up on my awareness so much that my consciousness is shouting in my ear while everything else is very very silent. 

The room has only the sound of deep, slow breath, and the plop plop plop of bare feet jumping back and landing softly on the hardwood floor in the humid jungle. It sounds like there is an ocean in the distance, and as though you’ve walked through a field of large toads who are all hopping away. Otherwise, its very still in the shala. 

As I went to jump back, being my own little barefoot toad in the jungle, I noticed that I wasn’t crossing my feet the “other” direction. I tend to cross my feet with the right one on top of the left one every time and jump back. 

Switch feet, frog!

A month ago, I took a workshop with Prem and Rhada, my yoga teachers, and they asked us to please switch feet every time so that the body is balanced. 

In my infinite wisdom, I am not doing that. In fact, I’m avoiding doing that. A few days ago, this whisper that says “Is this the same foot as last time?” turned into a very loud voice. 

“SWITCH FEET.”  Oh. I hadn’t really realized I wasn’t. Only that’s not quite true. Somewhere, part of me knew that I wasn’t switching feet. Its hard to switch feet. I jump back much better with my right over my left. 

My awareness had been something like “Switch feet! Oh, I am already jumping back, this is a good one, I feel strong. I’ll make sure I switch feet tomorrow. That will be next on my list of disciplines I change in my practice.”

But its been a month. When does tomorrow start? It makes me wonder... in what other aspect of my life am I using this avoidant attitude? Do we all? 

Well, I’ve broken my diet, I might as well eat my way to the bottom of the bag. Well, I’ve picked up a cigarette even though I havent smoked in five days, I’ve blown it, I’m a smoker again, I’ll have to start again tomorrow. 

Bullshit. Bullshit to us all. 

Sit back down. Cross your feet the other way. Struggle through the “hard” side. This is the only way you will get strong. Not by doing it tomorrow, or in the seated series later, even in the next jump back. This moment. You have the power to make a different choice in this moment right now. 

Let go of needing to be right. Let go of protecting your ego and your anger. Let go of explaining endlessly why you’ve done it this way or that, and when you plan to do it better. Hug the person you just yelled at. Pick up the pen you keep putting down. Sit back down at the editing machine. Pick your face up and smile at the person across from you. 

We can all be better. 

Don’t become a yoga instructor, everyone is doing that.

One of my friends said this to me about a year ago. He meant well. He is a very linear, logical person, who sees the big picture quite well. 

Jacques Cousteau. Why become a Marine Biologist? There can never be another Cousteau. 

But I thought about it, and turned it over in my mind for a while. He was giving me big picture “the market is flooded” kind of advice, and from that perspective, it is a comment that makes sense. 

But I think we can stop ourselves from having experiences when we think this way. I remember as a child, feeling like my sister was the one who was the photographer, so I shouldn’t do that, explore that. She said she wanted to shoot photographs for National Geographic. That sounded amazing to me, just like something I’d want to do. But I felt like I would be taking her dream if I also did it. 

What happened to being inspired? What happened to mentorships, internships, apprenticeships, where you sit at the feet of the one who did it before, and copy them exactly until you understand the whole of it? 

Reinhold Messner.  "After Messner, the mystery of possibility was gone;
there remained only the mystery of whether you could do it."

- Ed Viesturs

I remember when I was in third grade, I wanted to climb Mt. Everest one day. My principal had gone to Nepal and brought back images of that sacred mountain, and I wanted to climb up it. I wasn’t afraid. I wanted to make my body and my spirit strong enough to stand on the top. 

By the time I was old enough to really begin to think about it, the Scott Fisher expedition had happened. There was a huge backlash that normal people shouldn’t be climbing big mountains, that this had happened because a socialite had paid $60,000 to have her hand held up a mountain that she had no business being on. 

I was a member of the AMGA, I had started going religiously to meetings, I was beginning to focus and hone my climbing skills. I didn’t want to be part of the problem, part of the hoard. The fact that now “everyone could do it” meant that people shouldn’t. That all the “real” people who should already had, and everyone else was an invalid tourist. 

Now, I’m in Ubud, Bali which is apparently a now-famous yoga destination for the freaks and weirdos and truly dedicated as well. They filmed a movie here, Eat Pray Love, all about a woman finding herself. I havent seen it or read the book but I still chafe when people tell me my life is like the movie. 

Krishnamacharya was an original. I'm not even from India, I'm a Lulu lemon lemming. How can I be unique?

But really, why does it matter? If I had known about the movie, would I not have come here, because other people had come before me and it was something that was “done”? When I see that from this perspective, I think about all the incredible experiences I would have missed out on. 

When it was the 80s, I was really into Punk Rock. One of the lessons I learned about being associated with that group was that it was really important to be unique, different, and first. To know the new bands, to love the classics, to eschew the flash in the pan popular sell outs. We spent so much time judging and worrying about being judged in order to make sure that we were unique that we missed out on being us. Which is what is truly unique. 

Ansel Adams is so unique that there are filters and effects in Photoshop named after him. If you aren't going to work your magic like a real artist, and you have photoshop, you don't count, right? Why bother trying? Its been done. 

This moment is unique. You in this moment is unlike what anyone else has been in this moment, even if you are following in the footsteps of someone who came before you. 

Let go of needing to judge your worth and the value of following your passion against how others view its originality. There have always been painters. Photographers, Writers, Yoga Teachers, people who became ex-pats. The market is flooded with them. The challenge is to embrace what has come before, learn all about it, and then bring you, your unique self to what you love. 

Who cares if someone else did it and they made a movie? We get to do it, too. We do it on a scooter, together, my 9 year old son and I. We make our own version of bliss, with thanks to those who came before. 

So become a yoga teacher if you like. No one has done it before quite like you will. Not even if you copy the dialogue exactly. 

This plan subject to change.

Bodhi, after spending a whole day surfing with his best friends in Indonesia. 

Here’s how this happened in the first place. About two years ago, I decided I wanted to go to teacher training for Bikram Yoga. I chose Bikram because I had a daily (sometimes twice daily) practice for about a year. Through that practice, I had held off getting spinal surgery for about two years. After that surgery, I recovered in the yoga studio. My teachers, Caroline Hartritch and Kate Giampapa and Kurt Fehrenbach were like steady lights in the insanity of pain and weakness that was my body. 

I had developed fibromyalgia, and my jobs hurt my body, even though I loved them both. Skiing, being cold and stiff, made my fibro flare up, but the movement, getting exercise helped. Receiving body work helped so much that I had a unique perspective on how relieving it is to get good, deep, compassionate, intuitive touch. But doing body work was hurting my body as well. 

The hot, humid room at Arjuna Yoga was like an island of sanity where I got a break from the pain in my body. My mind would be quiet while I worked, my body had no choice but to let go and surrender. Effort and ease. Assana and Savassana. 

I never wanted to like Bikram, I had heard so many things about who he was and how controversial his series was... in the end it didn’t matter. Bikram himself said “Some people think I am God, some people think I am asshole. I don’t care.” 

I healed my spine doing the series he put together. He provided for me an avenue back into my body. I am grateful. 

Getting certified as a Bikram Teacher was a way to deepen my practice, to make my body lean and strong. Kurt had told me that going through the ten weeks of teacher training was probably when he was healthiest, strongest, most fit. I wanted that for my body. 

I applied for the one scholarship that Bikram gives. I had a 1 in 400 chance of getting it. He offered me a partial scholarship, I had to come up with $3700 for housing for the 10 weeks, as we are required to stay at the Raddison where the training is. $6300 scholarship. I couldn’t do it. My financial situation is slowly improving, thanks to the tutelage of my amazing younger sister, I finally know how to save money. But two years ago, I was still under funded and living paycheck to paycheck. 

I knew that I needed to do this. At some point, I need to get off the sharp end of the stick, and live a more balanced life with fewer broken bones. I need to be able to be a teacher, but have the activity that I’m teaching include less frostbite and pain in my body. 

Then, Sharon Capplain, an amazing yoga instructor who I’ve had the pleasure of taking class from and becoming friends with over the years, started teaching the Ashtanga series at Arjuna. It was amazing. Revelatory. It opened me, emotionally, spiritually, so much. I was hooked. I wanted to know more.

Bodhi hangin out on the bike reading. This is normal for us now. 

Sharon spoke with such reverence for the history of Ashtanga, of its deep root. I wanted to go to the source of yoga. This system seemed to be pointing straight at it. I started thinking about going to a workshop with Annie Pace, or Richard Freeman, two teachers who Sharon really respected. And then it occurred to me that I could go allll the way to India and study at the shala there for a month for less than the cost of going to a ten day immersion in America. 

I’ve always wanted to go to India. Everyone tells me its insane and chaotic and dirty and beautiful all at once. I started to set my sights on India. I got accepted to study in the fall at the Mysore institute. And then I broke my ribs in six places riding my bike. I had JUST been starting to feel strong. I didn’t want to go to India compromised with injuries. So I pushed it back to the end of this last ski season. 

“Can I go with you?” Bodhi asked. I thought for just a split second. 

“Sure.” I said. Its hard to travel with both kids, its really expensive to add another person. But Bodhi could use some toughening up. He’s been facing some really difficult stuff in his life at school, issues with respect, and listening, and working hard, and trying, and believing in himself, and pushing through, and on and on. Having to do what is needed in the moment in a place like India seemed great.

When I changed my dates, it turned out that the Shala in Mysore was closed when I was planing to be there. I was deflated. I really wanted to do this. I’d saved about $5000, I thought I’d be able to go to India for a month. 

I started researching places that I could go study yoga that were excellent like Mysore, India, and maybe then head over to India. I’d never really thought this way, I’m not a world traveler because I can’t afford plane tickets. But my mom had offered to give me her miles to get us there. 

It turns out that there was an amazing Shala in Ubud, Bali where Prem was teaching. This was a man who had been studying with Sri K Patthabi Jois, the founder of Ashtanga Yoga in Mysore, since 1979. Since I was 8. This was the next best thing. 

We hit some more snags, it turns out that my mom had only enough miles for one ticket, we thought we’d booked two. I had already arranged to take Bodhi out of school, I had promised him he was coming. We decided that once we were over here, we might as well live lean and stay as long as possible. Our one month stay in India stretched into a planned two months in Bali and three months in India. Bodhi is slated to land in Colorado about three days before fourth grade starts. 

What were we going to do now? A truly amazing thing happened. My friends rallied. Miles started pouring in. This began to feel like a mission to heal Bodhi and help him grow. That felt right, good. 

We accumulated a total of 275,000 ariline miles thanks to the incredible generosity of some folks, and we booked our tickets. We were going to do it. 

About two weeks before we were slated to leave, I had a massive panic attack. What was I thinking? Traveling to Indonesia by myself with my whiny, scared kid? With only $5000 to last us 5 months? And then India?? Holy shit I was out of my mind. 

All these unexpected expenses started cropping up. Visas were going to be $1200. Vaccinations were going to be $1200. Taxes. Luggage. Food. 

“What are you going to do with Bodhi?” was the question. I didn’t really have an answer. 

Bodhi and his friends learning from Nyoman about wave theory during a break.

“Put him in the Indonesian school, I think, see if he sinks or swims.”

Three days before we left on this mad adventure that I was now sure was a VERY bad idea, I had a financial catastrophe. My student loans are in structured repayment. I had been counting on our tax refund as our travel money. When my refund came in, it was unexpectedly taken by the holder of the loan. We were flat broke. We couldn’t go. 

My sister, Liat, did something truly heroic. “You have to go. I’m going to help you. Bodhi needs this. You need this. You need to go.” 

She held a sale on her website, Knitfreedom, and in 24 hours, she had raised all $5400 we needed to travel. She wired it to my account. The next morning, I woke Bodhi up at 4 am and we left for 47 hours of plane rides, ending in Bali. 

Today, we sit in Seniman Cafe in Ubud. We are relaxed, happy, safe, healthy, and growing. Bodhi has learned to surf, learned to listen, learned to work hard, learned to be respectful. He has made friends, and learned patience and grace and how to stick with it when its hard. 

We were supposed to leave for three months in India next week. But something magical is happening in our accidental stay in Bali. So with the help of a friend again, (I can’t sit on hold with American Airlines for an hour in Bali), we’ve changed our tickets. We are staying in Bali until July 24. Bodhi is going to keep surfing, I’m going to keep writing and going to yoga. We get to dive deeper into this incredible culture, keep making friends, keep living. We are going to follow the path that Bali is showing us, deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole of who we each are, and who we are together. 

We still go to India. But for a month, at the end of our Bali adventure. This feels right. Again, I’m so grateful. We would never be here if it wasn’t for our family and friends, if we both hadn’t been brave enough to step outside of what is normal or sane. 

Run at the thing that scares you!! Theres something wonderful on the other side. 

Unstick the idea that you are stuck.

Sri K. Pattabhi Jois in Samasditihi

“Are you doing advanced postures yet?”

One of my friends who I started studying Ashtanga with sent me this message yesterday. He’s not the first. And as I’ve been studying, looking on the internet at old films of Ashtanga practitioners, I have come across comments about moving along in the Ashtanga series. I often see the comment “I’ve been stuck at Navassana for 18 months...”

Lots of times this comment isn’t complaining, it usually is said with gratitude for the teacher that held them there. But its followed by a celebration. “Now I can do this posture and that posture and the one after it, too!”

Bodhi watches class

Perhaps I should clarify. In a traditional Ashtanga Yoga practice, there are six set sequences of postures. The first is called primary. Many people never get past second series if they practice daily for their whole lives. 

If you do your daily practice with other people, its called “Mysore practice”, named after the town of Mysore, India, where Sri K. Pattabhi Jois started the Ashtanga Yoga Research Center. 

In Mysore practice, everyone does the same series. The room is full of people, some beginners at the back, and generally, as you move forward in the Shala, people have more experience. People in the front of the room might have some third or fourth series postures sprinkled in. 

Everyone practices together, but you are all moving with your breath, so people are doing the same thing, but at different times. More advanced students keep going, but it takes beginner students the same amount of time, because we move slower or take more breaths. 

My friend Carina and I ended up in synch for a while

The teachers walk through the room and work with you on whatever posture you are on. You are supposed to know the sanskrit names of each posture and the order in which you do them. When you get to a posture that is too difficult for you to do, the teacher stops you. That is the end of your practice, every day, until they decide your body, mind and breath are ready for the next posture. That it would be beneficial for you to learn the next posture.

Because we are human animals, we feel rewarded for hard work when we get another posture added to our practice. People get frustrated when they can’t move on, thrilled that they are singled out when they can. Every one struggles with trying to not have a goal, everyone wants recognition. If you work hard, on your breath, on your bundah, on your drishti, on your movement, on your energy, on your intention, you should get another posture. 

But just like going on a diet, just because you join a gym for three weeks and show up diligently and wear your new exercise clothes and work really hard does NOT mean you will look in the mirror on week two or three or six and see much difference. Change, important, lasting change, happens slowly, from the inside. 

I am stopped at Navassana. This is a common stopping place. I came into the Shala worried that my practice would be sloppy but confident that I was strong enough to do all the chatarangas in the practice (there’s lots of them, they are lower down pushups). Turns out everyone is strong enough to do all the chatarangas. Turns out there were people in the class who were on second and third series. 

Navassana. Boat pose. Five times, five breaths. Don't sink your boat!

I knew I was going to be stopped at a posture, I was grateful at first that it was as far along as Navassana. I knew I had a lot of work to do the first day. I couldn’t remember the series, to begin with. 

I thought for sure after a week of hard work, I’d get to do the next posture, which is an arm balance. I love arm balances. Because you don’t have to be strong in your arms. Just well balanced. They make you feel like a rockstar. Like you are capable of anything. Its like all the reward of being able to walk on your hands without actually needing to go upside down. 

But a week went by, and I still was working on my Updog. “Charge your FEET, Kate! Come ON!” Rhada would say, and come over and pull on my feet and slap the backs of my legs. “Why don’t you use your legs???”

I don’t know. I thought I was. 

“Where is your BREATH? BREATHE!”  I thought I was. 

“If you don’t close your mouth, I’m going to get the duct tape.” Prem said one day. “You know duct tape? On your mouth. That’s where I’m going to put it.” 

I thought my mouth was closed. How is it that I can’t tell if my mouth is open or closed? How is this possible that I can’t keep Ujaia breath through the whole practice? Don’t I know how to breathe? 

Mel, super twisty and inspiring, in the grey.

Where in the world was my awareness? I was unknowingly cocky when I came to class. People in the past have complimented me that I have a nice practice, that I look focused and like I am working hard. Giving my all. I feel that, have felt that in my practice. 

Ether this place is a whole new ballgame, or I have awareness of breathing, but not during activity, or being somewhere new has exposed all my defaults or some sort of combination of all of that is going on. Whatever it is, I needed to lose my ego, gain strength, gain flexibility and clean my sloppy practice. Starting with learning the names and knowing how to do updog. 

About a week ago, I had the first of several micro breakthroughs in my practice. My feet, it seems, are stronger and more flexible. I have gained discipline in them, and with that discipline has come some strength and freedom. My updog is more powerful and light, connected, and grounded. My feet are charged. I am using my legs. I didn’t even know what that MEANT until I found my self floating on an inhale and staring up at the ceiling. 

Sharon, my teacher in Aspen, has told me about this sensation. “Eventually, with the breath, and the bundah, you will just feel like you are floating.” 

“Are you kidding? I feel like I weigh a million pounds and I will never float anywhere.” I thought. I had been carrying around the weight of this story, of this belief that I have a big, fat body. That even when its healthy it will be fat. That I can’t be light. That I have to accept my Kapha heaviness and cary it around in extra bags all over the place. I am not a sparrow or a pidgin. 

But while that is true, I am a larger person, holding onto that story has held me in this lie. It has told me that my core is weak, that my arms are strong, but I’m so heavy I can’t lift myself. I’m trapped in an idea of my body that has nothing to do with my ability or possibility. Skiing is possible for me because heavy is a benefit. My legs are strong. I have good balance. 

But maybe, maybe that’s all a story. Maybe if I practice, all will come. Maybe if I show up, every day, and breathe and move from my core, my body will unwind its story and let go and have permission to become what it wants to be. Lighter. Stronger. More flexible. 

Bhujapidassana. The next posture in the series. 

A few days ago, I was having breakfast after practice with Mel, a beautiful woman from Switzerland who can put both her feet behind her head. “They are so wonderful.” she said, referring to our teachers, Prem and Rhada. “I come here and they just clean my practice, you know? Take out all this extra nonsense that is like dirt on my practice.”

I nodded. This is exactly what it feels like to me now. I do not in any way feel stuck at Navassana. I feel like I have SO MUCH work I can and need and want to do in each posture and in each transition and in each breath allll the way to Navassana. 

While I still think doing arm balances would be cool to feel again, I’m not in a hurry to get there. Because I don’t want to fall on my face, or hurt myself or rush my body. Because there is no hurry. Because I am where I am. And where I am is a beginner. I need to learn the basics. I need patience for the foundation.

First, I needed to find my core, my center, mulah bundah. I needed to ground through that place. I’m still working on that, but now its there more than its not. 

Next, I needed to learn how to breathe. I needed to find my inhale, slow and full, in every posture. I needed to slow waaayyyy down until I could move fluidly with that breath. Now I am finishing with the front of the room, like I have a full long practice, even though I am stopped at Navassana. 

In order to work on this, I needed to step over my ego, in every posture, after every class. Not wish for more, not want another posture, not want to hear “Good job, Kate.”

There are no mirrors in Ashtanga. Just feel your body over time. 

And I found that the sooner I laid my ego down, the deeper my practice became. The cleaner it became. A few days ago, I had the experience of bliss in class. This ecstatic sensation as I rolled through my feet into updog. My body is changing. My practice is being scrubbed clean, all the extra sloppiness being flossed away. 

Why would I want to add postures when there is so much work to do in the ones I already have? My body is at its place of benefit stopping at Navassana. I am getting lighter, stronger and more flexible. My shoulders are opening, my hips are opening, my spine is opening. I can twist, I can stand solidly. 

I am finding length, space, and benefit, in each breath, in each movement, in the pursuit of depth and correct practice in each move I make, all the way to Navassana. I am sure, if I keep practicing, that eventually my place of benefit will be further down the series. I see people in front of me who can do beautiful and amazing things with their bodies, and it inspires me to keep working. 

Because I am doing beautiful and amazing things with my body. And I want to keep feeling that: the health, the strength, the opening, the learning, the unwinding, until I am an old, old lady. 

When I get there, to a place where my body can benefit from it, I’m sure my teacher will encourage me to add a posture, because my body is ready for it. 

Until then, I’m grateful to clean my practice and stop at my place of benefit, Navassana. 

There is so much time, and so much to be grateful for right right right where I am now.