Y’all. I’m confused.
I’m in this really awesome 300 hour power yoga teacher training. It’s hard. We sweat. There is pounding, vibrant music. There are tears. There is community. I also just finished this incredible two day workshop with J. Brown called “Gentle is the New Advanced.” (Pre-sale going on now!) It was quiet, tender, and nurturing. There were mantras, thought-provoking discussion, and lots of space. I love all of these things.
Yet, as a teacher and a practitioner, I’m horribly confused. How can I love this one thing AND also love this completely opposite thing? There’s also all of these “yoga camps.” Gentle yoga people think power yoga people are a bunch of wild, bouncing, type-A, fitness children. Power yogis think gentle yoga fans are boring, slow, and snobby militants. They are both wrong, and sometimes they are both right.
Everyday, I walk in front of my students and I think, “What the hell am I doing? and What the hell am I going to do about it?” I feel unsettled and unsure. I want to figure out that dang side plank with tree pose legs while listening to the Rolling Stones. I want to chant the Gayatri Mantra and sit in silence. I want to take such good care of my body, but damn I really want to practice handstand kick ups. I want to teach all of these things. I want to have fun, be joyful, move, and then get real damn still and quiet. I want all of these things. I think yoga IS all of these things.
Despite all my uncertainty, I know that this isn’t something to be figured out. My very afraid mind wants the easy solution: pick a side, any side. On my mat this morning, I threw out the rules. Who says I have to begin with Sun Salutations? Who said I can’t chant, “Om Shanti,” practice pranayama, and then crank up Janelle Monae’s “Tightrope” and just move this body?
A lot of people do, but I guess I’m just not a lot of people.
In this moment, I give myself permission to be crazy, disjointed, unsure, curious, and open. This grey area feels frightening, but when I get quiet (after I get really loud, of course) it feels like fertile ground. It’s like the rug gets pulled out from under us just so we can find our feet again. And maybe my feet aren’t 100% in any one school of thought. I definitely don’t have the answers, but when I’m in the moment, a few of them find me. It’s the best we can hope for: to get quiet or present enough to catch a glimpse of what we truly are. We just keep collecting those new glimpses and letting old ones go. I can’t tell you what my practice or my teaching stands for or what it is going to look like because it’s constantly changing. Right now, it’s just a curious thing.
Grown from all that I am.