Re-conceived notion

Joseph Cornell , Untitled (The Hotel Eden), c. 1945, Construction

Nothing thrills me more than a creative re-interpretation of something. M aybe it's just the greenie in me, but re-cycled, re-presented, re-purposed anything--done with intelligence and wit--makes me swoon. I love to see the mind at play, especially as manifested in an object. I never ceased to be amazed by what people will come up with, and how a creative person will rise to the challenge of making something brand new from stuff that already exists. Collages, mash-ups, assemblages, ready-mades...oh, be still my heart.
So I was really intrigued by a reference in last week's Home section in the NYTimes. A Berlin artist has turned an old factory into a living space/gallery (also an interesting re-use of a building), and often hosts art events at her home. Including--get this--an artist whose medium IS YOGA! I spent quite a lot of time searching for said artist to see what s/he had come up with...but without any luck (anyone know who this artist might be?).

An artist whose medium is yoga. Not an artist who uses yoga as subject matter, but whose form of expression is yoga itself. How does that come about? What do see when you look at this art? Surely it's more than just some sort of dance using poses, right? Maybe it's a piece that doesn't even reference asana. What could it be--I'm so curious.

And so energized. How exciting to use this thing that we've all come to see as a privileged practice, intended for good mental and spiritual health, as a source . Like I said, I love a good re-interpretation, and using yoga like a paintbrush or pencil or sculpting medium kind of blows my mind.

Something to incorporate into Yoga 2.0? Something that could inform our usual practice or teaching methods? I wish I knew what the piece or performance actually was--but it's an interesting exercise to try and imagine it...

Uni-tasking

In one week, it all starts again. School--calculus, statistics, Education for a Democratic Society--a full load for the newly christened full-time student. Good Lord.

But I have a strategy, that I was able to implement on a gradual basis in the fall. I call it, "Two Trips, Bren," after my father's admonition when I was younger and would try to carry every dish off the table to the kitchen at once. So you loose a dish every once and awhile, fair trade for getting done quicker. Except you're out a dish and some one is glaring disapprovingly. Two trips, Bren, two trips.

Perhaps the metaphor can carry into daily life. There is a time for multi-tasking and there is time to uni-task. And, actually, I think it's when you are the busiest that it's best to uni-task. Better do something carefully, with full attention and presence, than to be half-assed about it. The glass that shatters could be something really important.

I practice it with my physical pursuits--running, biking, swimming (as if you could do anything else...the beauty of the sport), asana. Mentally, it's my biggest challenge. Trying to stay focused on a single thing, or merely two things, is not my strong suit...that monkey-mind, you know. I work on it during yoga class and with pranayama, but the day-to-day implementation needs work.

So, let's add "two trips" to "never say never." It will be a year (semester?) of being present and open to opportunities. A time for math and a time for Legos, a time for making dinner and a time for reading. Keeping all plates whole and and considering new crockery.

I hope.

Never say Never

From From the Mouths of Babes File: the 6-yr-old and I sat assembling an Egyptian temple (oh, the complexity of today's Legos), while the 3-yr-old amused himself with the little figures that came with the set. I missed the rest of the conversation, but I caught one Egyptologist's sage advice for his companion, "Never say never."

Where do you suppose he picked that up? I don't think there's any kids' version of 007 floating around (altho there might be some money to be made on that), so it's a mystery to me. We had a good laugh at this pint-size philosopher's wisdom and continued constructing Anubis.

New Year's Eve rolled around with its requisite bubbly and Latvian bacon dumplings (in my parents' house, that is), and the conversation turned to resolutions and upcoming events. Taking heed of Dr. Legoman's words, I resolved to make 2011 the year of Never Say Never. I was being glib (those last 10 lbs. have resolved to stick with me anyway), but, on closer consideration, I think it's a pretty good choice.

For starters, we puny mortals don't have the power to declare Never. Who knows what's going to happen next and it might just be something grand. Or, at least, an opportunity that's worth consideration, even if one isn't predisposed to it. I can think of a few bridges I thought I was over, but find myself crossing again...math and off-site yoga, anyone?

Maybe it comes with age, but I think declaring Never seems like a particularly difficult attitude to uphold--making my resolution an easy one to keep. There's no point in deciding about what might or might not happen; you have to wait and see what does develop, and then deal with that. Aparigraha, for you yoga types. Best to be open to the unexpected and prepare to be surprised (if that isn't too much of an oxymoron).

Here's to 2011 in all its shiny newness. I hope yours is full of delightful surprises and manageable challenges...you *never* know what will happen!

Beating a Dead Horse...

...cuz I'm nerdly that way, I wanted to draw your attention to a study released earlier this month. A group of marketing prof.s writing in the Journal for Consumer Research, observed that looking at an advertisement of a beauty or fashion product caused female undergraduates to have a negative view of themselves afterwards. However, looking at a picture of makeup or high-heeled shoes outside of the context of an ad did not affect the viewers' self-esteem. They suggest that the fact that the item is featured in an ad may be a message in itself--this picture is to remind you that you should buy this product because of your lack of smooth skin, thick lashes, etc.

This study didn't consider ads featuring the human body, but it isn't much of a stretch to consider the implications when looking at an image of an impossibly thin and flexible body doing, say, a difficult arm balance. Especially in the context of selling something. Those that argue that this kind of imagery is empowering and uplifting may want to think again.

I'm just sayin'...

The Man with the Child in his Eyes

My Goodness, it's almost been a month since last I wrote. I guess that's what happens when many final projects and final finals converge. Still, the last thing got handed in yesterday, so here I am. Whew.

Last week, I decided to mix it up a bit in class. Usually we work our way up to a pose, moving through a variety of preparations, so the final asana comes easily and with grace (for the most part). On Thursday night, I switched the order, so we moved from Sun Salutes into standing poses right away, and then came to the floor for forward bends, etc. It was a nice change, and we were so chill by the time savasana rolled around, the room was completely silent for 10 minutes. No rustling, adjusting or shifting...just release.

When we finally came up and opened our eyes from namaste I was struck, in particular, by how much one of my students looked like his 5-yr-old daughter. Startlingly so . And I got to thinking, I wonder if we all have a moment at the end of class when a shadow of our young selves passes across our faces . Brows soft, jaws released, cheeks plump from lying down, awareness in the present moment. Yoga as Time Machine.

And there might be something to that. A NYT article a couple weeks back describe the achievements of a 91-yr-old Canadian, Olga Kotelko, who holds 23 Masters Records in track-and-field events. Exercise physiologists are studying her closely to see what it is about her body that allows her to continue to exercise with such intensity. More and more evidence demonstrates that regular exercise into one's 70s and 80s can have a significant effect on cellular health (the mitochondria, to be specific)(Question #3 on the Human Bio exam) and slow the inevitable deterioration of the muscles and joints. These are all studies on aerobic exercise, but I wouldn't be surprised if the same thing was learned about yoga.

See what you see after your next class. Watch your face, and others' when you finish. Then go home and look at your baby book or or class pictures. Freaky.

*cue Dr. Who theme music*

Yoga 2.0

The revolution may be blog-ivized. Each month brings a new set of revelations/discussions/confrontations on the interwebs about the state of yoga, and it is fascinating. Commodification, teacher training, and, now, what the ancients were really saying (or not). Carole H. has given the matter a lot of thought (Fakirs and Oprah-fication); Susan M. converses with various scholars (Mark Singleton and David Gordon White) about yogis, Pantanjali, the sutras, and the scene in India B.C.E; Jill Miller weighs in on gaiam.com. The gals at Recovering Yogi have no patience for any of it. Good stuff. Check it out, report back.

I remember reading an article in Yoga Journal awhile back about the history of yoga, which pointed out that most of the poses we do are only about 150 yrs. old. Still being a bit new to the literature, I found that rather surprising, but also very comforting. Okay, my reluctance to chant and expound on the niyamas wasn't completely out of line...most of my practice was fairly removed from the more mystical elements of yoga. And definitely my teaching (as I've said).

I felt unsure about my mastery of the texts, how I didn't really understand a lot of them and didn't have the proper framework to consider their relationship to what I thought was yoga. Scholars spend their whole careers studying this information, how could I possibly measure up. Now, the scholars are providing useful explanations and maybe it's the gurus who are a bit confused.

Remember, yoga is not a religion (and if you forget, reread Charlotte Bell's post). The ancient texts were very organic and definitely not set in stone. Much of the tradition was oral. No one has a direct line on Pantanjali's purpose for writing the sutras or how it relates to our practice of yoga today. There is no Truth that only adherents are privy to. As with much of human endeavor, it's all a part of the messy political and social agendas of the times--then and now.

Of course I'm not saying yoga is just asana. Or that anyone is off the hook for knowing the eight limbs or having a meditation practice. Or that anything can be yoga. But I love that it feels like (post) modern yoga about to be the next, big wiki-project. What do we keep? What no longer makes sense? Who are the false prophets, the sacred cows who no longer enthrall? Who is going to represent?

This latest round of discussion seems more thoughtful and erudite (only one commenter suggested Jill needed to do more yoga)--or maybe we've just lost the crowd who googles "naked yoga."

Anyway, there's a lot to consider, and I'm sure we're only just starting. But still, I kind of feel like we're at the cusp of something new, don't you?

The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner...

Knowing and/or Not Knowing

I am not a religious person. At least not in the sense that I attend a service regularly, or follow any specific texts, or can verbalize how my world is controlled by something greater than me. I have strong beliefs about a variety of things and my own explanation for how "it" all works, but I keep that to myself. I think religion and spirituality are such intensely personal systems, that I don't want to talk about them or, frankly, hear about them. I'm glad people believe--I probably don't believe the same thing--but if it makes them act in a kind and considerate manner, I'm all for it.

Charlotte Bell wrote a beautiful post (and had lovely responses to the comments) at elephant journal last week about yoga evangelism, that I found very inspiring--both in how I think about yoga, but also how I teach it. It sort of fits in with my analogy of yoga as a language--many different dialects, same grammar. One isn't better than the other (I exclude goofy hybrids that seem to be mostly about monetizing the practice); certain types resonate more than others, depending on the practitioner. But, as Bell notes, once you've been bitten by the yoga bug (drunk the kool-aid?), it's very hard not to proselytize. To be Born Again and want everyone else to be saved as well.

I certainly can relate to the urge to convert. And I wish most people would at least try yoga once, willingly, but I keep that to myself.

Since I don't want to be preached at, I find myself drawn to low-key classes, without a lot of extraneous discussion. More action and contemplation, and less talk. I can chose to study with a Master, or read a text, but when I go to my usual class I just want Hatha. Maybe Pranayama, but I don't really need to hear about the other limbs. I almost feel like those are my own responsibility to deal with, by myself, at a time when I'm not distracted by other people or activities. It can all come back to inform my practice, but just quietly in my head, not my ears.

So, that's how I teach. I may touch on other topics, but very little and rarely. I don't really feel qualified to teach yoga philosophy, and I think those are things best explored alone or, at least, in a different atmosphere than a hatha class. I think the physical work brings you to a place where you are more open to the philosophy and it makes sense, but I think the student needs to take it from there. I can give suggestions, but I'm not ready to lead. And I'm not sure I want to--back to the whole intensely personal thing.

Am I still teaching yoga? I think so. I see my students start to change and hear them talk about ways of thinking, that indicate something else is going on beyond increased flexibility. Maybe they don't have the vocabulary to describe it yogically, but I'm pretty sure they Know.

So when I say Namaste, I mean it, but I'm not going to elaborate, either...

But can it validate my parking ticket?

Not too long ago, I was trying to cheer up a friend about a professional set back he'd experienced. I jokingly suggested he take an "external validation" class--and then realized my Freudian slip; I'd meant to say Education class. But I wasn't really wrong. I've noticed marked differences in the way the class is run and how performance is evaluated in both my Ed. and Science classes, and it's very interesting.

The Ed. class tends to be more nurturing: we discuss and respond a lot and, when mistakes are pointed out, it's usually as part of a larger, positive comment. The Science class is a refreshing change from those back in the dark ages of lecture, lecture, lecture (now it's lots of doing, not much sitting), but there is regular assessment and you know exactly where you stand point-wise (i.e. exams, quizzes, assignments). So it can be externally validating, if you are doing well, but not so much if you forgot to do the reading.

The education class is an advanced class, so naturally there is more synthesis and discussion going on than the Intro class. But I think both approaches have their benefits; however, like everything (say, yoga snark, for example), it takes a light hand. I think it's important for students to feel safe to be wrong; I think it's important that students--eventually--get their information correct. I think different viewpoints are a crucial part of seeing the big picture; I think that some people confuse opinion with fact, or want their opinion to be considered fact, despite proof to the contrary.

Both approaches work for me. It seems like they should be contradictory, but I find the combination kind of soothing. I can enjoy the energy of debate (albeit very gentle and supportive) in one; I enjoy feeling like I'm laying groundwork in the other. I don't mind loosey-goosey part of the time, but the Type A/Big Sister/Striver in me likes to have a number in hand.

And, as we continue to talk about how to train yoga teachers, I see the need for both in a YTT syllabus (obviously, we don't need a lot of facts and hard assessment in a regular yoga class for practitioners). You have to understand (maybe there is a better word) yoga from both a personal and a physical perspective. These are the metaphysical benefits and this is the muscle that needs to be open for a Down Dog to happen. This is the way you might feel during pranayama and this is a Sanskrit name for Extended Triangle. One type of information is easy to present, one isn't.

With a really well-crafted YTT program, both would happen at the same time. As with any good class, a teacher can encourage and allow students room to experiment, but also correct mistakes and get the misdirected back on the right path. You should have a good feeling about what (how) you are learning, but you need structure. How to insure that? Probably a system of assessment that includes both written elements and observation by peer teachers. A guarantee that the teacher trainers have been trained to teach (for public school education, you are trained by education professors, not your colleagues). A set of standards that should be met--altho they can always be expanded on.

And, I suppose, if you're really paying attention to your yoga practice, you can eventually dispense with the need for external validation, all together. But for most of us mere mortals, that's an assignment we're still working on...

AAUGH...

...Group Projects! *yelled with a frustrated roar, like Charlie Brown**

I can't stand group projects. I'll bet this animosity can be used as a pop "psychological test" to assess my self-esteem/ my impatience/ my competitiveness/ my ability to work well with others. I hated them as an undergraduate and, now back in school, I am completely reminded of why they drive me nuts. They're right up there with partner work in yoga class (there's the yoga tie-in).

I can totally see the pedagogical value of both: students learn to cooperate, they can to do more work than they would alone, the teacher can see them in both leader and follower mode, there aren't as many final projects to grade (or asana to oversee). Check with me in a couple of years, and maybe I'll be won over.

But, for now, they make me feel at the mercy of other people's work habits. And hog-tied to their issues with deadlines. I get it, this is what working with young people is like, but my old brain cells don't bounce back from a lack of sleep like theirs do. I can't think about pig dissection at 6am when trying to proofread a final draft before printing. And I certainly don't have patience for paper jams at that hour.

I like working with other people. I like sharing ideas and debating. But then I like to hole up with my books, paper, and computer and digest all of it by myself. I like the energy of a group class and seeing a teacher's take on a pose or series. But then I just want to do it alone, in my own space on my mat.

Selfish? Individualistic? Just a grump? There are plenty of group projects in my future (why, there's a lab report next week), so I'm taking any attitude-adjustment you folks can pass out.

How do you get through a project or partner work with a smile...or at least a sense of well-being? What am I missing?

Art. Teaching. Nature. Nurture.

Back in the old days, we used to argue, my costume design colleagues and I. Can you teach creativity? Can you teach some one to be artistic? We were learning all sorts of skills in grad school--draping, millinery, drawing, conducting fittings, sweet-talking actors; but it seemed some talents that makes one a Master of Fine Arts were to be picked up by osmosis--taste, a sense of proportion, successful color combining, communicating character through clothing.

Some of us "got it" (or, maybe we already had it) and some of us didn't, but I'm not sure the fault was with our education. Maybe there are some things that can't be taught...

I wonder if this isn't the same thing with teaching, itself. I often think of the teachers that have most inspired me and the qualities they possess--it seems to boil down to their "energy," whatever that is. Are they engaged with their students? In the present moment? Not married to the lesson plan? Can roll with the energy of the room? Passionate? Funny?

Of course you can learn subject matter and classroom management. You can learn how to structure class time and explain the important information. But can you learn how to convey a sense of calm authority and compassion, of dedication and deep interest? Some of it just comes with experience but, I think, some of it is innate. Either you have it or you don't.

Presumably, most people who go into teaching do it because they love it (it certainly can't be for the money). Of course, it's a way to support a more esoteric area of interest--probably the case with a lot of college professors and artists--but, to stick with it, you have to find something compelling about the profession.

So, if some one thinks, "I want to teach," is that enough? Can they really learn to be effective? Affective? To inspire students? To transcend the subject matter? What qualities do you need to truly wear the mantle of "teacher" and can some one else give you that information? Or are you born with it...

I have my opinions, but I'd love to hear yours--all you teachers and students out there.

I Can Stand the Rain (but Ann Peebles is still awesome)...

Ah, perspective. We can always use more, right? The Big Picture. Don't Sweat the Small Stuff. Yoga for Cynics had a couple of lovely posts last week from the thin air above the tree line about how geology clears the mind, and they inspired me this week. Yoga, mountains, ocean, parenthood, death--the Big Things help you deal with the little things. I'd like to add to the list: Weather.

A couple of times this month, I've had to grin and bear it in less-than-ideal conditions. It's been very freeing. I participated in a triathlon three weeks ago in the rain (partially pouring, partially misting), which is not my first choice for two hours of heavy exertion. But that's sort of the beauty of an outdoor race--you do your thing no matter what is coming down on your head (except, of course, lightening). Once you accept that you are just one small person being pounded by water from the heavens, rather than running for shelter or warmth, it's sort of interesting.

It's the same for snow or heat or wind. When you stop fretting about discomfort or inconvenience, it's kind of fun. And obviously you can't do anything about it, so there's no point in getting worked up about it. It gives you perspective.

Which is why I love yoga outside. We did it last weekend by the river. The wind topples your Vrksasana; the ground is too bumpy for a graceful Parsvakonasana; you have to squint while you salute the sun. You are forced out of your patterns and have to adapt--as a result, you get to see a lot things in a new light. And you get fall color. Of course, I'm not advocating anything crazy or dangerous, but, in past Februaries, I've had a lovely, blissful 15 minutes doing Supta Baddha Konasana in the snow.

As the Midwest marches resolutely towards winter, this attitude change is invaluable. When the going gets rough, take yourself outside: get rained on, blown at, soak up the sun. Don't let the little people get you down...but do Bundle Up!

[GTTSB Redux: Nicole, at All Things Healing, has asked to republish some old posts on their site. I figured, why not, let some dear friends see the light again...)

Oversight, Undersight...Who's Watching?

I was bidden by the ever-watchful Roseanne at it's all yoga baby, to think about yoga teacher training standards, so I am. I had hoped her post would generate more discussion--I guess it can't all be naked yoginis--but stayed tuned for her follow-up. I'm sure it will be full of interesting things to think about.

So, My Two Cents.

What strikes me about most of the yoga teacher trainings floating around, both completely legitimate and less so, is the limited oversight. I am steeped in the culture of educating (high school) educators, right now, and much of the discussion revolves around setting standards and then making sure they are reached. How all this evaluation happens, of course, is always a source of contention, but--on the whole--teachers are expected to meet certain standards, to teach specific information, and to make sure their students are competent and capable upon graduation.

With profit-driven YTTs, I wonder how much quality teaching can be assured and produced. If the justification for running a training program is to keep a studio afloat, that seems like a rather tenuous base for instruction. That's not to say there aren't a lot of good YTTs out there, but who would know? There's no system of evaluation for these programs, no qualified review board to make sure the Yoga Alliance standards are actually met, no continuing assessment of teachers once they have graduated. Well, I should say, no generally-recognized system.

It's a bit like herding cats--many traditions have their own methods of evaluation and don't see the need for external review. Maybe that's enough for students familiar with that tradition and seeking those kinds of teachers. But for the general public, the numbers don't really mean anything because the YA-approved programs are basically self-reporting. They can say they are training capable teachers, because they've filled out the paperwork and paid their dues.

I'm not saying the Alliance standards, themselves, are lacking. Actually, I think they're quite thorough for a good, solid grounding in the basics. And once you actually start teaching, is when you really learn how to bring yoga to your students. But, how can anyone outside the yoga world understand what it means to say you have completed a teacher training? That you are "certified?"

Every once and awhile I take a look at nearby programs, thinking I ought to get some letters and numbers after my name. And every time I get discouraged by the idea of shelling out thousands of dollars for something that has very limited meaning. What's the point? Even aerobics instructors and personal trainer have standards and affiliations that require testing and re-testing, that make a lot of the YTTs look like opportunists. Enter your credit card number, here.

Organizing an oversight body would be a huge task. Some states are starting to require that training programs justify themselves. It's kind of a mess. But, leave it to the Canadians to initiate a conversation about how to start this process, instead of bickering about individuals' rights to make a buck, like we always do in the US. Maybe inspiration will come, maybe a movement is beginning. There are rumblings...

This seems to be a season of reflection and inquiry into the nature and future of yoga in North America; I hope the topic of teaching training will be an important part of the discussion.

Whippersnappers.

We got our first Human Biology exams back today. No unpleasant surprises for me (or pleasant ones, for that matter...I knew I'd get the passive diffusion question wrong), but some of the class was extremely disappointed. Judging by the discussion we had about a graph on heart disease, the big problem was with reading and interpreting data--or lack of data--correctly.

This is not a post about math literacy, so stick with me.

Several members of the class misread an uptick in heart disease in 2000 as the result of 9/11. This stunned the professor, partially because they got the date wrong, but partially because they actually thought this might be the cause of an additional 100,000 deaths over the course of five years. I was fascinated.

This is primarily a class of freshman. They are a group of 18 year-olds who were in 4th grade when the World Trade Center and Pentagon were hit. To them, it is the defining (inter)national event of their young lives. Maybe it seems entirely plausible that this tragedy would result in so many heart attacks.

I think of 9/11 as the defining moment of the 2000s, but certainly not my life. Maybe it's just a perfect storm of the growth of the internet, the 24-hr-news cycle combined with two wars started by the Bush Administration, but as we move into the last year and a half of this decade it seems like the legacy of Sept. 11 is a nation that wants everything black and white. If you're not with us, you're against us.

What is encouraging is that these kids don't seem so quick to define the enemy. They mostly worry about money and if they'll have a job upon graduating. They're okay with gay marriage and immigration. It's the older generations that want it crystal clear...and want to get mad about it in the process. We see it in the mid-term elections, we see it on the news channels, we see it the response to a straightforward plea for less sexist yoga advertising.

So maybe the end result of 9/11 will be more heart disease, if everyone over 30 keeps working themselves into a lather of hatred over what the "other guy" is trying to pull. Why agree to disagree when you can point and call names?

But I'm hopeful. They may have been wrong about question six, but I think these teenagers realize there is a lot of gray. That it's mostly just confusing, instead of obvious. Maybe they can take some observations they made as children, and move beyond this era of Us and Them. That sure would make my heart beat a little faster...

Good Things Come...

... to Those Who Wait. But who has time to Wait, anymore? Or the patience to Wait? Can't the microwave pop that corn any faster?!?!

Patience is a virtue. Or was--maybe it's more of a lost art. I try to remind myself, especially when dealing with the Big Picture, that things take time and will reveal themselves eventually. With instant downloading, instant messaging, yoga in 15 minutes-or-less, it's hard to remember that most of the things that matter are not quick. They need to unfold at their own pace and rushing them will just foul everything up. Anyone who has ever dabbled in watercolors knows exactly what I mean.

But can you teach it? How do you convey the idea that you can't have a thing immediately, just because you want it? Is it simply a matter of experience, age? Do you have to sit, miserably, watching the black pigment soak across your entire sheet of expensive Arches watercolor paper before you get it? Burn your hand on a hot pan full of fresh chocolate star cookies (a painful bit of negative reinforcement for the 6-yr-old yesterday)?

I wonder if there is a way to learn patience through positive reinforcement. The more effective examples seem to be the lessons learned when you're not patient; especially because you have to be patient to see the fruits of patience. So maybe it is an age thing. Somewhere you have to find a source of calm, quiet reserve to allow stuff to just happen.

Obviously, yoga is great training for this (I guarantee it will take a lot more than 15 minutes), but you have to go into the practice already ready to slow yourself down. The realization sets in pretty quickly that it is "slow medicine," but even accepting that fact requires a bit of self-discipline. I have students who took a few months to get that, but when they finally stopped fighting, it was a beautiful thing. But I don't really think I taught that--I think they had to figure it out themselves.

So, again the question: Is it a learned skill or is it an acquired habit? Can some one show you, or do you have to discover it on your own? Sunny-side up or Over-easy?

Message on a bottle...

...or on a television show, or in front of the classroom, or in an advertisement, etc. It's impossible to pinpoint exactly where our subconscious gets the material that forms our self-image. It's even harder to decipher how the mind mashes up that information to create our worldview. Psychotherapists can spend years trying to help a patient unravel this complex web of messages, that can be so debilitating and destructive. Even if it isn't affecting your quality of life, that inner critic can be pretty opinionated.

Part of my motivation for pursuing science ed, is sort of a response to the teenage me. Despite showing some aptitude in science and math, I was bound and determined to avoid those subjects at all costs. Why? Because I was too artsy and journalistic for science? It was just for nerdy boys? It was too hard? I'd be hard pressed to say where these ideas came from, but that was the basis for my prejudice. And what a shame, because I think I cut myself off from some really interesting opportunities by listening to that misguided inner voice.

Even with only four classes this past week, already I've heard many of the same misconceptions about studying the sciences from my young classmates, that I entertained in my late teens. The message is still loud and clear from somewhere--artists don't do science, math is too hard, it's gross/boring/hardhardhard. It's an uphill battle against an unseen enemy, but I would love to be a teacher who could change that message.

I would hope to inspire kids to see the subject matter as intriguing, something to explore. I became a yoga teacher, partially because I was so taken with the discipline that I wanted to learn how to show my friends and family what an amazing practice it is. I loved the subject; I wanted to share the subject. And so it goes with biology.

By helping kids learn to explore the natural world, to investigate a problem and discover the answer, comes learning how to think for yourself and forming ideas based on your own experience. How about that as a useful, subversive tool? Get something pierced, if you want, but a truly radical act is thinking for yourself.

And the sooner they get that message, the better.

It's the Transitions that'll kill ya...

Forgive the triathlon analogy, but it's on my mind these days (one more in September). So...multi-sport...swim/bike/run; the trick is to maintain your exertion level so you're working hard, but not working too hard. You can't blast into the swim and wreck your lungs for the bike, pedal like a maniac and fry your quads for the run, and, well, you just have to struggle through the run to get to the bagels. But, you also can't ignore the transitions--water to bike seat to open road. You have to change clothes, add equipment, grab a quick drink--and the time you spend is included in your final count. No lollygagging.

The trick is to finesse the transitions so, after a mad scramble, you can smoothly move into the next event--for which you've trained and have some time to settle into a rhythm and just focus on the task at hand.

And ain't that just like life?

It's the in-betweens that will lay you low--the changes in routine, the stopping short, the sharp left turn. They can be exciting, upsetting, re-energizing, alarming. They are the start of something new and, no matter how prepared you are, they are disruptive.

Here I am at the beginning of a transition. Tuesday morning is my first day back in school...25 years after the last first day of undergraduate school. Teacher Training, ladies and gentlemen, but this time it's for Biology. This is a trial semester--do I like teaching adolescents science as much as I like teaching adults yoga? Is this really what my contribution to the world will be? Protozoa?!?!

Hopefully this is a disruption that will lead to a smooth, focused ride. Eventually. I'm thrilled on a variety of levels, anxious on others. And I'm very, very curious how it will all play out (oh thank gods for pranayama!).

Back-to-school outfit is chosen (casual, but not too young), equipment is laid out (yay, new notebooks!), a Clif bar tucked into the purse. I'm as ready as I'll ever be for this transition. Hopefully, I don't need a helmet...

The Good Olden Days

This post is dedicated to all of you out there, who remember your first typewriter. [For the rest of you, Granny B has a tale from when telephones were connected to the wall and you had to flip the record every 20 minutes]

I had a brand, new electric model that I carted off to college. A graduation present. It was so fancy that it could remember the last five letters you typed, and erase them. No White-Out for me! (Four years later, I owned my first computer--a little boxy Mac SE with a screen like a postcard--and the typewriter was mothballed.)

Back in those days, you composed in a notebook, with a pencil or pen, and then rolled a piece of typing paper against the platen (crrk, crrk, hopefully the top edge of the paper was even) and typed up your piece--remembering to hit the return key (electric) or carriage return lever (manual) when the warning bell went off to roll the paper up a line. Woe to she who forgot and ran out of space for a word... (margin release key, hyphen) It was a slow process that required forethought, a variety of accessories (aforementioned White-Out to paint over mistakes; carbon paper, if you wanted a copy), and time. To "send," you folded up your piece of paper in an envelope, addressed it, and pressed a licked stamp on it before taking it to a mailbox.

Back then, an argument with some one you didn't know might play itself out in letters-to-the-editor or some other published space. Rebuttals weren't remotely immediate and there was time to think about the conflict, perhaps deciding your response wasn't even worth the effort. To fly off the handle at a stranger took at least three or four days, depending on your distance.

I suspect part of my discomfort with the whole tenor of last week's debate, was how fast it happened. While I see myself as completely computer-literate, it is my second language...I'm an ex-pat from the Land of the Analog. Clocks with hands. Typewriters. Phones with cords. Television knobs. Trying to keep up with all the comments and related blog posts was exhausting and the speed that opinions were posted gave me whiplash. A perfect storm of emotion and reaction. Often missing a pause for reflection (myself included).

And I'm glad we were all able to participate. How cool is a global discussion? But I still get agitated arguing with a person I've never met; forming opinions based on a single, careless adjective. ("How dare he call me jealous!") I lost a lot of sleep worrying about my own snippy comments, fired off in a moment of viewpoint-defending passion. How so not like me--a yoga teacher! A Midwesterner! A lot of anxiety was generated as I operated outside my usual contemplative, non-confrontational zone.

I guess that's life as an immigrant...never completely of one land or another, fondly remembering the traditions of Old Country, but embracing the innovations of the New. I'll have to remind myself, in the next go round, to keep a dictionary handy and remember cultural niceties. Don't gesture with the middle finger or stick chopsticks straight up and down in my rice. So to speak...

We still have a shelf-full of 45s and 12" singles, by the way (ask your parents about that, my dears...)

What are you lookin' at?

What seems to be missing from l'affaire toesox (as Carol Horton sensitively discusses here), is any acknowledgment of the difference between the way women and (straight) men perceive the use of naked women in yoga imagery. Or any imagery, for that matter.

In her book, The Male Brain (2010), Louann Brizendine takes a close look at the chemistry of the male brain, as a follow-up to her earlier book The Female Brain. In her article "Sex, Mating and the Male Brain," she reminds us the main goal of any species is to procreate; to that end, the male brain has evolved to specifically seek out a female that offers the greatest potential to meet that goal--young, shapely, healthy, and not pregnant with another man's child. She writes, "Researchers at the University of California found that it takes the male brain only 1/5th of a second to classify a woman as sexually hot or not. This verdict is made long before a man's conscious thought processes can even engage." She also notes that the male brain has an area for sexual pursuit that is 2.5 larger than the female brain.

So, perhaps, therein explains part of the gulf between the "what's the big deal?" camp and the "How can you not see the big deal?" camp. They are seeing different images, while looking at the same picture.

The history of Western art is full of pictures of naked women (none of them selling any yoga accessories, by the way), often depicted in all their reproductive glory. Until very recently, almost all of these were painted by men for the use and enjoyment of other men. That's who had the power, the money. Whether immortalizing a mistress (Louis XV's, in this case), celebrating a munificent donation to the church (many an altarpiece), or serving as a beautiful decoration in a palace, wealthy donors regularly requested the inclusion of the idealized female form as a part of the composition.

Francois Boucher's Mademoiselle O'Murphy (1751), from the Wallraf, Richartz Museum in Cologne.

We've been looking at examples of beautiful naked women on display for a male audience for centuries, nay millenia. It's a hard habit to overcome and has become the standard for us all. As Carol astutely notes, "But that’s the thing about the dominant culture: If it’s invisible to us – if we uncritically accept it as normal and natural without reflection – we get sucked into it and end up reinforcing its norms unintentionally."

So I wonder if we're stuck in a place where the twain-shall-never-meet. One group hopes to challenge a status quo, that is reinforced both by culture and biology. The other sees nothing wrong with the status quo. Some want pretty, some want realistic. I'm hopeful we can talk; I'm hopeful we can stay civil--How about fair amounts of each aesthetic?

This issue is obviously much bigger than the yoga world. I guess that's why I got my feelings hurt this weekend by so many of the comments on elephant journal (and that's exactly what it was, feelings getting hurt, I should not be taking so much of this personally). Judith was so calm, so reasoned in her letter, I thought it would inspire a really good conversation about the contemporary yoga industry and where it seems to be headed. Maybe some one would have insight into why naked yoga ads are a good thing and make me question my assumptions. Instead it was internet-commentary-as-usual: emotional and defensive and far from the original ideas in the letter or roseanne's post.

Maybe the topic is too confrontational, too raw. Maybe this is the same old battle being fought. I had hoped this conversation could be the start of something beautiful, but I am wary.

Whose Beautiful is it, anyway?!?

With each of my pregnancies, I couldn't wait for the 20th week to roll around. That's the week you get the ultrasound that--usually--shows the sex of the child, if you want to know it. And I wanted to know. While I would have loved any child and was just hoping for healthy, I was also crossing my fingers that both babies would be boys.

This is a bit disingenuous, because I have many friends with wonderful, smart daughters and I have many wonderful, smart friends and relatives who would be great role models. But, having negotiated girlhood in this culture obsessed with the female form, I wasn't sure I had the strength to negotiate it again with a little girl.

Boys don't have to deal with thong panties, makeovers, boob jobs, sexy dance class routines, and an overall message that the only thing that truly matters is how smokin' hot you are. And if you are bit short of smokin' hot, there are lots of products you can buy, operations you can have, to get you there. Advertisers are trying to figure how to make boys insecure enough to buy male versions of the lotions and potions, but they just haven't quite got it. Yet.

So imagine my delight with this week's (hopefully, this year's) yoga talking point--Judith Hanson Lasater's letter to Yoga Journal on using sex to sell in its advertising. (it's all yoga, baby will bring you up to date) I've written before about my frustration with the way yoga is marketed and the image the yoga industry has decided to present to the world. Unrealistic bodies doing incredibly difficult poses--yeah, that will bring 'em in!

My contribution to the discussion is just to put forth the question, to everyone who says this is just about appreciating beautiful bodies or offering something to aspire to: what message are you sending teenage girls, who are looking to the world for an idea of what womanhood will be like? What do we, as a culture, value in women and what are the most important attributes to strive for? A tight ass? Sculpted abs? Surely not...

And I'm not so naive to think that anything will really change in the overall culture any time soon. The media has figured out what brings eyes to screens, clicks to pages, and these are seriously entrenched strategies that seduce everyone. But it breaks my heart that the yoga world embraces it, as well. The one practice that shouldn't be about the external or cling to screwy standards of physical perfection, and yet--naked yoga socks ads (what is it with yoga products for feet?!?).

Please, yoga industry, think about the girls (and boys) and what message they are getting from your choices. I'm glad you can fund your teaching retreats and "reach" so many more students. I'm glad yoga is getting coverage in the mainstream press (altho some of that coverage we could do without). I'm glad you can put your foot behind your head. But, seriously, don't you see this kind of advertising for what it is? Do you really believe that every reader will understand your outer beauty is simply a reflection of inner grace?

Aren't we more sophisticated in our thinking than that? I hope the response this letter has generated will really encourage some thinking, some re-assessing. Many of us have been harping about this for years...maybe this is the push that will really lead to shove.

Let's Take Back Beautiful!

The comfort of ritual

It was a weekend filled with significant ritual, one joyous, one sad. Neither was about me (altho, technically, a child's birthday commemorates a day his mother completed a very rigorous task, but never mind), so I was merely a bystander. On Saturday it was a birthday party; on Sunday, a funeral.

Ah, the delayed gratification of summer birthdays--we were camping on Eamonn's official day, so we planned to have friends over the weekend we got back. The event was fairly low-key--water balloons in the backyard, temporary tattoos, soap bubbles, hot dogs and juice. The six-year-olds tore around the house, delighting in their own company, but very aware of the vital elements of the celebration. The event had a logical progression: play, eat, play, open presents, play, get gift bags. If something wasn't happening soon enough, a guest was certain to remind us of the next activity. Very ordered. As I said, a ritual.

There was the same sense of security-through-logical-order at the funeral of a dear neighbor the next day. He was a proud veteran of WWII, and had an honor guard and a group of navy men at the service to prepare the flag that draped his coffin. It was moving, especially the meticulous folding of the flag, to witness this ritual of preparing a sailor for burial and the send off for his soul. Taps on a single bugle.

Participating in these juxtaposed celebrations made me think about the role of ritual in our everyday life. They unfold without surprise, designed to mark a significant passage and to give those near and dear to the recipient a role in the event. One prepares a birthday cake, one writes a eulogy, one lights candles, one says a prayer. They provide comfort by bringing structure to the unstructureable--growing up, death. It's a way to impose a sense of order over things we can't control.

As a householder, I appreciate that which gives comfort, even if--ultimately--it is just an illusion. My sons will learn soon enough that the future is unknown, unwritten. That their parents have created a very safe, but very small, world for them to inhabit and that everywhere else is a free-for-all. Dog-eat-dog. I explained to Eamonn that Mr. Jayson had died and that we were going to the service. He wanted to know why he died, why your body shuts down when you get old. But he seemed pretty accepting of the news, and I think this glimpse at death wasn't too upsetting or scary. Maybe (I hope) his own life seems endless right night now and that 91 is an unconceiveably long way away. Now is the time to focus on birthday guests and who gets what color balloon.

It was a weekend of reflection, with this contrasting events. Each tempered the emotion of the other, leaving me a bit pensive. But in a good way. I'm all for ritual and habit, if it helps smooth the passage of these affecting events.