Downward Facing Blog

Learning to Listen (to Yourself)

About a year ago, I took a job I knew wasn’t right for me. The pay was great and I would only have to work one week a month in order to satisfy my duties, so I figured I could put up with it, especially since I could work from home, which would ensure I had some sort of regular income once I moved to Toronto. But the content left much to be desired (I am sure there is probably someone out there who would do cartwheels given the opportunity to work for a real estate magazine, but this would not be my experience). It’s only one week a month, I told myself. You can stomach it.

But I didn’t.

Each month, as files came my way to be edited, I did everything I could to distract myself, mentally checking out so that I wouldn’t have to suffer through each boring article that appeared in my in box. That I wasn’t able to focus on the task at hand just made the job worse and, consequentially, required me to have to work on each page that much longer since I was subconsciously refusing to be fully present in the moment. This paired with the magazine’s inability to stay organized and on schedule during each close only added to my growing disdain for the publication, requiring me to stay up reading until 11pm, midnight, even 2am on the night of a close. These were not ideal circumstances.

But I battled through it, albeit miserably, because I was relying on this monthly week of hell to support myself, to live. It’s just one week a month, I reminded myself. Toughen up.

As the months went by, I found myself dreading the time I would have to spend dedicated to my laptop to earn that cushy four-figure check. I noticed I wasn’t sleeping well during each close and, chained to my computer to try to stay on top of my work, I was neglecting my yoga practice, the one thing that I needed most to respond to the stress that was amounting physically in my body. I began getting massages monthly in order to counter the damage this job was wreaking on me.

This January, though, marked a new low: Working on a special 75-page supplement that would be published inside the regularly monthly, I was told I could expect an extra week’s worth of work. I eagerly accepted the duty as I envisioned the sum of the paycheck and waited patiently for the extra pages to come in. But as the days wore on and my in box barren of emails from the magazine, I began to grow increasingly concerned as time was running out if we were going to finish by deadline. Giving them the benefit of the doubt, I thought maybe, pressed for time, they outsourced the work to another editor to help expedite the process. Not so. They assured me I was the only one working on this publication and were then kind enough to send me the first batch of pages at 11:45pm—the night before all 75 pages were due at 5pm the following day.

I did not take this well.

While I did my best to get the pages back to them in as timely a fashion as possible, I expressed my unhappiness with the situation to my boss, finally voicing my frustration with the late-night closes, explaining that as I read for a living, my brain can’t function well—if at all—after 8pm, threatening to quit if things didn’t change. He told me he understood and that he would try to be more mindful in the future.

I was glad that we had had our chat, but still had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing. Should I just quit? I asked myself. I really don’t want to do this anymore. But then I reminded myself of that paycheck, reminded myself that I only needed to put up with the bullshit one week a month, reminded myself of how “lucky” I was to be able to have this gig that I could do virtually anywhere if I felt like picking up and moving again. I decided to give them one more chance.

So when I received a 4-page story at 10:30pm the night of the next close with 4 other pages still to be sent my way, I had no hesitation in informing my boss that that was it. I was through. This would be the last issue I worked on.

Aside from the feeling of relief and elation to be rid of my source of unhappiness, I was surprised at how easy it was to follow my instinct, at how GOOD it felt to listen and act on what I knew to be true all along. And while it might unnerve and scare some to leave a job with nothing lined up to take its place, I trust that something better will come along of its own accord. Some might think me crazy, but I know that something better suited to my lifestyle and interests will come along. Something that I can be fully present in doing, something I know will bring someone else joy.

As Erich Schiffman says in Yoga: The Spirit and Practice of Moving Into Stillness, “Develop the willingness to ask, the ability to hear, and the courage to act in accordance with your deepest impulses…. Dare to do what your deepest impulses encourage you to do.” Because it is in listening to ourselves, to that inner voice that can be our greatest teacher. Because that teacher is us. I had the answer I needed last month when I questioned whether or not I should quit. Heck, I had the answer last year when I first started the job, but I chose to ignore my intuition, I chose to ignore the message that was coming from within—and suffered accordingly.

I share with you this story not to bitch or for your sympathy or pity, but as an example: We have all the answers we need for any and every situation that arises, we just have to know how to listen in order to solve our own problems.  

A Lesson on Grief

Last night was orientation to my fall seasonal module of Sukhavati, Leigh Evans and Summer Quashie’s 300 hour yoga training. These wonderful ladies guided me through my 200 hour certification, and, after awakening to the mystery of the body, breath, and mind through the lens of yoga, I felt compelled to join them on this even deeper journey. I want to know everything that they know.

Broken up into four parts (seasons), I’ve joined halfway through their first year offering such an in-depth course of study, joining in on the Fall Insight Module. See, I moved to Toronto back in May, a move I had long dreamt about. It could have been any city, really: I just wanted to move somewhere new, somewhere I had never been before and start all over again in a place where I didn’t know anyone. Something about Toronto called to me, so I accepted the invitation.

Walking into that room last night with so many beautiful faces (half the people studying the module with me also studied with me during my first YTT), familiar faces from my old studio and neighborhood in Williamsburg, I felt slightly overwhelmed. I hadn’t been in a place where I knew so many people WHO KNEW ME in so long. The last few months I’ve been like a fly on the wall, an observer, going about my business mostly unnoticed. Seeing my sisters of my practice brought such an immense amount of joy, I didn’t know how to react; I smiled and kept my head down.

It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate their excitement, their elation to see me. Quite the opposite: My feelings matched the energy I felt being sent in my direction. But having spent the last four months by myself with no one to send such energy toward, I had spent a lot of time turning my attention and awareness inside, building a new relationship with myself. 

And it wasn’t just the fact that I was in a new place without any friends that I decided to shift my focus on myself. Two weeks before I made my move, my best friend of over 20 years died. I had planned this move long before I got the news of her passing, and going to her wake and funeral, seeing people from my past that I hadn’t seen or thought about in ages and telling them of my plans, it seemed like I was making my move at the exact right time of my life. With this catastrophic event, I needed to get away. I needed time. I needed to be by myself.

Hello, Toronto.

My self-imposed exile brought me all these things that I craved. But once I got there and realized I really was by myself, it was scary. I didn’t have anyone nearby to run to when I felt I needed a shoulder to cry on, didn’t have anyone doling out hugs that I so desperately craved. I have a few core friends that I know would do anything for me that I would call crying in low moments, but I realized that I could only make so many of those calls, that even though this event had shaken me to my core, it was a lot to ask of someone else who hasn’t experienced the loss of someone so close to them to be there and listen to me sob about how much I miss her, how it felt as if a part of me had died with her, how confused I was about how to feel since we hadn’t been on the best of terms when she died. If I was going to get through this, I needed to make better friends with myself. 

I still reached for the phone in these moments, but as a wave of grief washed over me, moved through me, I set the phone down and just let my feelings surface. Sure, I’d flip through my contacts and think about who I could call, but realized I couldn’t exactly put into words what I was feeling or why I needed them at that particular moment. After a few fumbles like that, the subconscious urge to let out my problems on others began to wash away. I began to give into the waves and just let myself cry, let myself be completely present in the emotions I had clearly been too scared to let myself feel. They came on at odd times, sometimes brought on by nothing in particular: the loss of a button, a thunderstorm, the dirty dishes my roommate left out on the counter for days on end. Other moments were more significant: hearing a song that we loved or from a band she was obsessed with (Smashing Pumpkins, Radiohead, Pink Floyd), seeing two friends on the street or in a cafe catching up, saying certain catch phrases that were now part of my everyday vernacular (my favorite, her personal pep talk: “Heather, get your shit together,” which she said in time—she was a musician, after all).

One terribly beautiful moment occurred at a friend’s wedding, when the bride’s best friend and maid of honor decided to give her the gift of a dance at her wedding. I was touched by the strength of their friendship, yet saddened that I would never get to share a moment with my best friend like that. I had to excuse myself from the room as tears streamed down my face, running to the bathroom to let myself let it out so that I could go rejoin the room with my party face on.

But back to last night: I listened to my teacher and friend, Leigh, talk about the affects of fall on the mind and body, this contracting, beginning to draw energy inside after the abundance and radiance of summer as we prepare for the hibernation of winter. My ears perked up to discover that the emotion associated with the season is grief, its sound that of weeping, the organs associated with autumn the lungs and large intestine.

I realized that I had been working with the bullet points of fall’s cycle all summer long, that I could speak to these ideas and practices as I had become more aware of all these energies as I took my journey inward to deal with the loss of my friend. I had experienced deep grief and, though it was NOT an easy thing to do, I let myself be open to the emotions and thoughts that came up in relation to my friend’s death and worked with these areas of the body in order to try to set myself back to normal, whatever normal means. 

While Leigh spoke, she also shared a list of signs of lung network imbalances: unresolved grief (check), clinging to unhealthy attachments to things and people (check), lack of vitality in skin (my digestive issues were apparent on my face, check), congestion issues (I got super sick when I learned of my friend’s death, check), constipation (double check), spastic colon, vague and ambiguous, cluttered mind (my vata was all out of whack, triple check), lack of clarity (check), a quality in ones life of staleness and stuckness (my move obviously canceled this one out), inability of letting go of unnecessary thoughts and feelings (this is something that I have always had problems with, though in my move I became more aware of the thoughts that persisted, meeting them with “Why can’t I stop thinking about this!? Why can’t I just let it go?” CHECK), dryness or excessive mucus in membranes (check), sinus problems, asthma, stiffness of spine and neck (my entire spinal column seized up once I received the news of Heather, and it took WEEKS of yoga, restorative yoga, and massages to help work out the bigger kinks), rigidity, mental fixation (check), nasal congestion, lung and bronchial conditions, frequent colds, boundary issues (check), unexpressed sorrow (CHECK).

I was the poster child for fall imbalance.

But in drawing my awareness inside and really listening to what my body was trying to tell me, in dealing with my grief, I’ve addressed many of these issues without having needed a checklist to do so. I definitely wasn’t stuck—my move to Toronto wildly flagged that I wasn’t going to let myself stay tied into this rut. I took some ayurveda classes at my yoga studio in TO and met with an ayurvedic doctor to address my constipation issues, which, after realizing my diet wasn’t the issue, he attributed to my inability to express anger and/or let things go. My yoga practice has completely transformed as I’ve slowed myself down in my movements in order to be more conscious, aware of each pose’s affects on myself. Whenever I feel myself obsessing over a thought or idea, I take myself on a long, hard bike ride or go to the gym to work it out. I’ve taken up kickboxing to help me release my anger. I constantly purge my closet and belongings to rid my tactile life of things I don’t need, which has also helped me to clear the clutter in my mind. I’ve set up a daily routine for work and play that helps me to better streamline my thoughts and ideas while also aiding in keeping me focused for when I am working. I set my alarm for the same time every day. I meditate daily. 

All these things have helped me to cope with my grief, and my grief has helped me to address these issues. Like I said, it hasn’t been easy, but the results have been extremely rewarding.

One last thing that I wanted to share: In coming back to New York to attend my training, I am staying at my mother’s home on Long Island so that I can visit Heather; we grew up in the same town, her body now lies in the crypt of the Catholic church in our town. Without a car, I decided to go for a run to visit her as a way to help clear my mind.

At the wake, I was so overcome with grief that I couldn’t concentrate on what I needed to say; having repressed so many emotions that came up when I thought of her, so much came at me at once. It was like I had been the target of a firing squad ordered to shoot squarely at my heart and mind. I was just completely overwhelmed with everything that was coming up, I don’t think I said everything that I needed to say. So now, almost five months later, having had all this time to myself to process my loss and try to figure out how to go on with my life, I felt like I was finally really ready to have this talk with her.

Running there, I was completely out of breath. The crypts only about a mile away, I had to stop and start again and again as I was finding it hard to breath. Once I got there, though, and had a cry, I said all that I needed to say (which was surprisingly short considering our lengthy past together), chatted with her about some things that were going on in my life, then left for my run back home. On the way back, I realized my breath came so much more easily; there was no wheezing, no shortness. And after I got home and took a shower, I sat down to eat some breakfast and felt this lightness, like a weight had been lifted off of me. 

I felt free.

It was only then that I realized that all this work that I had done with and for myself had really, ACTUALLY done something: liberate me. And even though the journey was hard and long, I would do it all over again just to be able to feel at peace with myself as I do right now.

So if you are still reading this, I thank you for your patience. But I also encourage you to invite yourself to grieve, to allow yourself to feel, to dive deep within yourself to experience all the emotions you’ve refused yourself to feel. Because it may seem scary to deal with whatever it is that you are hesitant to fully experience, but I promise you, all that work to repress it takes a heck of a lot more energy out of you and causes so much more pain in so many different areas of your life, in your body than it does to actually invite it in and make friends with it. And really, pain is our greatest friend as it shows us exactly where we need to work on ourselves to become more aware and able to live more presently.

From Slaughter to Platter: Responsible Consumption

When I was 14, I saw a Dateline-ish special on the treatment of cows in slaughter houses; how cows were being bred in captivity, where they and their forced-into-this-world offspring would spend their entire lives confined to a small pen, a barn’s equivalent to a prison cell, where they would be given mostly rotten food or gruel, beaten, and unskillfully gutted from esophagus to anus before being processed to either be served up at your favorite fast-food joint or sit raw on refrigerated supermarket shelves, prepared for consumption by the public. I stopped eating red meat then and there, my silent protest to the atrocities my fellow man bestowed upon defenseless living creatures. Vegetarianism as foreign to me as China at that time, I still ate chicken and turkey, and I was met with criticism, people telling me that the same conditions exist in hen and turkey houses as well. My response? “When I see that special, then I’ll stop eating it.” 

Sixteen years later, I never did see any investigative reporting on fowl abuse, but just as the young version of myself knew it was out there, I finally owned up to this truth, and have practiced a poultry- and meat-free diet for over 7 years now. A recent surfacing of animal abuse at a hen house reminded me of that foolish statement I made as a teenager. (Warning: It is quite a graphic video, so please press play with caution.)

Looking back on my diet choices and reasoning, I realize that I was like many who would rather turn a blind eye than engage in confrontation: I knew birds were being mistreated in order to provide me and millions with protein, but what you don’t see can’t hurt you, right? Out of sight, out of mind. 

But as I propel myself further down this yogic, do-gooder rabbit hole, I realize that in order for us to move toward becoming our most pure selves, we have to think about the origin of the things we bring into our homes, the food we put into our mouths. Thinking about buying a new leather purse? Think about how that bag made it into your hands at the store: it arrived there on a truck, from a factory of workers who may or may not have been paid less than minimum wage, who received the materials from a leather house, who process the animal hides with oils to make suitable to wear, who receive said hides from slaughter houses, who may or may not use humane treatment in reducing the animal to a sum of its parts.

The same technique applies to the food you eat: Before shoving that first forkful into your mouth, sit down and trace its steps back to where it originated from. What, exactly, are you ingesting into your body? By subscribing to food you know comes from questionable sources with questionable work ethics, you are allowing the negative energies that fuel these horrifically run establishments to course through your body. Whether you know it or not, these energies are seeping into your system, threatening to poison not just your body with the added chemicals (think bleach, ammonia, et al), but your soul as well. And we are what we eat, right?

Now, I’m not telling you how to live your life or preaching that everyone should live a vegetarian or vegan lifestyle, but I am asking you to really think about the journey your food or other purchases made to get to the store you’re pulling your wallet out at before you actually take home the items of interest. Buy local, if you have a meat-based diet, think about purchasing from a butcher rather than the supermarket—it may be a little more expensive, but that money is funding humane slaughter efforts as well as ensuring you fresh cuts, safe from threats of salmonella or e-coli.

As we allow ourselves to become more aware and, therefore, responsible for the choices we make, we can then go on to live our lives with more compassion for other living beings, creating a more patient and understanding environment, doing yourself—and the world—a bit of justice. The hardest step is the first step, really taking this idea into consideration.

All you have to do is plant the seed. 

What Am I Really Saying When I Say That I Am Vegan?

If you’re vegan, chances are you’ve been apologized to by a carnivore. Perhaps they were apologizing that they had a roast beef sandwich earlier that day. Or because they were inviting you to a group dinner at a place that wasn’t so veggie-friendly. Or maybe just because they think your lifestyle pales in comparison.

I’ve consumed a vegan diet going on three years now and I’ve heard “I’m sorry” many, many times. Heck, sometimes I’m the one apologizing—when dinner plans are being made or I’m visiting a friend’s family who are not accustomed to my dietary habits.

And while many vegans are concerned with animal rights, I, too, champion the rights of those poor souls who are bred solely for the purpose of one day being slaughtered to find their way to that double yellow arch in the sky and other similar resting places (hello Burger King, Taco Bell, White Castle, Wendy’s, does KFC count?). (I am tolerant, though, of those bred on farms that have been treated humanely—it is my personal choice to go meat-free and I respect the choices of those who eat meat with a more ethical guideline as to where they procure said meat.) Then there is the whole issue of testing skincare, hair, and other products on animals. Why not test on humans since our skin (hello, we don’t have FUR like many of the subjects do!) is quite different from our furry friends? 

Recently, though, I’ve been reading a book on the history of and our relationship with breasts (Breasts: A Natural and Unnatural History, by Florence Williams, to be reviewed on my other blog, Tuff Titties). I’m not quite finished with it, but I’ve come across a section that discusses the testing of the effects of HCG injections (a hormone that is released only when a woman gets pregnant—studies are finding that a woman who has had a child or gotten pregnant have a much lower risk at getting breast cancer than a woman who hasn’t). To facilitate the testing, medical researchers have been testing on rats, injecting some with this HCG hormone and then injecting them with breast cancer cells to see how the cancer cells react to test subjects both with and without this hormone present.

Which got me to thinking: When we’re testing for something that could have serious effects (like death) on someone while trying to find cures for such devastating diseases (like breast cancer), is it okay to test on animals? Clearly finding humans willing to risk their lives for such acts will be hard, and I’m not sure how many people who have such fatal illnesses are willing to take a chance on a drug or procedure that hasn’t been “scientifically proven” to yield positive results.

So if we’re dealing with life-threatening diseases, is it okay and/or appropriate to risk the lives of those weaker than us, who have no say in how their lives play out to work for a “higher” purpose? 

And if a vegan gets sick and has the opportunity to undergo a new, maybe even controversial procedure, would it be the “vegan” thing to do? Because you can bet your life that the said procedure was tested on many animals before it was approved for human use.

Tough questions, I know, but some I think that should be considered when taking on a vegan—as well as a yogic and/or Buddhist—lifestyle as we are all striving to be compassionate, loving people who refrain from harming others and make others suffer. 

Should we all just become Christian Scientists? 

I, myself, am not sure where I stand on this issue. But it is something that is now at the forefront of my mind. Vegans and non-vegans: What do you think? Perhaps this idea warrants my apologies, for if we didn’t medically test on animals, would modern medicine have come this far? Surely the animals’ lives sacrificed for the good of humanity outnumber the human lives that have helped to save. Do those furry lives mean less than those of our friends, family, and other loved ones their precious souls helped give these humans a little bit more time on this earth, a little bit more time to be in our company? Death is imminent, so do these questions matter anyway in the long run if we are all going to die anyway?

Food for thought.

Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu

May all beings everywhere be happy and free from suffering, and may the thoughts, words, and actions of my own life contribute in some way.

Seven Reasons Calling Yourself a Yoga Teacher Sucks

by Alanna Kaivalya, via ElephantJournal.com

Don’t get me wrong, I love yoga.

I love being a yoga teacher. It’s been an integral part of me and my life for more than ten years. I’m still uncomfortable with telling people that I teach yoga for a living. Here’s why:

1. People basically see us as a fitness instructor. Don’t worry, I’m not hating on fitness instruction. That’s a valuable and  important part of health in our society. However, most of us don’t just lead people through physical exercises. As for myself, I teach philosophy as much as I teach alignment (some might say even more so), and I encourage people to let go of whatever prevents them from being happy and free.

I’ve studied anatomy, physiology, alignment, philosophy and eastern traditions and weave that all through classes that include chanting and live music. I know many other instructors do the same. It’s not just about fitness, dammit! Rock hard abs aren’t our goal, supreme freedom is!

2. People automatically assume that we’re flaky. Somewhere along the line, spirituality and spiritual pursuits got coupled with absent-mindedness and a disregard for the rigors of society. Not so! Yogis aim to be well-integrated members of society.

In fact, many are working behind the scenes and in the trenches to create the conditions for positive change in our communities. Furthermore, many of us pay our bills, respond to phone calls in a timely fashion and show up on time to teach our classes. We can be level headed and responsible. My god, you should see my iCal calendar!

3. The number one response is, “Oh, I can’t do yoga because I’m not flexible.” Really? Were we required to know Spanish before we enrolled in Spanish class in high school? No. We went to class to learn and develop our Spanish skills. Same with yoga. Flexibility is not a per-requisite. Open-mindedness is.

4. The number two response is, “Oh, wow! Can you put your legs behind your head?” This is often followed by a wink. Yeah, I know where you’re going with that. It can just stop right there, because I’m a professional and take my work seriously. This is kinda like asking a doctor, “Oh wow! So, you see people naked!” Largely inappropriate.

5. The number three response is, “Awesome, so I’ve been having this pain in my (insert body part here), can you help me with that?” Again, kinda like asking a doctor for how to cure your ailments while sitting next to them on a plane. Technically, they’re not on duty, and would probably like to just get to their next destination with relative peace.

It’s not that I don’t love helping people when I can, and I know most yogis are more than happy to bend over backwards (pun intended) to assist folks, but again, let’s be appropriate. If we meet in a coffee shop, probably not the best time. Ask for our card or website and join us for a class, where we can more appropriately address your needs.

6. People assume that I bailed out into yoga because I failed at another career. Not so. For me, this has actually been my only career, the thing that I turned to after graduating college with a degree in physics. Yeah, it was a weird leap and my family is still confused about how I made that transition, but I love my job and chose it wholeheartedly. I applaud others who do the same, particularly those who have been brave enough to exit unsatisfying careers to pick up yoga and carry it’s inspiration and well-being into a new career that they love.

7. People think this career is easy. Ask any full-time yoga instructor. It’s not. It’s a full-time, slogging thought the ditches, often undervalued, day in and day out fight for what we love. We only stick with it because we love the heck out of it and believe in its benefits – because we’ve experienced them ourselves – and want to share that with others. It’s not glorious. It takes a lot of work, a lot of trial and error, and many years of scraping by and pulling oneself up by the bootstraps, teaching under any circumstance (sick, injured, personal tragedy). For many of us, this is far more than a career, it’s a calling – something that an inspired person lives for, often at the expense of other things. It’s high time credit be given where credit it due. There are no shortcuts in this industry, everyone stays for the long haul, for the sheer love of the practice.

If, as a yoga instructor, some of these reasons feel true for you, maybe we can do our best to spread the word about the fact that we are in a career that demands smarts, training, creativity, cleverness, perseverance and above all, passion. Yogis, I salute you!