she takes one effing yoga class

No, this is not an April Fool's joke. Just an embarrassing confession. I'm getting it out in public half to assuage my guilt (even though I'm not Catholic, so confession doesn't really work) and half because I hope other peolpe have done this too and have just been too embarrassed to talk about it.

C and I live in a pretty mixed neighborhood. I would guess (haven't looked at the census data) that Caucasians outnumber any minority, but that collectively, it's about 50-50 white/nonwhite. (The social implications of lumping all non-Caucasians into one category is a problem for another day, I think.) Mostly our neighbors are Hispanic/Latino and black.

For the past few weeks I (and a houseguest, when she was here visiting) noticed a guy standing on the street corner who wasn't one of the above ethnicities. Huge beard, big white, kind of Bedouin-ish turban thing, and what looked like a white rosary in his hands. Hmm, that's odd, I thought. What the heck is he doing here? Houseguest wondered the same.

He was never really doing anything when I noticed him, just standing and watching. I really had no clue what he was doing, but my brain's instinctive reaction when confronted with someone behaving strangely in foreign dress is to assume "weird tribal ritual and/or religious ceremony." Yes, that's what growing up in an 85% white city does to you...

Today I was coming back from a run and I saw the guy again. He was standing at the corner staring at the school bus that pulled up.

Then he got his son off the bus and they walked home.

Sigh.

it has come to my attention that I don't really know what work is.

This is not a problem specific to me--I think my whole immediate family suffers from the sort of, I-have-to-be-multi-tasking-all-the-time ADD-ish brain drain that I'm talking about. My whole life, with few exceptions, has been short (15 minute-at-a-time) bursts of work broken up by slacking off, chatting on AIM (or now Gchat, whatever), checking e-mail, thinking about food, etc.

The last couple weeks have been different. I've been very very tough on distractions while C is working his butt off at his new job, and the results..well, I can't say for sure if I've become more productive. But it certainly feels like it. I've been incredibly disciplined and worked my butt off and heck I've even been EATING HEALTHY for frell's sake and yesterday at 3pm my brain just said ENOUGH.

(as example of my madness, my brain begins at this moment to hum day, dayenu, day, dayenu... AND WTF I JUST LEARNED I WAS CONFUSING THIS SONG WITH CHAD GADYA. BAD JEW.)

I forget where I was going with this. Except that it's Friday and I have, in theory, a full day's of work to do, and I'm just staring into space with my eyes looping around and around like I'm tripping out on something..which I'm not, unless coffee counts.

This post = be proud of me for working so hard, and also = halp

I used to post this meme each year, until I fell off the LJ bandwagon. Here it is, resurrected for y'all. I have to say, it's a lot harder to fill this out without a year's worth of entries to refer to.

( Read more... )

I have the greatest job ever. I've been researching weird (to Westerners) foods for the past few days. Things I have learned:

1. Andrew Zimmern of "Bizarre Foods" digs Chinese "Penis Soup."

2. Fermented shark is tame. So is ortolan. I can't even imagine eating some of the things on this list. Deer brain soup? Seal flippers? I have a pretty adventurous stomach but this is ridiculous.
I have eaten:
Tripe
Durian
Black pudding
Goat, and goat's milk
Scrapple
Seaweed (at least 3 kinds)
And more. Most of this would gross out the average American (I dare you to describe scrapple to a Northerner). BUT I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL NEVER EAT DEER BRAIN SOUP.

Unless you cook it for me and ask really nicely.

3. I have the world's strongest crave on for natto now. Apparently some sushi places around here make it into natto-maki. I must try this stinky sticky stuff!

I seriously never feel so beautiful as when I'm doing yoga. Only some of this wonderful effect is psychological. Much of it, I think, is simply a result of pretty much every muscle being engaged at the same time. I look in the mirror and feel powerful and peaceful.

So yoga teach got all our e-mail addresses and sent us this thing he wrote about the evils of consumerism. I'm all about consuming less--my mantra is basically "use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without" after all--but for completely different reasons. I think most Americans who are into the low-impact lifestyle have one of two motives: 1) "It's better for the environment" (aka a sense of being "responsible" towards this very vague entity that we've been told we should care about) or 2) "it makes economic sense" (aka, "If I spend less on crap now, I'll be able to retire sooner.")

Yet the yogi's reason for consuming less isn't either of these. A yogi does not buy stuff he does not need because. Just because. Because when you want something and strive toward something you are in motion, and yoga embraces stillness and emptiness. Because the goal of yoga is to eliminate wants.

Or something. Sometimes we're sitting there in meditation and my mind is going a thousand miles a minute. I have yet to feel like I seriously "got" somewhere in my meditation. I feel like I should feel like I'm floating motionless in a big black void. Instead I feel...like I'm sitting in the yoga room with my eyes closed.

Anyway, I'm a bad yogini because I think it's natural for people to want things. The "control" that we're supposed to get comes from learning not to indulge every want (like, did I really need to have that brownie after dinner last night?). The peace comes not from not wanting, but from understanding that if you don't get everything you want, it's not the end of the world.

Does this make sense or am I rambling now? Anyway, on C and my salaries we'll be 85 before we retire anyway, so avoiding consumerism is a smart move regardless.

Thanksgiving is two days away, so gratitude is definitely on my mind. What are you all thankful for? I'm just going to list things until my fingers fall off or until it's time for lunch...


.The amazing weather we've been having these past few days
.Pumpkins
.Purple tights
.The soup C and I made
.Things that come IN THE MAIL--like the letter from my Swedish penpal that I haven't opened yet.
.Family, and the good health of same
.Friends
.Dinner parties
.Cherry stout
.Sangiovese wine (mmmm)
.Coffee (and tea)
.the fact that C and I both have pretty darn good jobs, even in this economy
.Surprises
.Cheap airline tickets (hoping to get mad cheap deals to Minnesota soon, thanks L!)
.Yoga classes
.Spinning classes for only $5 each, my goodness that's cheap
.Cars, that, for the most part, work
.THIS

to be updated later?

Earlier this year, when I was having a hard time of it, I went to one therapy session.

I didn't know anything about the guy--I had called 4 or 5 places that my insurance said they would cover, and everyone was either booked solid or not answering their phones or whatever. I should have been suspicious when the guy was so, so eager to meet me.

Cue a very awkward "getting-to-know-you" session where he didn't really ask any questions about my emotions, medical history, or reasons for being there. He was very interested in his meditation techniques. Anyway, it was a terrible (and expensive) hour that I'd love to forget if possible.

But he asked one thing that has stuck with me. He kept asking what higher power I believed in. He didn't mean God, exactly--but I could tell he meant, "Really, who do you pray to?" I kept saying, well, nobody, and he just looked at me and said "What's higher than yourself?"

I didn't know how to answer that question, and it's been bothering me. Still. I mean, my answer is the wrong answer--it's not what anyone asking that question is looking for. But here is what I believe: There is no power higher than myself.

A few caveats with this (that may still have made hapless Dr. F anxious): this does not mean that there is nothing more important than me. (I can be selfish, I know, but I'm not arrogant enough to put myself on a pedestal.) Secondly, this doesn't rule out the existence of God or many gods. It rules out external forces acting on me and making changes in my life.

Anything I do, I'm responsible for. "The devil made me do it" doesn't count, so why should "God willed this to happen"? If I'm going to pray for the strength to make it through another day or for a different job or for a Mercedes Benz, I'm going to look within. Not up. God, if he/she/it is out there, is inside each of us, not floating away somewhere. I'm not going to pray to God. But, if I have to, I will pray to my God-nature ("Does a dog have God-nature--or is it just a palindrome?").

My expensive liberal-arts education is already deserting me, so I'm not sure what good it was, but wasn't it Alexander Pope who maintained that man has the ability to be both angel and beast? Or, to put it in modern terms--I read this in a self-help book recently--you can ask yourself: "What would the best me do?" There's your higher power for you.

It's all in me. Well, it's all in you, too. We create our own reality. You can get really deep into this mumbo-jumbo crap about how quantum physics PROVES that reality is a mental construct, and therefore it is A GENUINE SCIENTIFICAL FACT that you can wish away cancer--I'm not gonna go there. It's not my thing. But yeah--if I wake up feeling IN TUNE with the POWER OF THE UNIVERSE--sorry, that's all in my head. And that's okay. Inside my head is a fine place for these feelings to be. It doesn't make them any less valid. But it's not like Gaia has something special in store for me.

So, I don't know. Dr. F, I hope this answers your question--six months later.

Not that I've finally attained perfection..but at least I'm finally writing about it.

This thing with having a yoga TEACHER who actually makes adjustments, as opposed to a yoga DVD. I'm discovering that some poses that had always given me trouble just sort of pop into place if I move one shoulder just half an inch to the left, or make sure my index fingers are parallel to each other, not splayed, or even something so simple as adjusting my toes.

Suddenly I can go much deeper in many poses (anything involving twists in the waist, spine, and arms) and, conversely, many poses are much harder (absolutely anything involving hips and thighs). I get closer to the "perfect" asana not by trying harder or by pushing more, but by acting differently.

That said, my awareness is all over the place today--it's already 2pm. Yikes.

Also that said I SWEAR TO GOD MY NEXT POST WILL NOT BE ABOUT YOGA.

Monday's class was (besides terrifically painful; I may be getting more flexible every day but I have a long way to go if I want to sit in lotus position--ever) Detachment...I swear we're getting a Buddhism-for-Dummies education here. (Though now I can't find anything on Wikipedia that supports this theory. Am I thinking of Taoism?)

So.



If,

.I am not my body
.I am not my mind
.I am not the contents of my wallet
.I am not my f*cking khakis
.I am not a beautiful and unique snowflake

What am I?

(NOT "all-singing, all-dancing" anything, thank you very much.)

to better reflect what y'all are thinking every time I post.

I think the same things.

When I mentioned that I'm on a journey of self-improvement (of sorts), I guess I didn't really think I meant it.

Today, I was driving to the dentist. I was a little early, but I found the perfect parking spot. I pulled up parallel to the car in front, put my blinker on and started backing up. I have FINALLY figured out when to start turning the wheel the other way....when you learn to drive in the suburbs you never have to get good at parallel parking :(((( So I'm like...33% backed up when this guy in a huge SUV pulls up behind me and starts turning into the spot from behind.

WTFFFFFF OMG I laid on the horn. MY spot, jerk. MY SPOT MY SPOT. He pulled out and waved sheepishly as he was driving away, and I smiled back at him.

But as I settled the car into the spot I realized I didn't feel that great. Yeah, I was there first, so the spot was "mine" and it was only fair that I got it, but I didn't feel that satisfied. Maybe the guy was in a hurry and it was life or death. I was early. I could have given up the spot and I would have found another good one, maybe even a better one, in less than 5 minutes.

Man, this being nice thing is hard.

So, on "Positive Thinking":
I did catch myself scoffing when yoga-sensei said we were doing headstands. Like, WTF, you really want me to do a freaking headstand? I quit gymnastics because I didn't want to invert. (Even at age 4 I had this feeling I sucked at balancing upside down. Heck, I didn't even like doing cartwheels.)

But I noticed myself thinking negatively (more on that damn awareness thing--curse you yoga, I'm seeing you everywhere now) and tried to change that thought to "oh what the heck, it might be fun. Besides, my arms are a lot stronger now that I've been doing so many pushups."

And what do you know, after a little boost getting upside down (my dream is now to have a core strong enough to do that by myself--holy crud those would be great abs), there I was. Sure, I was mostly leaning against the wall for balance, but I was supporting myself. I hung out for a while feeling the blood rush to my head until I realized I had no idea how to get down safely.

I think I crushed his toes on the way down but I did, somehow, get down. And then he goes "Okay, get back up there while I help the other students."

That time I hung out for a lot longer, mostly because I was trying to decide if I could get down without help. Time sort of disappeared, because I only had room for three thoughts:
1) Wow, the floor looks weird from this angle
2) I think blood is rushing to my head, should I get down?
3) HOLYCRAPIMGONNAFALLohwaitphewokayI'mokayI'mokayOMGOMGOMG

Finally yoga-sensei noticed my distress and spotted me on the way down.

I don't think I want to do this every practice, but it was rather...empowering.

(Next time: The attainment of perfection!)

It's November, which means that Metro time is no longer reading time (sorry, Zulu, you'll have to wait) and is now "crochet Christmas gifts" time. I'm enjoying the repetitive, familiar movements as a sort of recuperation slash preparation for the morning, even if I finally understand why crafters say acrylic hurts their skin. (As a knitter, I somehow hold the needles so I'm barely touching the active thread. Don't ask me how I do this because I have no idea. As a crochet-er, I feel the soapy plasticy strands all along my left index finger. Not cool!)

Anyway, whether any of these projects ever see the light of day or if they remain practice pieces is still yet to be seen. What I'm more excited about is the prospect of turning some of my old fabric scraps into rag projects...crocheted pot holders and the like. I've been spending a few minutes each night slicing this old ratty sheet into long strips, just sort of zoning out...
and then I realized that zoning out is exactly what I *don't* need to be doing. I'm guilty of having a lack of attention to detail in almost anything that involves manual work, always figuring I can fix it later. It'd be so much easier on myself and my finished projects if I paid attention to what I was doing when I was doing it...like, if that granny square isn't perfect I have no business zoning out. And since perfection isn't something I can attain I should always be focused on trying to make it better. I can certainly stand to focus on cutting my rag strips more evenly. They look like they were torn up by a lawnmower and then eaten by a cat.

I do the same thing with cooking--throw spices into a pan without really thinking about what spices I'm using and in what quantity..so if the food tastes bland or oversalty when it gets to the table, I'm not able to remember what to do differently next time. Hmm. It appears this is ubiquitous in my life.

Again with the perfection thing--that's one thing I'm very much enjoying about yoga--is that there is no "perfect" yoga pose. You can always make it a little better. I'm not yet very good at remembering all the tiny details of how, say, to position my pinky fingers during Downward Dog, but I think it will come with time.
The flip side of realizing that perfection is unattainable is that in yoga, there's no such thing as "that joint doesn't bend any farther!" There is no such thing as "my arm doesn't bend that way" because guess what, if you keep stretching it a little each practice, eventually it will. (Whether you really want to be able to bend your elbow like a floppy pretzel is another matter.) I still catch myself thinking tons of negative thoughts. Hell, when the teacher said yesterday that we were all going to do headstands, I caught myself scoffing.

More later..

I've been going to yoga for the past month or so--actual yoga, where the instructor talks about chakras and mudras and prana, not like dumbed-down American hatha yoga which is basically just stretching. The teach is this total blissed-out hippie guy, totally stereotypical. I love him so much.

At this class I've truly been struggling. First of all, I have some serious flexibility problems in certain muscles. Mostly muscles I didn't even know about. But that will pass with time, I'm sure. (Though I always sort of imagine that a ballet dancer or gymnast feels like rubber after a good workout and I never really get a relaxed feeling in my joints and tendons.) The mental gymnastics are a thousand times harder.
While I agree in principle with the following statements:
1) If it's your body, why does it have muscles in it you don't know about?
2) If it's your mind, why does it tell you where to go?

I have trouble with the underlying philosophy which is that yoga is practiced ultimately to gain control of the self. We're supposed to be observing our itches today and tomorrow. To watch them rather than scratch them. To feel them come and then, just as quietly, go. What is this supposed to teach us? Something about awareness, or perhaps some Buddhist thing about transience?

It's a parlor trick, is what it is. Like holding your breath for minutes at a time or sticking your hand into a flame. Our bodies send us messages for a reason and only a fool would ignore them for the sake of "awareness."

Or so I think. I would love heightened awareness of my own mind. I just don't know if not scratching an itch is a step down that path.

Besides, I have a problem with the concept of ultimate control of the self. I can't imagine a philosophy that doesn't put control at odds with passion. Where is there room for emotion when ultimate control is achieved?

Yet here I am, with an itch on my right nostril and one on the back of my neck. I'm dubious, yet I obey.

I don't know if I would call this journey spiritual--I have such a problem with that label--but I do feel like I'm on the very first steps of something important.