Asteya - What We Steal Without Realizing

Asteya, the third yama that I chose to focus on, is defined as non-stealing. Of all of the yamas, this probably, on the surface, feels like the easiest. Most people don’t generally go around activity stealing things from others. But as you dig into asteya, this actually, to me, feels like potentially the most tricky. 

Speaking for myself, and I’d guess others can relate, we often steal without realizing it.  I know that I’m often a stealer of time and energy. It’s not intentional, not per se. I don’t set out to steal from others. I’m a Quality Time person - it’s my “love language”, if you’re into such things (I am) and it’s also just generally something I value. The people in my life are incredibly important, and therefore spending quality time with those I hold closely is one of my key goals, even for this socially anxious introvert. Similarly, genuine connection with others is an aspect of life that I highly value and pursue. Between the two of these, I can be demanding of others time and energy. I need more quality time and connection time than many others. I crave it the way others may crave their favorite foods. And therefore, I often, without even realizing it, end up stealing time and energy from other people. Because I believe that people should come before almost anything else - like work or chores or housework or things or whatever it is - I’m often asking people to take time away from those activities or priorities to spend it together. Similarly, someone might want to relax and watch TV, and I want to do something together (I don't consider watching tv without much interaction actually doing something together, which I know is my weird quirk), and in this way, I can be demanding of people’s energy. 

There are plenty of other ways we can steal from others without realizing it. If you’ve ever been asked to  do something “for good exposure”, aka for free, you’ve probably felt this. You’re providing a service or a craft or a skill, and aren’t actually being compensated for the time and energy and possible actual money (i.e. if you had to buy materials, say), that you’ve put in. If you’ve ever had someone routinely ask to pick your brain without any form of compensation (either actual payment or a “barter”/trade type of situation), you may have felt this. They’re essentially asking to take your knowledge, knowledge that in some cases they may charge others to receive, for free.  

Now, this is not to say that we don’t sometimes give things away because we want to. As a mental health advocate, I’m constantly providing information about mental health, and offering for those struggling to reach out (as a peer, I’m not a mental health professional), because this is something I want to offer in order to normalize the conversation around mental health and to erode the stigma. I want to share my story in an effort to raise awareness. I want to be a person that others can turn to when they feel alone. I volunteer for opportunities to do this. But at the same time, there are plenty of instances in which I do feel that knowledge as a patient should be compensated - when people participate in trials, or in research studies, or when organizations ask for us to be part of a project as a patient expert, for instance. These can be quite involved, can take a significant amount of time and money and in some cases even travel, and compensation is warranted. 

To be clear, all of life is a little give and take. I don’t by any means feel that everyone should walk around simply thinking “what’s in it for me - if I don’t get anything back then they’re stealing from me!”. But I do feel that often, we take more than we realize. We of course notice if we physically take an item from someone (or hopefully we do, at least). But it’s those intangibles, those resources that can’t necessarily be quantified physically, that we manage to steal often without even being aware that we’re doing it. 

And on the mat? As a student, it could be ensuring that you’re not doing anything to “steal” from the other students’ experience - for instance, trying to talk to other students during class, or letting your phone ring or beep instead of putting it away. It could be something as basic as if there’s a more desirable spot in the room (i.e. because of room design or how the sun comes in the windows or whatever) not always taking that spot. It could be a more obvious form of not stealing - i.e. not asking a yoga teacher friend to get you a deal or get you into class for free, or to repeatedly give you yoga assistance/sessions for free. As a teacher, it could be ensuring that you give your class your full attention and energy. If you teach class, but your brain is on what you’re going to make for dinner that night, or the argument you had with your partner earlier, you’re taking away (aka “stealing”) attention and focus from your class.

These next two weeks, I plan to practice Asteya both on and off the mat. On the mat, whether teacher or student, I am to put aside everything from the outside, and focus solely on the class. I generally tend to be pretty good at this, which is one of the reasons I love yoga so much - it allows me to be in the present - but I want to pay particular attention, and ensure that I’m giving my full attention to the class each moment that I’m there. Off the mat, I’m focusing on being particularly conscious of the time and energy that I tend to steal, albeit unintentionally. I’m stepping back and allowing more space for others. I’m working on noticing when I’m starting to steal time or energy, in the way of excessive quality time or connection. And don’t get me wrong, I still believe these both to be essential to fulfilling relationships with others, at least for me. But I realize that my view of the amount of time or connection “needed” might be a bit skewed, that quality time is not everyone’s way of feeling loved or valued, and that sometimes, people can connect more deeply when the room and space to also focus on their other needs, including themselves. I’m also focusing on turning my attention inward, to enjoy some quality time and connection with myself, as I feel this will, in the long run, positively influence the way I approach quality time and connection with others. 

What areas in life do you notice yourself stealing? In what ways could you practice Asteya to address these? . 

Letting Go of the "Full Expression of the Pose" - In Yoga and Life

Pavritta Konasa - I have no delusions of being able to grab my foot with my top hand, and that’s completely OK. This is my “full expression” of the pose at the moment.

In yoga, you’ll often hear the phrase “full expression of the pose”. It’s a phrase that I’ve both caught myself saying, probably because I’ve heard it so often that it sometimes slips out, and also a phrase I don’t love and try to correct when I accidentally say it. The “full expression” basically means “how the pose looks if every arm/leg/foot/hand/body part” is where yoga guidelines, or at least that particular yoga type, indicates it would be. (Very rough translation of the phrase, by the way). And I get that there have to be some guidelines that indicate what a pose ideally looks like, as it gives a starting point, helps us to work into proper alignment, and provides us with an image of what we’re generally trying to make our bodies do. Without this, it would virtually be a game of Simon says, telling people where to put this arm and that leg, which obviously is not what we’re aiming for in teaching yoga. But we also talk often in yoga about meeting yourself where you are. About there being no right way to be a yogi, about it being a process, about it being for everybody and every BODY.  So I don’t love the idea of saying “be fine with wherever you are right now” and then following it up with “and here’s how it should ideally look”. (Note: obviously if someone is doing something unsafe, that’s a different story, as safety has to be a priority). 

So with October’s theme of letting go, I’m inviting you to let go of this idea of the “full expression of the pose” as we’ve traditionally used it in yoga. Instead of thinking of the full expression of the pose as this ideal version of a pose where everything is perfectly aligned, what if we think of it as “OUR full expression of the pose” at this moment. Like for me, right now my full expression of Pavritta Konasana (revolved wide legged forward bend) pictured above, does not involve my top hand reaching anywhere near my flexed foot. Sure, I could maybe reach closer to my foot if I contorted my body and focused on hand to foot at all costs, but it would involve me crunching my ribs/belly/everything else, instead of opening up the chest and side body. I’d be missing the intention of the pose, the reason we do this particular asana in the first place. So, at least for the time being, the version pictured above is my full expression of the pose. And in fact, if I allow the “full expression as it is to me” to be a bit of a fluid or moving target, it helps keep me more motivated to continue to work in the pose. Instead of trying to get to some ideal, I’m working on small adjustments in my body that, over time, might help me feel more comfortable in the pose and adjust as needed to my body and what serves me best on any given day. It allows me to truly meet myself where I am, instead of “meeting myself where I am but really aiming for xyz.”

And we don’t just do this in yoga; we do it in life. A perfect example is the novel I published this past summer. It’s my first novel, and I’m incredibly proud. Still, at first, whenever anyone said something like “Wow you published a novel!” I would reply with a joke like, “Well,  I mean, it’s self-published, so, not like they could turn me down really….”. Basically, I concluded that I wasn’t the “fullest expression of a published author” because of the publishing route I’d taken. And in doing so, it dismissed all the work and creativity and effort I put into it. It dismissed the fact that I have a novel on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, that I have a paperback with my name on it that I can hold in my hands, that numerous friends and family ordered and read and enjoyed, simply because I didn’t view it as the “fullest expression” of being the author of a published novel. But several months into having my book out in the world, I’ve let go of this idea.  Now, when people ask me who my publisher is, I give the name of the company I used to self-publish. If they ask further details, I tell them about it, and I’m happy to tell them it’s a self-publishing company, not because I’m diminishing my accomplishment, but because I am a big supporter of both the company and the self-publishing industry, because I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. I want to share with others that it’s not one size fits all, that there’s not one “fullest expression” of being a published author, and to perhaps encourage them, if they’re thinking about publishing their work, to consider all “expressions of the pose”, as it were. 

And so, whether it's an actual yoga pose, or an area in your life where you diminish your accomplishments because you feel it doesn’t meet the ideal criteria, I encourage you to let go of that “fullest expression of the pose”. I encourage you, instead, to focus on what feels good about what you’re doing, where you feel accomplished in it. And of course it’s great to have goals that you work towards, both in yoga and in life. But they should be goals that you want to work towards because you want to work towards them - not because someone else has decided that it’s the ideal point for you to get to, or that you’re not “fully there” if you don’t meet those expectations.

My Yoga Story

Photo credit: Elijah Northen

I’ve been running my yoga business and website for several months now, and I’ve been working on sharing my yoga knowledge, thoughts, goals, plans, and of course, the classes I’m teaching. But I realized I’ve started a bit in the middle of the story - I’ve started from the point of becoming a yoga instructor, and not from the point of becoming a yoga student (though please know, even as instructors, we’re still always students, and we’re always learning). I haven’t yet shared my full yoga journey, how and why I got to this point that I’m at now. I first began taking yoga approximately 14 years ago, so my journey is a bit long and winding, but I promise it’s all relevant. It has influenced my life and my path tremendously, and it has certainly influenced the direction in which I want to grow my yoga business, and so I felt it important to share.  

My yoga journey began at a time of major transition in my life. In March 2006, at the age of 26, I quit my full time job to open my own travel planning business. I was renting a storefront in Collingswood, NJ, not far from the town where I lived at the time. I was married, and the plan was that we would live on my (then) husband’s salary, and to put what I made in my business into savings until my business took off. We’d been putting my salary from my job into savings anyway, so this seemed like a solid plan. In January 2007, my husband and I separated and shortly after began the divorce process. Two weeks later, I learned that the owner of  the building where I’d had my new business for less than a year was selling the building, and had a cash offer for the full asking price. The prospective buyer wanted to terminate my lease and put a family member’s business in place. Within the span of 8 months, I was about to lose my marriage, my home (my ex husband stayed in it, I moved out), and my brand new storefront for my business (not to mention my health and life insurance and basically any steady income). The owner of the building was understanding, and seeing as I had been a good tenant so far, gave me “right of first refusal”. My family and I (but really them) had two weeks to come up with the full asking price in cash in order to salvage at least this piece of the situation. I, to this day, am not entirely sure how we (they) did it, but they managed to, and I was able to stay in my storefront. 

I spent six days a week in that storefront, and I loved running it. I had followed my dream and I was incredibly proud of myself, and what I was building. Still, I was now living alone, working for and by myself, and had stepped away from the majority of my friends group, as they’d been couple friends with my ex-husband. Suffice it to say, life was rocky, and I was questioning a lot about myself, and I was feeling a major lack of connection and community.

A few months later, I noticed that a yoga studio was opening almost directly across from my storefront. I had gone to undergrad for Kinesiology/Exercise Science, had spent five years working in corporate fitness full time, and was generally active, but I had yet to try yoga. I was intrigued, and felt like it might offer a missing piece to my overall wellness that I felt was lacking. I was also terrified. And since I’m being honest, I’m going to be totally honest - I was most terrified that I wouldn’t be able to be quiet for 60-90 minutes during class - for an introvert, I’m talkative, and as I’ve explained, was a bit company-deprived. I pictured sitting there, not able to talk to my neighbors, 1000s of thoughts swirling in my head (because they tend to do that, especially during a rough time in one’s life), and I truly thought: I don’t know if I can do it. I also pictured everyone else doing perfect yoga sequences and me falling over my feet, not being experienced. Neither of these felt super appealing to someone who was already feeling lost and struggling with self-esteem and confidence. But still, I was drawn to it. 

I emailed the owners of the soon-to-be-open studio, and I introduced myself by way of being their neighboring business across the street that was also new(ish) to the area. They were super welcoming and friendly and encouraging. We built up a rapport. I felt a little more comfortable. It was still probably a year before I finally, tentatively, ventured across the street for an hour-long gentle class. I explained that I was new. They made sure to make me feel comfortable. I don’t recall if I tripped over my feet (probably), but I do know that even if I did, nobody laughed at me. Or even stifled a laugh or looked away or anything of the like. There were yogis of all levels there. I didn’t feel out of place or silly. The focus on the breath and the movement calmed me, and I had no problem not talking for the 60 minutes (if you know me, you know this is an exceptional feat). In fact, I enjoyed the time to connect with my body and breath and, wordlessly, with the others in the room. For the first time since my marriage broke up, and truthfully probably even before that, I felt connected. 

I continued to take classes, eventually trying vinyasa and yin and kundalini and basically every class they offered. Pretty soon I was going three times a week. I made friends. Like “outside of the studio” friends. Yoga offered me a place, and a process, to connect with myself and with others, to believe in myself, to grow my confidence and courage and self-esteem. To find a community. 

Fast forward to 2013. Lots of life happened in the meantime (that was super important to me, but isn’t necessarily that I need to write about here). After running my business for seven years, I did eventually have to sell my storefront - not my business, the building - but by then had established clients, so the building itself didn’t feel as essential. This time it was a business decision, not a decision someone was making for me.  I’d moved into Philadelphia and gotten a part time job to supplement my income. I liked the job and my coworkers, but I worked on a different floor than everyone else, and didn’t have a ton of interaction except within my immediate group. Once again, I was feeling a loss of connection. I admittedly hadn’t been as great at going to yoga (I don’t have any great excuses, honestly, I let myself slack), though I tried to keep up with it at home. One day, I was sitting at my part time job at the front desk, when who walked in but the owner of “my’ yoga studio in Collingswood. We hugged, and she explained that she taught a weekly yoga class at my office on Wednesdays.. I’d heard mention of there being yoga offered, but I had no idea it was her who taught it. It was enough of a kick in the rear to get me to clear my schedule Wednesdays from 4-5PM. I started taking yoga at my office  weekly. I got to connect with other coworkers - other yoga-loving coworkers at that - and we got to interact in a non-business-officey way. I felt myself connecting with myself more. Connecting with others. Even if for just one hour a week, I had this community.  Several years in, my original teacher had to give up the class, but in her place was another amazing instructor from the same studio. “My” studio. We continued to practice together weekly for the next several years. 

Fast forward to 2018. More life happened much of it exciting. Still, I was struggling. I no longer worked at this office, and missed the comradery of my yoga group. I was also going through a lot of personal stuff, struggling with finding my place in the world once again, struggling to connect with myself and my purpose.  I was again feeling a lack of community, of connection. I was (and am still) in touch with the second teacher that taught at my office. She posted that the studio, “my” studio, was taking sign ups for yoga teacher training They’d offered it for many years, and I’d just never felt the time was right. This time, something made me fill out the application. I got accepted to the YTT program and our first weekend of teacher training started the weekend after my 39th birthday. This felt serendipitous to me - I was going to spend the last year of my 30s coming full circle, doing yoga teacher training in the studio (though the physical location has moved down the street) where I first began my yoga journey all those years ago.  For the third time in 14 years, yoga was bringing me back to myself. It was connecting me to me, and to a community of some of the most beautiful souls that I’ve ever met, which I desperately needed. It helped me believe in myself, my abilities, my capabilities. It showed me possibilities and gave me hope. It still continues to every day. 

Over the past 14 years or so, yoga has offered me what I haven’t known how to offer myself. It has helped me through some of the worst times with my mood cycling disorder and my other chronic illnesses. It has helped me through personal and life struggles. It has helped me through a several-decade long battle with body image, not because of how it’s changed my body, but because it’s helped me see the beauty in what my body does for me, in what it is and does instead of what it isn’t and doesn’t,  in how connecting my breath to movement of my body in yoga, I have been able to get through so much.

I graduated Yoga Teacher Training in May 2019. I knew when I started teacher training that I wanted to teach (not all that go through training do), and to use yoga to help others. I want to use yoga as a bridge (no pun intended - bridge is also a yoga pose) to reach those who may be struggling to find connection, either with themselves or with a community. I want others to be able to experience the belief in self, the personal (internal) strength and quiet confidence that a yoga practice can foster over time. I want to reach those who might feel the nerves and fear I felt the first time I signed up for a class, who might think they aren't flexible or active or strong enough for yoga, to help them see that none of that matters, because they are enough just as they are. I want to bring yoga to those who might be, as I was all those years ago, afraid of literally or figuratively falling over their own feet. I want  to utilize yoga to give back, through yoga benefit programs and through helping others, as yoga has given me so much. Most of all, I want to make yoga available in a way that people can experience it not just a practice, but as a process, and to help them to feel how, with time, it can extend far beyond what you do on the mat. 

Don't Be Afraid To Take Up Space

In yoga, we often remind people that it’s OK to take up space. In fact, we encourage that. On the mat, this often means making your Warrior stance wider, or letting your arms and legs reach to the edges of the mat (or beyond if there’s room!) in Savasana. The idea behind taking up space on your mat, in addition to making sure you have enough room for proper alignment within the pose, is that as humans, we often tend to shrink ourselves. As we walk through life, literally and figuratively, we’re constantly excusing ourselves or apologizing for the space we occupy, worried that we could be in someone’s (again, literal or figurative) way. We apologize for our differing perspectives and way of doing things if someone criticizes or critiques us. We apologize for being different in general. We apologize for asking clarifying questions or making requests that we have every right to make (be honest, how many times have you started communication with “sorry to bother you but…”? I know I do this constantly).  We apologize for anything that could be a minor inconvenience to someone else, even if the outcome is significantly higher stakes for us. Not only that, but when we aren’t apologizing, we’re making ourselves small. We say things like “I was just wondering if it would be OK if maybe…..”. Instead of owning that we have every right to make a decision or a request, we ask timidly ask permission, and even feel bad about asking permission. 

I’ve also noticed, at least in myself, this not wanting to take up space coming up in unexpected places. The other day, I noticed that when I write my affirmations each morning (and I do this every morning), for some reason, I try to squeeze each affirmation onto a single line, smushing my writing and abbreviating words to try to make it fit. Here I am, doing these affirmations for big dreams and goals that I hope to make into a reality, and I’m shrinking them onto one line, because …. I don’t know why. Sure, maybe it takes up an extra line or two and eventually that means needing a new notebook faster, and that could mean more paper aka trees. But realistically, one affirmation going onto the next line here or there is not going to cause a catastrophic impact. I’m simply used to trying not to take up space - even when writing out my biggest, boldest goals and dreams. I’m taking an action that is supposed to make me feel confident and in my space of personal power and I’m physically constraining it to take up less room. 

When we are afraid to take up space, literally or figuratively, whether in our speech or in our notebooks, in our requests , on our mat, when walking down the sidewalk (we have the same right as everyone else to be on that sidewalk and yet we constantly apologize for our presence in a crowd), or when we’re doing whatever we’re doing, it feeds the idea, even subconsciously, that we’re less. That we’re not worthy of that space.  Or that others are more deserving of it. But we are worthy. 100 percent. We are as worthy and deserving of occupying our space as anyone else. 

And so, I encourage you to take up space. Start small. If you take yoga, spread out on your mat a little more. When you write that email, notice if you can take out phrases like “just wondering” and “if possibly” and the like. For me, I’ve stopped trying to scrunch the dreams and goals of my morning affirmations onto one line to take up less space on the page. If it feels uncomfortable, I understand. I’m right there with you. But this month, my theme is all about getting uncomfortable in ways that help me grow. And as difficult as it can be to push past that fear, that worry, that feeling (it shows up in numerous ways) that so often holds me back, I know that each time I do this, I’m getting closer to where I want to be. 

My dog Grace, who’s never afraid to take up space on the mat (even when it’s not technically hers).

August Theme - Getting Uncomfortable

Happy August!  I don’t know about you, but it feels to me like this summer is flying by. I can’t believe it’s time for the August theme already, but it’s one that I’m excited about, in that  weird way that we feel excited when we push ourselves out of our comfort zone. I spent July focusing on being patient with the process, both in yoga and in life. August’s theme is a bit of an extension on that, because this idea of being in process feels super important and multifaceted to me, so I want to spend a little more time on it. This month, I’m focusing on getting uncomfortable. 

Before I continue, I’d like to make a few clarifications: when I say uncomfortable, I’m not talking about 1.) Pain/something that could be injuring you. Don’t force yourself into a yoga pose if it feels like you’re about to rupture something, and don’t force yourself into something in life if it feels like it’s legitimately not right. 2.) I’m not talking about letting other people make you uncomfortable (or making them uncomfortable, for that matter) in any type of inappropriate manner/way that feels wrong. I feel like this goes without saying, but I want to be really clear here. That is never OK. 

So with that disclaimer out of the way, I’m talking about the type of uncomfortable that pushes you out of complacency, or OK-ness. The kind of uncomfortable that makes you get really honest with yourself. The type that helps you grow, whether it’s in your physical yoga practice, or in life. The type of uncomfortable that we really know we should face but we put off because it’s easier not to, because letting ourselves stay comfortable doesn’t rock the boat and keeps everything status quo and it’s natural to want to stay comfortable.

Let me give an example: I am super uncomfortable speaking about my talents and skills. It feels like bragging, like I’m saying to people “look at me”, when I, in fact, strongly dislike having attention focused on me (exception: I’m fine when teaching, and I think that’s because I see it as guiding in a shared experience). But in order to grow my business, I have to tell people what I do. And I have to show them that I’m skilled at it. In the days of social media, I more or less have to post pictures, videos, evidence of me being good at it. I have to say (and show) “hey I have something valuable I can offer to you.” Whether it’s posting on social media to get people to come to classes, or it’s approaching a studio about a subbing or teaching position, or it’s posing my ideas for workplace benefit yoga to a company, I have to tell people about what I do and why I do it and how they could benefit from it.  Because I’m not going to get far in building a business that nobody knows about, or that doesn’t show potential clients the value that I can offer them. So I have to deal with getting uncomfortable. I have to share what I do, why I do it, how I do it, and my skill level/knowledge at it. I have to get past the self doubt and the impostor syndrome and the having attention on me (even from behind the screen of a computer or phone) because without clients, I won’t have a business. At least not one that’s sustainable as a part or full time endeavor. 

In yoga, it may be trusting yourself to try a new style, or a new studio, or a new pose (assuming you aren’t likely to hurt yourself or be in pain - please don’t hurt yourself!). In yoga teaching, it is, and I speak from experience here, teaching a pose you yourself aren’t super comfortable in. Yoga teacher confession time: I strongly dislike doing Ardha Chandrasana aka Half Moon pose. I might be the only yogi/instructor on the planet that doesn’t like this pose. It’s not because it scares me,or because I can’t do it. I can do the pose fine - not great, mind you, but fine. I just feel “off” in it. I don’t enjoy it. It’s like putting on an outfit that looks fine on the outside but it just feels eh and you can’t explain why. That’s how I feel about myself doing this pose. And, because of that, my natural inclination is to avoid teaching it because it’s easier to fill a classes with poses you personally love. But I also know that 1.) I can’t let my own feelings about poses limit what I offer my students and 2.) I’m never going to get more comfortable with it, practicing or teaching, if I don’t do it. So, my very first class after graduating teacher training what did I do? I put Ardha Chandrasana into my first standing flow. I made myself get uncomfortable. I made myself sit (or in this case, balance) with my uncomfortableness. And guess what? I’m OK. Nothing horrific happened. I got through it. Was it my finest pose instruction? Not sure, but probably not - it was also my first real class, so that makes it tough to tell. Was it passable. Yep!  Nobody ran out of the class or fell over due to unclear instructions or looked at me funny like I didn’t know what I was talking about. And I got past that first time of teaching the pose. I felt accomplished for doing so, and proud that I made myself go for it.

Life, and yoga, are like that. Often, it’s the poses and pieces that we most need to work on that make us the most uncomfortable. Because deep down, we know that when we avoid them, we avoid (potential) growth. And growth is scary, or at least it can be, because sometimes we have to be really honest with ourselves, and that’s not always the most fun time. 

Luckily, yoga offers us a place to practice pushing our comfort zone that’s relatively low stakes. Most poses have numerous variations and modifications that allow us to dip our toes in and get a feel for it. We have props to help us ease our way in when something feels physically or mentally uncomfortable (i.e. when we doubt ourselves, feel embarrassed, worry what we’ll look like, etc). There are beginner classes and gentle classes for those who may feel intimidated about trying yoga, or who may just want a less physically intense practice (note: I love gentle taking gentle classes myself!). And most of the time, whether you know it or not, there’s someone else in there also feeling uncomfortable, sharing in that same experience, even if neither of you know it. Maybe it’s even your instructor, teaching a pose they don’t love themselves, but value for their students.

So this month, I invite you to continue to be in the process, and to be patient with the process, by allowing yourself to sit (literally or figuratively, or possibly both) in the uncomfortable. Maybe it’s noticing when you avoid doing an unpleasant task by logging onto social media instead. Maybe it’s making excuses (oh I’m no good at that/don’t have the time/will do it later) when something makes you push beyond your usual comfort zone. Perhaps it’s an inkling to avoid teaching a pose you don’t love, or to suddenly need a bathroom break/drink of water/to step out of the room to cough/etc every time that pose comes up in a class you take. Whatever it is, take note. Even taking this pause, asking ‘why’, helps us to understand our uncomfortableness a little better. And the more we give voice to something uncomfortable, something scary, the less it becomes so. 

There Is No "Right" Type Of Yogi

One of the things I try to do on this blog,in my business, and in life in general, is to be real.  A major goal with my work in yoga is to break the traditional view of what a yogi has to be/look/sound/talk/dress/etc like, and to reach people that might not traditionally be drawn to yoga, who might feel intimidated by the traditional “yogi” image, or who otherwise might just not think yoga is for them. It’s one of the reasons I love the idea of workplace yoga (both as a teacher and a student) - you often get to reach those who might not sign up at their local studio, but who are willing to give it a try if it’s conveniently at their workplace, and if they know their are others who also aren’t super experienced at yoga. 

The thing is, there is no right type of yogi. 

You don’t have to have a certain body type. Yoga is about being present in your body. Not having a specific one. 

You don’t have to dress a certain way. Yoga doesn’t require $100 leggings and name brand tank tops.  If you follow me on Instagram, you’ve probably seen me post (non-designer) pajama yoga pics from my own practice in my living room. 

You don’t have to go to the studio x times a week (or at all) to be a yogi. You can do yoga at home (see pajama yoga comment above), at a workplace that offers it, in a park, basically anywhere that gives you the space and ability to do so. 

It doesn’t matter if you can touch your toes or do a headstand or anything like this. Yoga is a process, not a pose, and it’s about meeting yourself where you are at that time, on that day, in that moment. 

You don’t have to be all light and love and calm and harmony and happy vibes and only ever doing “yoga-like” activities. Two weeks ago I was rocking out to punk music at Warped Tour and loving every minute of it. I also spend most Sundays in the fall watching football (and occasionally saying not so calm things to the TV when my team is doing badly).  I have really bad days because I deal with genetic depression and anxiety disorders. I can be annoyed and annoying, frustrated and frustrating. None of this makes me a bad yogi, either as a student or a teacher. It makes me human. Same goes for you. 

I could give plenty more examples, certainly, but the point is, you don’t have to fit into any specific mold to be a yogi. And if you’re still really determined that there’s a way to be a “good” yogi and you want to achieve that, here’s what to do: Be a good human being. Do some yoga, somewhere, sometime. That’s all.

Me and my good friend and fellow concert lover, Cindy, at Warped Tour in Atlantic City.