On Thursday I leave China after two years and move back to the States for the next year. These last two years have been significant not only for my academic career and professional life, but also to my personal growth. Yoga has played the starring role in all of this deepening and forward movement, especially since it has made me a kinder, happier, more patient, positive and relaxed person better able to deal receptively with the people and things around me. Particularly, with the the uncertainty, drama and perpetual upheaval of an academic career.
These next three years are the downhill slope: a year for exams and teaching, a year for research and writing, and a final year to finish writing and find a (real) job. It is the beginning of the next phase of my program now, to become officially ABD ("all but dissertation" or "all but done"). But it also feels like the next phase of my life is starting, both personally and professionally, because of the skills and self-understanding I've been able to develop over my time here that I'll be able to use and develop further now that the foundation has been laid. And thankfully, I've developed a practice that is steady enough not only to have become a daily necessity, but also a consistent means by which to keep moving forward in a positive way.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Learning as a Teacher
In the fall I taught a class on "Chinese Art of the Golden Age," and because we've all just been too busy, I only got my teacher evaluations yesterday from my Dean. The most consistent criticisms I received were that I read too much from my notes, that the students wanted less history and more art, and the pace was too fast, although half the students would still recommend the class to their friends.
My first reaction was to get defensive. Class was held from 7:30-10:30 p.m. once a week, which is a terrible timeslot. The reserve readings in the library were constantly messed up. Students wouldn't go to do their reading until just before class, and then would complain that they couldn't do the readings because someone else had them. Sometimes students would play on their computers or pass notes during class, and then get annoyed at me when I called on them to participate in a discussion. I was only asked to teach the class at the 11th hour, when the original professor abruptly canceled. This was the first class I had ever designed and taught all on my own. I was studying full-time simultaneously while teaching. My actual pedagogical training is practically nil. I wasn't all that much older than my students, which made for a slightly weird environment.In a nutshell, I was trying to avoid taking the blame for it, because you could say that I have a difficult time taking criticism.
But I knew that I could either get all bound up into a funk over them, or I could absorb them, toss them (in a symbolic and practical way of separating myself from them), and then go and seek out ways to improve for the fall term. Even though it still gives me the "sour feeling," a tight, twisted little knot of discomfort and unhappiness located in the center of my chest, actively going out and finding tools to improve is really empowering. Meditating was a big help, too, even though it took a heck of a lot of white flashes at the heart (a la Tibetan Heart Yoga) to get rid of the black, snaky, writhing sour feeling.
I really want to be an effective teacher, and admitting I'm not naturally a great teacher is pretty humbling, and somewhat dismaying. Part of me just wanted to quit right there and say, "The heck with this whole art history Ph.D. nonsense. I'd make a crackerjack secretary, and it wouldn't require any of this BS." But that wouldn't really be the most fulfilling career for me, and not finishing the degree would be perpetually unsatisfying. Before I was as serious a yoga practitioner as I am now, this sort of thing would have killed me. Criticism has crippled me for weeks and negatively impacted all sorts of relationships and experiences. But now, it feels like I have a way to take things in, learn from them, and move on without being bogged down and bricked in by negativity. Plus, there's nothing like a few pro-active vinyasas in 90+ degree weather to purify your soul.
My first reaction was to get defensive. Class was held from 7:30-10:30 p.m. once a week, which is a terrible timeslot. The reserve readings in the library were constantly messed up. Students wouldn't go to do their reading until just before class, and then would complain that they couldn't do the readings because someone else had them. Sometimes students would play on their computers or pass notes during class, and then get annoyed at me when I called on them to participate in a discussion. I was only asked to teach the class at the 11th hour, when the original professor abruptly canceled. This was the first class I had ever designed and taught all on my own. I was studying full-time simultaneously while teaching. My actual pedagogical training is practically nil. I wasn't all that much older than my students, which made for a slightly weird environment.In a nutshell, I was trying to avoid taking the blame for it, because you could say that I have a difficult time taking criticism.
But I knew that I could either get all bound up into a funk over them, or I could absorb them, toss them (in a symbolic and practical way of separating myself from them), and then go and seek out ways to improve for the fall term. Even though it still gives me the "sour feeling," a tight, twisted little knot of discomfort and unhappiness located in the center of my chest, actively going out and finding tools to improve is really empowering. Meditating was a big help, too, even though it took a heck of a lot of white flashes at the heart (a la Tibetan Heart Yoga) to get rid of the black, snaky, writhing sour feeling.
I really want to be an effective teacher, and admitting I'm not naturally a great teacher is pretty humbling, and somewhat dismaying. Part of me just wanted to quit right there and say, "The heck with this whole art history Ph.D. nonsense. I'd make a crackerjack secretary, and it wouldn't require any of this BS." But that wouldn't really be the most fulfilling career for me, and not finishing the degree would be perpetually unsatisfying. Before I was as serious a yoga practitioner as I am now, this sort of thing would have killed me. Criticism has crippled me for weeks and negatively impacted all sorts of relationships and experiences. But now, it feels like I have a way to take things in, learn from them, and move on without being bogged down and bricked in by negativity. Plus, there's nothing like a few pro-active vinyasas in 90+ degree weather to purify your soul.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Bad and the Good
**Oh goody. China has officially surpassed the US as the biggest emitter of carbon dioxide. It's nice to have this scientifically quantified, but anyone living in Beijing during the last couple weeks of pretty much brown air could also have told you that.
**Yogabeans has a new post up on Utkatasana - hysterical. People are looking strangely me and my computer because I'm laughing out loud (or maybe it's because I did manage to snort a little lemonade out my nose, I was laughing so hard).
**Yogabeans has a new post up on Utkatasana - hysterical. People are looking strangely me and my computer because I'm laughing out loud (or maybe it's because I did manage to snort a little lemonade out my nose, I was laughing so hard).
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Defining Happiness
I've posted before on the NPR series This I Believe, and it never ceases to amaze me and provide food for thought. I'm a few weeks behind on my podcasts, so I've just listened to A Marriage That's Good Enough. The writer talks about settling for and appreciating what you have. I don't know if I agree with the idea of settling because of some of its negative connotations, but appreciating what you have rather than wanting more is an important concept. In the segment, she says, "If you're unhappy, ask yourself: am I unhappy because I really don't have what I need, or because I just want more?"
It's still amazing to me that even after thousands of years and exposure to myriad cultures, religions, philosophies, and systems of thought, we are all still striving to find and define happiness in our daily lives. Finding and defining that "bluebird of happiness" is just as important now as it ever was. Balancing the concepts of "appreciate what you have" and "attainable ideals" can sometimes seem contradictory. Nothing is perfect, and the search for perfection can drive you mad, but shouldn't you strive to make what you do have the very best it can be?
We strive to find this balance on the mat every time, pushing our edge a little further to seek the ease within the effort that is so integral to yoga practice. Some days, it is hard to be grateful for falling out of Tree Pose, or the way your arms shake in Side-Plank Pose - is that thinking the grass is greener and that we'll be happier in a more stable balance? Or do we need to feel this way in order to really appreciate the ease within the effort, even though what we appreciate first is the relief that comes with releasing the pose?
Happiness is such a personal idea, so different and changeable for everyone that it's clearly no wonder there isn't a single definition. And all we can do is consciously choose to be happy, even though that can be intensely difficult, just like getting over the "grass might be greener" idea. Oh, the things we do on our way to enlightenment...
It's still amazing to me that even after thousands of years and exposure to myriad cultures, religions, philosophies, and systems of thought, we are all still striving to find and define happiness in our daily lives. Finding and defining that "bluebird of happiness" is just as important now as it ever was. Balancing the concepts of "appreciate what you have" and "attainable ideals" can sometimes seem contradictory. Nothing is perfect, and the search for perfection can drive you mad, but shouldn't you strive to make what you do have the very best it can be?
We strive to find this balance on the mat every time, pushing our edge a little further to seek the ease within the effort that is so integral to yoga practice. Some days, it is hard to be grateful for falling out of Tree Pose, or the way your arms shake in Side-Plank Pose - is that thinking the grass is greener and that we'll be happier in a more stable balance? Or do we need to feel this way in order to really appreciate the ease within the effort, even though what we appreciate first is the relief that comes with releasing the pose?
Happiness is such a personal idea, so different and changeable for everyone that it's clearly no wonder there isn't a single definition. And all we can do is consciously choose to be happy, even though that can be intensely difficult, just like getting over the "grass might be greener" idea. Oh, the things we do on our way to enlightenment...
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Tibetan Heart Yoga
This weekend I spent part of both Saturday and Sunday attending a workshop on Tibetan Heart Yoga with Mercedes Bahleda. I decided to attend because it was something totally different than all the other yoga activities I've done before, and the ad sounded really interesting.
Well, it was certainly different. In some of the specifically Tibetan poses where we were practicing with "slayer gesture" hands and creating angles with our bodies that I usually see in Tibetan Buddhist sculptures rather than in yoga class. A lot of meditation, a lot of chanting, a lot of focus on sending people in our lives healing blue light. I worked on one of my grandmothers each day, because both of them are having a tough time medically at the moment. She said some things that really resonated with me, like that there are bodhisattvas walking around trying to enlighten people all the time, even though their methods may seem unconventional and perhaps even angering. That we plant new karma seeds - good and bad - all the time, and that something that is happening to us now is the result of something we planted months ago. That is possible to purify previous bad karmic experiences, and that you don't have to live under their shadow your whole life.
But I also felt that certain things didn't work for me, that there was a little too much mumbo-jumbo, and that she herself was unclear on many the things she wanted to teach. This may have stemmed from the fact that she was somewhat unprepared as a teacher (one of my personal pedagogical pet peeves, regardless of what sort of class is being given or attended). At one point, she was talking about free resources, how she was taught for free, and that we now have to pass these teachings on for free. This was a lovely thought, but it sparked a number of sideways glances between the 20 students which clearly said, "If you were taught for free, then why did we shell out 600RMB (approx. US$75) for this?" Noticing this, she said,"ummm...uh...yeah...I charge for yoga because I need to make a living, but I don't charge for meditation and Buddhist philosophy classes." Hmmmm.
It was still an interesting experience, and I'm glad I did it, because it was a completely different style of yoga and focus than I've ever had the chance to practice before. (Plus, it had the added bonus that the pranayama cleared out my cold-clogged head.) Warrior poses with slayer hands feel really cool and powerful, and it really brought some of the poses in the sculptures I study to life and imbued them with new meaning. It was a really empowering feeling to learn the concept of taking in other people's suffering and difficulties as a black cloud, destroying it at your heart with a flash of white light, and then sending good, blue light back out the person without any harm to yourself. I'm still going to stick with my vinyasa-heavy practice that focuses on becoming (or returning to) my true self, but adding in these new practices definitely feels like a great way to effect positive change in the world.
Well, it was certainly different. In some of the specifically Tibetan poses where we were practicing with "slayer gesture" hands and creating angles with our bodies that I usually see in Tibetan Buddhist sculptures rather than in yoga class. A lot of meditation, a lot of chanting, a lot of focus on sending people in our lives healing blue light. I worked on one of my grandmothers each day, because both of them are having a tough time medically at the moment. She said some things that really resonated with me, like that there are bodhisattvas walking around trying to enlighten people all the time, even though their methods may seem unconventional and perhaps even angering. That we plant new karma seeds - good and bad - all the time, and that something that is happening to us now is the result of something we planted months ago. That is possible to purify previous bad karmic experiences, and that you don't have to live under their shadow your whole life.
But I also felt that certain things didn't work for me, that there was a little too much mumbo-jumbo, and that she herself was unclear on many the things she wanted to teach. This may have stemmed from the fact that she was somewhat unprepared as a teacher (one of my personal pedagogical pet peeves, regardless of what sort of class is being given or attended). At one point, she was talking about free resources, how she was taught for free, and that we now have to pass these teachings on for free. This was a lovely thought, but it sparked a number of sideways glances between the 20 students which clearly said, "If you were taught for free, then why did we shell out 600RMB (approx. US$75) for this?" Noticing this, she said,"ummm...uh...yeah...I charge for yoga because I need to make a living, but I don't charge for meditation and Buddhist philosophy classes." Hmmmm.
It was still an interesting experience, and I'm glad I did it, because it was a completely different style of yoga and focus than I've ever had the chance to practice before. (Plus, it had the added bonus that the pranayama cleared out my cold-clogged head.) Warrior poses with slayer hands feel really cool and powerful, and it really brought some of the poses in the sculptures I study to life and imbued them with new meaning. It was a really empowering feeling to learn the concept of taking in other people's suffering and difficulties as a black cloud, destroying it at your heart with a flash of white light, and then sending good, blue light back out the person without any harm to yourself. I'm still going to stick with my vinyasa-heavy practice that focuses on becoming (or returning to) my true self, but adding in these new practices definitely feels like a great way to effect positive change in the world.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Note to the 'rents
In preparation for my return to the States after two years in China, I sent a list of food requests to my parents (all things that have been conspicuously absent from my life in that period of time):
sliced turkey for sandwiches
good bread, something whole-grainy
bagels
OJ with medium pulp
lowfat milk
plain (not vanilla) lowfat or fat-free yogurt
whipped lowfat cream cheese with chives
goat cheese
sour dill pickles
baby spinach
grapes
strawberries/raspberries
Port (prefer tawny to ruby, but not a big deal)
This is what my Dad sent back:
K -
Thank you for submitting your request for your dietary needs. The management of this American Express Fine Property always welcomes catering to our guests' special needs and we are known for our friendly and efficient self-service. We wish you a pleasant stay at our establishment and look forward to your arrival.
The Management
(It's even funnier in person.)
sliced turkey for sandwiches
good bread, something whole-grainy
bagels
OJ with medium pulp
lowfat milk
plain (not vanilla) lowfat or fat-free yogurt
whipped lowfat cream cheese with chives
goat cheese
sour dill pickles
baby spinach
grapes
strawberries/raspberries
Port (prefer tawny to ruby, but not a big deal)
This is what my Dad sent back:
K -
Thank you for submitting your request for your dietary needs. The management of this American Express Fine Property always welcomes catering to our guests' special needs and we are known for our friendly and efficient self-service. We wish you a pleasant stay at our establishment and look forward to your arrival.
The Management
(It's even funnier in person.)
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Yoga Story
Although I began work on this weeks ago, I haven't had time to finish my yoga story until now, in response to A2Ashtangi's renewed call for Yoga Stories.
Without further adieu, here is mine:
1. The start. What brought you to yoga?
Somewhere around the age of 13 I ended up with a yoga video by Kathy Smith - of all people. It was probably part of a three-pack of Kathy Smith exercise videos my mother bought; she would have kept the step aerobics and shaping videos. Leotards, spandex and mood lighting all on VHS. Rod Stryker may have been involved. But that was my introduction to sun salutations, practicing in our musty basement and using cushions from a couch older than I was to serve as bolsters. I don't even remember if I used a mat or not, but I must have been given one as a gift at some point. After that, there was a Rodney Yee beginners video, and a subscription to Yoga Journal towards the end of high school. It was a chance to have some peace and quiet without all the stress of high school or the parents breathing down my neck. But until I got to college, the sporadic practice of two videos was my yoga practice. It was always there, though, always something about that drew me in and made me want to learn more, something that wouldn't go away no matter what other craziness and teenage melodrama was going on in my life. Something I could always come back to, no matter how long I had been away.
2. First class. Describe your first class(es) or practice and your reaction to it.
There was a physical education requirement in college, so I took a yoga class my first term as a freshman to start getting requirements out of the way. The teacher was a woman named Charlotte who taught at an independent studio thirty minutes drive from campus. It was a very gentle hatha practice, taught in an empty squash court with students and community members placed around the perimeter of the room. We started every class off with legs-up-the-wall, and sometimes I would fall asleep in the pose almost immediately - before class. I lived for those minutes at the start and end of class when we would just relax and let everything fall away. Charlotte taught us how to stand on all four corners of our feet, always having us lift our toes and place them back down on the mat to keep from gripping and to stabilize our base. This was an invaluable lesson for a beginner: that so small a movement could make such a significant difference in one's practice. One of the other thing about the class that has stuck with was the fact that Charlotte was a 60-something, solid, apple-shaped woman: not the kind of woman you see demonstrating poses on the cover of the magazines. And yet she could rise up so gracefully and steadily into a perfect Lord of the Dance pose (natarajasana) that I can still see it in my head as clear as day.
3. The addiction. How/why did you get hooked?
It was gradual. Just like it had been in high school, it was always something I could come back to, without any judgments or criticisms. But it would start until the first two years of graduate school, when I was stressed out all the time that my shoulders were like rocks from all the tension. I rarely practiced because I felt I just couldn't spare the time. And when I did, it was always a fairly random sun salutation series with a lot of restorative poses. Then I moved to China, and the utter ridiculousness of constantly being stared at for being a foreigner just left me angry all the time, without any way to alleviate it. I was a wreck: strange and inexplicable respiratory illnesses, complete voice loss for a full week, constant fatigue, perpetually pissy mood, TMJ (Temporo Mandibular Joint Disorder) flareups, nothing but negative emotions.
One night I was at a charity event with a silent auction, where one of the prizes were two month-long unlimited passes to the Yoga Yard, a studio founded by two American women certified teachers in Beijing. I won the passes by standing right near them at the end of the auction and watching to see if anyone else would sign their name and then putting mine down again. For whatever reason that I can't explain, I had to have them - this was a sign of a sort. The classes at Yoga Yard were incredible - this was the first time I had a chance to attend classes at a real, dedicated studio with incredible, dedicated teachers. Practice went beyond sun salutations and included all manner of fun poses. One of my teachers once put on a mix with African drumbeats to keep us motivated, and in the middle of Warrior Two said, "Plug in your shoulders...stretch out your fingers...bend your knee a little more...and SHIMMY!" It was hysterical - yoga was fun, and funny, and everything all at once!
The great thing about the Yoga Yard is that people from all over the world who live in Beijing attend any given class. Male or Female, Chinese or Foreigner, everyone was equal on the mat. Most classes are bilingual but taught primarily in either English or Chinese. The first time I attended a primarily-Chinese class, I was a nervous wreck, but it was so good for my language because it was a relaxed environment and so gratifying to learn the pose names and anatomical details in a different language. Now, my shoulders are happier, my TMJ pain has been drastically reduced, I'm a better, calmer, more compassionate person all around. I can take a class taught entirely in Chinese and understand the whole thing, which is a source of great pride and satisfaction to me. I wouldn't have survived my two years in Beijing without yoga. If I don't have some bit of yoga somewhere in my day now, it just goes all pear-shaped on me.
4. The history. Describe the development of your practice and history with teachers since then.
-Kathy Smith/Rod Stryker and Rodney Yee on VHS in the basement. Sun Salutations.
-Charlotte: gentle hatha yoga, first term of freshman year. Lot of legs-up-the-wall and stretches. Not a whole lot of vinyasa.
-Some random power yoga teacher, third term of freshman year. Wanted us to push up into headstand immediately without any prep, discussion, contraindication warnings, nothing. Didn't work so well for me or my headaches. Stopped attending class halfway through the term.
-A vinyasa yoga teacher later on in college who suggested 15 minutes of daily shoulderstand to strengthen my shoulders. Nice woman, but innocuous. Didn't really make much of an impression on either me or my practice.
-Sporadic home practice for the next couple years, nothing serious. More sun salutations and restorative poses.
-90-minute vinyasa-yoga practice at the Yoga Yard in Beijing, classes there 2-3 times per week usually with Jodi, Frances, Mimi or Robyn; otherwise Yoga Today podcasts at home. Usually one full day off per week because often I'll go out hiking or rock climbing that day and too many vinyasas sap my energy. Beginning of arm balances and inversions: the great beyond.
- July and August 2007 will be almost entirely home practice while I move back Stateside, and then I'll be on the prowl for a new studio when I return to the Northeast to jump through my required year of Ph.D. hoops in residence.
5. The future. What are your practice goals for the future?
I'm still scared of arm balances and inversions, mostly because I haven't quite developed the upper-body strength to be stable in them. But with every practice, they come a little more within my grasp, which is really exciting! I'm hoping to earn my teacher certification over the next several years, but I know I'm neither mentally nor physically ready for that right now. Plus, I'm still living a pretty transient life all over the world while I finish my dissertation, so being in one place long enough with time to dedicate to my training is a little far off. I can see myself practicing yoga all the way into the future, no matter what comes my way. This is surprising to me, because nothing else is anywhere near as clear or constant.
Yoga has now become my home. I've been without a real place I can call "home" for the last eight years, living out of suitcases or big plastic bins, and always in rented apartments for never more than two years at a time. Although I love to travel, I've been looking for some stable physical location to call "home" for a long while. I realized when I moved to China that I had to find a way to create home within myself since a concrete place or space wasn't a possibility, but it took me a full year into my time there to discover where that was. Now, I've discovered that when I step onto the mat, no matter where I am in the world, I finally have the feeling of coming home. This was a revelation, that home could be a portable place but still a physical space: exactly what I've always been looking for, and exactly what has been there the whole time, calling to me.
Without further adieu, here is mine:
1. The start. What brought you to yoga?
Somewhere around the age of 13 I ended up with a yoga video by Kathy Smith - of all people. It was probably part of a three-pack of Kathy Smith exercise videos my mother bought; she would have kept the step aerobics and shaping videos. Leotards, spandex and mood lighting all on VHS. Rod Stryker may have been involved. But that was my introduction to sun salutations, practicing in our musty basement and using cushions from a couch older than I was to serve as bolsters. I don't even remember if I used a mat or not, but I must have been given one as a gift at some point. After that, there was a Rodney Yee beginners video, and a subscription to Yoga Journal towards the end of high school. It was a chance to have some peace and quiet without all the stress of high school or the parents breathing down my neck. But until I got to college, the sporadic practice of two videos was my yoga practice. It was always there, though, always something about that drew me in and made me want to learn more, something that wouldn't go away no matter what other craziness and teenage melodrama was going on in my life. Something I could always come back to, no matter how long I had been away.
2. First class. Describe your first class(es) or practice and your reaction to it.
There was a physical education requirement in college, so I took a yoga class my first term as a freshman to start getting requirements out of the way. The teacher was a woman named Charlotte who taught at an independent studio thirty minutes drive from campus. It was a very gentle hatha practice, taught in an empty squash court with students and community members placed around the perimeter of the room. We started every class off with legs-up-the-wall, and sometimes I would fall asleep in the pose almost immediately - before class. I lived for those minutes at the start and end of class when we would just relax and let everything fall away. Charlotte taught us how to stand on all four corners of our feet, always having us lift our toes and place them back down on the mat to keep from gripping and to stabilize our base. This was an invaluable lesson for a beginner: that so small a movement could make such a significant difference in one's practice. One of the other thing about the class that has stuck with was the fact that Charlotte was a 60-something, solid, apple-shaped woman: not the kind of woman you see demonstrating poses on the cover of the magazines. And yet she could rise up so gracefully and steadily into a perfect Lord of the Dance pose (natarajasana) that I can still see it in my head as clear as day.
3. The addiction. How/why did you get hooked?
It was gradual. Just like it had been in high school, it was always something I could come back to, without any judgments or criticisms. But it would start until the first two years of graduate school, when I was stressed out all the time that my shoulders were like rocks from all the tension. I rarely practiced because I felt I just couldn't spare the time. And when I did, it was always a fairly random sun salutation series with a lot of restorative poses. Then I moved to China, and the utter ridiculousness of constantly being stared at for being a foreigner just left me angry all the time, without any way to alleviate it. I was a wreck: strange and inexplicable respiratory illnesses, complete voice loss for a full week, constant fatigue, perpetually pissy mood, TMJ (Temporo Mandibular Joint Disorder) flareups, nothing but negative emotions.
One night I was at a charity event with a silent auction, where one of the prizes were two month-long unlimited passes to the Yoga Yard, a studio founded by two American women certified teachers in Beijing. I won the passes by standing right near them at the end of the auction and watching to see if anyone else would sign their name and then putting mine down again. For whatever reason that I can't explain, I had to have them - this was a sign of a sort. The classes at Yoga Yard were incredible - this was the first time I had a chance to attend classes at a real, dedicated studio with incredible, dedicated teachers. Practice went beyond sun salutations and included all manner of fun poses. One of my teachers once put on a mix with African drumbeats to keep us motivated, and in the middle of Warrior Two said, "Plug in your shoulders...stretch out your fingers...bend your knee a little more...and SHIMMY!" It was hysterical - yoga was fun, and funny, and everything all at once!
The great thing about the Yoga Yard is that people from all over the world who live in Beijing attend any given class. Male or Female, Chinese or Foreigner, everyone was equal on the mat. Most classes are bilingual but taught primarily in either English or Chinese. The first time I attended a primarily-Chinese class, I was a nervous wreck, but it was so good for my language because it was a relaxed environment and so gratifying to learn the pose names and anatomical details in a different language. Now, my shoulders are happier, my TMJ pain has been drastically reduced, I'm a better, calmer, more compassionate person all around. I can take a class taught entirely in Chinese and understand the whole thing, which is a source of great pride and satisfaction to me. I wouldn't have survived my two years in Beijing without yoga. If I don't have some bit of yoga somewhere in my day now, it just goes all pear-shaped on me.
4. The history. Describe the development of your practice and history with teachers since then.
-Kathy Smith/Rod Stryker and Rodney Yee on VHS in the basement. Sun Salutations.
-Charlotte: gentle hatha yoga, first term of freshman year. Lot of legs-up-the-wall and stretches. Not a whole lot of vinyasa.
-Some random power yoga teacher, third term of freshman year. Wanted us to push up into headstand immediately without any prep, discussion, contraindication warnings, nothing. Didn't work so well for me or my headaches. Stopped attending class halfway through the term.
-A vinyasa yoga teacher later on in college who suggested 15 minutes of daily shoulderstand to strengthen my shoulders. Nice woman, but innocuous. Didn't really make much of an impression on either me or my practice.
-Sporadic home practice for the next couple years, nothing serious. More sun salutations and restorative poses.
-90-minute vinyasa-yoga practice at the Yoga Yard in Beijing, classes there 2-3 times per week usually with Jodi, Frances, Mimi or Robyn; otherwise Yoga Today podcasts at home. Usually one full day off per week because often I'll go out hiking or rock climbing that day and too many vinyasas sap my energy. Beginning of arm balances and inversions: the great beyond.
- July and August 2007 will be almost entirely home practice while I move back Stateside, and then I'll be on the prowl for a new studio when I return to the Northeast to jump through my required year of Ph.D. hoops in residence.
5. The future. What are your practice goals for the future?
I'm still scared of arm balances and inversions, mostly because I haven't quite developed the upper-body strength to be stable in them. But with every practice, they come a little more within my grasp, which is really exciting! I'm hoping to earn my teacher certification over the next several years, but I know I'm neither mentally nor physically ready for that right now. Plus, I'm still living a pretty transient life all over the world while I finish my dissertation, so being in one place long enough with time to dedicate to my training is a little far off. I can see myself practicing yoga all the way into the future, no matter what comes my way. This is surprising to me, because nothing else is anywhere near as clear or constant.
Yoga has now become my home. I've been without a real place I can call "home" for the last eight years, living out of suitcases or big plastic bins, and always in rented apartments for never more than two years at a time. Although I love to travel, I've been looking for some stable physical location to call "home" for a long while. I realized when I moved to China that I had to find a way to create home within myself since a concrete place or space wasn't a possibility, but it took me a full year into my time there to discover where that was. Now, I've discovered that when I step onto the mat, no matter where I am in the world, I finally have the feeling of coming home. This was a revelation, that home could be a portable place but still a physical space: exactly what I've always been looking for, and exactly what has been there the whole time, calling to me.
Yogademia - Yoga = Not so good
The sheer lunacy of this week has left me without time to practice except for half a podcast which froze in the middle - a sign which reinforced the fact I really didn't have the time anyway. And all of that left me feeling like complete and utter garbage, mentally and physically.
But now that I've finished my classes and papers, gave the lecture, packed up half my life and mailed the other half back to the U.S., I've got 18 days of relaxation, playtime, chances to tie up loose ends and yoga practice.
Prepare for incoming post barrage!
But now that I've finished my classes and papers, gave the lecture, packed up half my life and mailed the other half back to the U.S., I've got 18 days of relaxation, playtime, chances to tie up loose ends and yoga practice.
Prepare for incoming post barrage!
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Breathe...keep breathing...
It's another crazy week here at Yogademia, being that in the space between Sunday and Thursday I have to complete my language "exit test" (to quantify exactly how many things I've forgotten in the last year), write another several thousand characters' worth of final essays, do the normal homework, pack up the majority of my room, write a 30-minute lecture with powerpoint to deliver Thursday night, say goodbye to friends who are leaving and fit yoga in somewhere. Oh yes, and breathe. Forgot about that.
Of course, this being Beijing, it's become insanely hot for this early - up to 35 apparently today (95 Fahrenheit) - AND I've gotten another strange allergic reaction to some unknown Beijing element. These started happening last year when I got caught in the rain without an umbrella, and afterwards my top lip swelled up like Angelina Jolie's and developed prickly little bumps. It seems to happen every few months, lasts about a week, has no other effects, and then disappears. I blame weird pesticides and other things that shouldn't be in the rain, much less on fruit and vegetables. Meds do nothing; just have to keep slathering on thick coats of lip balm and ride it out. (On the bright side, I do now have quite the sensual pout.)
In preparation for leaving at the end of the month I practiced an episode of Yoga Today from May 28 on preventing jetlag. I was pretty fatigued this afternoon when I finally made it home, and a nap just wouldn't take, so I quit wasting time and popped the yoga on. Ahhh...great little pranayama practice, couple of sun salutes, gentle twists, modified inversions. The pranayama was especially helpful, despite my pollution-clogged sinuses, and now I feel much closer to my normal self. Which is good, because it looks to either be a late night or a very early morning...
Of course, this being Beijing, it's become insanely hot for this early - up to 35 apparently today (95 Fahrenheit) - AND I've gotten another strange allergic reaction to some unknown Beijing element. These started happening last year when I got caught in the rain without an umbrella, and afterwards my top lip swelled up like Angelina Jolie's and developed prickly little bumps. It seems to happen every few months, lasts about a week, has no other effects, and then disappears. I blame weird pesticides and other things that shouldn't be in the rain, much less on fruit and vegetables. Meds do nothing; just have to keep slathering on thick coats of lip balm and ride it out. (On the bright side, I do now have quite the sensual pout.)
In preparation for leaving at the end of the month I practiced an episode of Yoga Today from May 28 on preventing jetlag. I was pretty fatigued this afternoon when I finally made it home, and a nap just wouldn't take, so I quit wasting time and popped the yoga on. Ahhh...great little pranayama practice, couple of sun salutes, gentle twists, modified inversions. The pranayama was especially helpful, despite my pollution-clogged sinuses, and now I feel much closer to my normal self. Which is good, because it looks to either be a late night or a very early morning...
Friday, June 1, 2007
Grace Under Pressure
In comparison to the usual way doctorates are completed, I'm doing mine backwards. The year I was supposed to take my general exams, my advisor was going on sabbatical. So I found myself a nice little grant to spend a year doing advanced langauge work in China, and then extended it for a second year. Since I had my dissertation topic already mapped out, I've been able to get a chunk of research along the way too in addition to giving the occasional lecture or tour, and writing the catalogue for a private collection. This is unusual, though, because a Ph.D. is almost always completed in the sequence of coursework-exams-research-writing. But this is why when I go back in the fall I have to start preparing for my exams, which will take up just about three whole days in May 2008.
My advisor will be on leave AGAIN next year, so I had a meeting about the exams yesterday with a professor here who is very supportive of young scholars. The most interesting piece of advice she gave was this: "General exams are all about grace under pressure." My exams consist of two full days of writing, and then an afternoon spent discussing a group of objects selected by my committee (objects I will have never seen before), and her advice is certainly most applicable to this part. This is when your three committee members can totally rip you, your preparation, and your arguments into shreds - and there is no question that my three will certainly do this. Final dissertation defense notwithstanding, this will be the most stressful part of my program.
But the idea of maintaining grace under pressure is easily the best and most yogic advice I've been given about my exams. When we practice, we are told to let the breath lead our movements, to flow, to keep things smooth despite our shaking shoulders and quaking quads. If breath or movement gets ragged, we're told to back off from the edge and modify to the point which still challenges us only the extent that we can still maintain our grace. And with time, our edge moves farther and farther out as we become stronger and more centered, and we can handle increasingly more difficult situations with grace and without becoming ragged. This is hopefully what a full calendar year's worth of preparation will allow me to do. But having the idea clarified into such a simple yet profound concept really turns it into something which can be practiced on the mat as preparation for its time off the mat.
My advisor will be on leave AGAIN next year, so I had a meeting about the exams yesterday with a professor here who is very supportive of young scholars. The most interesting piece of advice she gave was this: "General exams are all about grace under pressure." My exams consist of two full days of writing, and then an afternoon spent discussing a group of objects selected by my committee (objects I will have never seen before), and her advice is certainly most applicable to this part. This is when your three committee members can totally rip you, your preparation, and your arguments into shreds - and there is no question that my three will certainly do this. Final dissertation defense notwithstanding, this will be the most stressful part of my program.
But the idea of maintaining grace under pressure is easily the best and most yogic advice I've been given about my exams. When we practice, we are told to let the breath lead our movements, to flow, to keep things smooth despite our shaking shoulders and quaking quads. If breath or movement gets ragged, we're told to back off from the edge and modify to the point which still challenges us only the extent that we can still maintain our grace. And with time, our edge moves farther and farther out as we become stronger and more centered, and we can handle increasingly more difficult situations with grace and without becoming ragged. This is hopefully what a full calendar year's worth of preparation will allow me to do. But having the idea clarified into such a simple yet profound concept really turns it into something which can be practiced on the mat as preparation for its time off the mat.
Attainable Ideals: career ideal
Despite all the jokes about what one exactly does with art history, you can do surprisingly well with a Ph.D. in Asian art history. It will qualify you to become a professor or a museum curator, as well as to take on roles in the commercial and art advisory worlds. Not to mention, of course, tour guide, consultant, independent scholar/researcher/curator/critic/etc. Both of the women whom I look up to as role models both lead the same sort of multi-faceted careers, which they do because they enjoy the variety it affords as well as the opportunities for having a solid family life. One is an established Ph.D. with a solid reputation for excellence in publications, curatorial work and connoisseurship. The other is a younger former auction-house specialist who now has her own art advisory firm in Manhattan. They both have a zillion projects going on simultaneously, from articles to trips to guest curating exhibitions, as well as husbands and children. This is fairly unconventional, to say the least, especially the part about having a solid career and a family simultaneously.
It's no secret, especially at my university, that young female faculty members are discouraged by the demands of academia from having children until they are somewhat established, or get tenure, or finish their book. Unfortunately, this also means that by the time they get to that point, their age can make it extremely difficult to have a child. Just during my last year in residence alone, three female professors made the decision to adopt because they spent their childbearing years becoming "established." I think adoption is wonderful, but these women did it not because it was their first choice, but because their careers and ambitions seem to have forced them into it.
That's not for me. This doesn't mean I don't want to teach or curate or write or research or tour; I do, but I want to forge a career in which each of those play a role rather than just one or two. Plus, there has to be time for the other important things as well: love, yoga, family, travel. My career attainable ideal is to create a livelihood out of some combination of the mix of things available, to maybe create a few new facets, but to keep it creative and varied. This is something like I'm doing now: a strange mishmash of Ph.D. candidate, language student, researcher, specialist tour guide, teacher, author, appraiser and guest lecturer, with time built in for yoga, friends, family, boyfriend, and myself. It all means I carry around a ton of stuff every day, and sometimes multitask like a fiend. But it feels really good to have all these different, satisfying project going simultaneously, and to be able to essentially create a schedule which accommodates the other important things in my life.
Irony is, it can make for an unstable or insufficient economic situation until you are, in fact, "established." This is a serious fear. Next time: what if your ideals require a huge leap of faith?
It's no secret, especially at my university, that young female faculty members are discouraged by the demands of academia from having children until they are somewhat established, or get tenure, or finish their book. Unfortunately, this also means that by the time they get to that point, their age can make it extremely difficult to have a child. Just during my last year in residence alone, three female professors made the decision to adopt because they spent their childbearing years becoming "established." I think adoption is wonderful, but these women did it not because it was their first choice, but because their careers and ambitions seem to have forced them into it.
That's not for me. This doesn't mean I don't want to teach or curate or write or research or tour; I do, but I want to forge a career in which each of those play a role rather than just one or two. Plus, there has to be time for the other important things as well: love, yoga, family, travel. My career attainable ideal is to create a livelihood out of some combination of the mix of things available, to maybe create a few new facets, but to keep it creative and varied. This is something like I'm doing now: a strange mishmash of Ph.D. candidate, language student, researcher, specialist tour guide, teacher, author, appraiser and guest lecturer, with time built in for yoga, friends, family, boyfriend, and myself. It all means I carry around a ton of stuff every day, and sometimes multitask like a fiend. But it feels really good to have all these different, satisfying project going simultaneously, and to be able to essentially create a schedule which accommodates the other important things in my life.
Irony is, it can make for an unstable or insufficient economic situation until you are, in fact, "established." This is a serious fear. Next time: what if your ideals require a huge leap of faith?
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