The Big D

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Maintaining my blog has fallen down on the priority list as of late-- neatly wedged somewhere between getting a chihuahua and signing up for LinkedIn. The truth is, I’m just now clawing my way out of what has been a 16 month long depression. I imagine that it is the kind of depression that only privileged, affluent white people suffer from, but nonetheless, I’ve fallen ill. It’s the kind of depression that afflicts those of us who have enough time on our hands to go deep into the tar pits of our own psyche and compare our findings to those who are busily toiling away at life-- the perfect recipe for an existential crisis. It’s the kind of thing that happens when there is a high degree of internal dialogue, and there’s no better way to really turn up the volume on that noise than to bury yourself in country after country where you don’t speak the language and isolate yourself from people who speak your own. I’m writing this not as a means to receive sympathy from my droves of followers, but as a way to bring some light to a dark topic, a topic we tend to look away from.It couldn’t have been a more cliché place to become pseudo-suicidal. It was November in Paris, in a 4th story apartment,  and I was chain smoking the last bits of my George Karelias from the previous month in Greece. Soaking the same tea bag, cup after cup, reading dumb old Hemingway, listening to 90’s Chicago house music, and watching a marathon of Modern Family. Ok, fine, that last part might not be so typical of a Parisian depression, but it was what I was doing when I thought, “What would it be like if I just weren’t here anymore?”.It took me all day to get showered and dressed, like I had been heavily sedated for weeks. Something about a Christmas episode set me off into a crying jag that prompted me to finally get up off the couch and into the bathroom. After taking off the 3 full day worn saggy pajamas, I looked at myself in the mirror, thoroughly disgusted with my own face, my own body and my own presence. I remember saying “Ugh. You again?”. I looked around in a half curious, not at all determined way for something sharp or something poisonous. I realized that I would have to go out of my way to off myself and I was too unmotivated to even do that. I didn’t actually want to make a bloody mess of myself, I just didn’t feel like existing anymore.Now, when I look back on it, I realize I would have had to been way more convicted and determined than I actually was if I really wanted to die in that apartment. I just don’t have the kind of resolve it takes to commit suicide. It’s the kind of thing that takes just that-- commitment. For those of you that know me, you know that lately commitment isn’t my strongest suit.I pulled myself together enough to call a friend, a friend who knows my propensity for darkness, and had a chat with him. I told him that I wasn’t getting out of bed until noon or later, had to force myself to get dressed and out of the house just to choke down a pain au chocolat as my daily bread. He confirmed my self-diagnosis saying, “Yep, that’s depression.”. I went on for some time talking about how everything is completely meaningless: “What’s the point? Is this really it? I’m not satisfied!” And he said that maybe the answer lies in actually making a commitment to something. “Something besides suicide, Cheri.”I knew this was more than just my usual existential crisis when my behavior started to affect other people. I went home for Thanksgiving and I noticed that my friends and family were thoroughly turned off by my sadness. It’s not a good look for me apparently, and it makes people very uncomfortable. Instead of tolerating my doom and gloom with a light heart, there was a now lot of avoidance, a lot of changing the subject and superficial, conversational distraction tactics. I was being treated with kid gloves, and I could tell they were just waiting on the edge of their seats for what I was going to say or do next. I noticed that denial is very prevalent when it comes to the Big D. Nobody asked me what was going on inside of me, because nobody really wants to see what’s down there in the dumps. Seeing a loved one grapple with the demon of their internal tar pits, reminds us that we, too, have a tar pit of our own to reckon with.Having said that, I think the majority of us would be kidding ourselves if we said we had never thought about escaping the endless churning of a dissatisfied heart. Or maybe, like me, fantasized about what it would be like to just not exist. Sadness, pain, grief, loneliness, purposelessness, and suffering are a part of the human experience-- one that we have very little practical skill in dealing with. We have more skill in shrouding the dark and nasty bits with rays of contrived positivity. We get spooked by anyone who openly reveals a struggle with the basic day to day existence. For me, the day to day sadness had become a pattern, the pattern became a habit and the habit of being depressed became calcified and imbedded into my personality.Before this all gets too awkward, I’ll end by saying that I realized that just because I am willing to metaphorically jump into at the bubbling, oozing black, does not mean everyone around me is ready to do the same. The more maudlin and didactic side of me is tempted to advise you to go on with your happy sunshine lives and when you are ready to meet me in the dark, I'll be here, in my pajamas, comfortable in the sticky mess. But, as luck would have it, I'm on the upswing, climbing out of the chasm one bone at a time. I’m almost there- I just need a few more footholds; commitment, service, and gratitude.Depression and suicide are serious issues, folks. Seek help.

What to Pack

Going on a journey and don't want to pack too much? Here's a video explaining what to pack when space, weight and varying climates are an issue. Bon Voyage!

Lost and Found

The only place I ever got really lost while I was traveling abroad, was in Montpellier, France. It was November 1st, known as La Toussaint, or All Saints' Day and I would be leaving that morning for Barcelona. Knowing that it was a holiday, and that I hadn't booked a ticket yet, it was crucial that I leave for the station early that morning and get on the first train out, which was at 6:00am. That morning, I woke up late, wearing the same clothes that I had been wearing for the last 36 hours, hoisted the 15 kg backpack onto my shoulders, and jumped out the door. I was half asleep, half hung-over, and only half sure of where I was going. The train station was said to be about a ten minute walk from the flat and I recalled vaguely where it might be. I started walking in the direction that I thought it was, and remembered someone telling me about a "shortcut", which was to walk along the tramway. So that's what I did. Ten minutes turned into twenty, twenty into thirty, and so on. I felt like someone was adding iron weights to my backpack with every unfamiliar pass. Just shy of 6am, I had been walking for about 45 minutes and I was exhausted. I knew that I was nowhere close to the station and that I was not going to make that train. There were no people or cars or open shops anywhere in sight, just the harsh and hazy morning sun beginning to penetrate my dried and bleary eyes. I was utterly lost. I looked around, took off my pack in an act of indignant abandon, sat down next to a trash can and pondered through my tears, "What now?!".I feel lost like that again, being back in the States-- directionless and dejected on the empty streets. Nobody is pointing me in any particular direction, but I'm still carrying my heavy backpack weighted down by the memories and experiences of my past, and I'm pretty sure I missed my train somewhere way back there. I'm looking for my way, but I can't seem to see beyond the shadow of my own face. I think what I am experiencing now is the unavoidable period of let-down that comes after any mind-blowing experience; reality comes screeching in like a bird being captured and crammed back into a cage. I'm left wondering what happened to my direction, my momentum, my inspiration? The dullness begins to set in.As a longtime yoga practitioner and experienced instructor, I am well aware that there is an inevitable dullness that can come from doing the same thing over and over again. That is the nature of yoga- to repeat and repeat until the movement becomes effortless, and the effort is then turned inward towards the breath and eventually towards the mind. Unfortunately, one hindrance of repetition is that one is apt to fall victim to boredom. In the times that I see my students growing listless with the glaze of apathy towards yet another Virabhadrasana, having done it over a thousand times in the lifetime of their practice, I remind them to SOMEHOW find a sense of newness to each pose, to find a freshness in the practice-- which is much easier said than done! I find myself now chewing through the last remnants of an allegorical stale doughnut, desperately trying not to be overcome by that same sticky glaze I see creeping into the eyes of my students from time to time. I'm finding it difficult to see the novelty in each moment, especially when my eyes feel like they've been glued shut by the viscous monotony of familiarity. After all, familiarity breeds contempt, right? After this many years as a yogi, I should have the tools to pull myself out of the muck.I started waking up at 5:30am and for the first time in my life, I have taken up a consistent, if not daily, meditation practice. It's working, in so far as it's getting me up in the morning with something to focus on besides that hangnail that's been bothering me, or making elaborately frivolous to-do lists with things on it like "buy matches", "open mail" and "drink water". But instead of meditating on cultivating contentment and appreciation for my current set of circumstances (like any good yogi or meditator would do), and trying to find a sense of liveliness within the deep predictability of my life in Chico , I instead find myself hatching an escape plan. This is in itself a destructive force, because I know that any time I allow my mind to move hastily into planning, it just takes me further and further away from the present moment. It is yet another distraction from the awkward and uncomfortable reality of just sitting still. Our minds are very clever and will create any reason at all to jump up and run away. For me, practicing simply sitting through the discomfort and watching my mind making plans to "escape" has given me the opportunity to observe my desire to be somewhere else. My meditation practice has been helpful in allowing me to see that sitting still might actually be the most valuable and necessary thing for me to do right now, in order to see my path and my direction more clearly.I've come to terms with my discontentment. Rather than to resign myself to the doldrums, I've used it to create a feedback loop to help me see what in my life is working and what isn't, what inspires me and what doesn't, what is in balance and what is out of balance. The feeling of being lost, uninspired, and directionless, in the past, has been precisely what propelled me into the next phase of my life, and that unsettled feeling in my heart is a familiar indication that there are some major shifts taking place inside of me. It's uncomfortable, yes, and at times exhausting, but I'm certainly not running away from it this time. What good would that do anyway when I don't even know where I am or where I am going? So, I've decided that for now, I'll simply sit down, unload some baggage, wait for my eyes to clear up, and then get back on that train when it arrives."Familiarity breeds contempt, while rarity wins admiration."-Apuleius

Traveling Alone

I have been traveling by myself in Europe for exactly 8 weeks now. If I had to describe my experience in one word, I couldn't. It's been all at once exhilarating, empowering, challenging and exhausting. I haven't written in a while for a few reasons; one being that I am typing on a tiny iPhone, but moreover, I've had a million things to say and not a clue where to begin. So I guess I'll start at the obvious point; Yoga.My yoga practice has taken on a different form lately. I'm off the mat for longer than I have been in years. My yoga now is a matter of putting into practice all of the fundamentals of grounding, centering, internal focus, presence, breath work and equanimity in order to support myself in this mind-bending, heart-melting emotional stew that I've thrown myself into. As I bounce from one place to the next, I seek to find stability. With conditions constantly changing, I seek to find the center of stillness within me. Within the comfortable din of a language that I don't understand, I draw my attention inward to better understand myself. In the moments of fatigue, frustration, and overwhelming emotion, I find myself taking deeper breaths. I am using the tools of yoga to create contentment in my life now, which is a far cry from where I was 2 or even 4 months ago.It hasn't been easy in a lot of ways. I feel odd writing this, as if I should censor myself and instead paint for you a picture of quaint cobblestone alleys lined with flower merchants and cafés, magical markets stocked with fresh fruits and vegetables, heaps of olives and dates and every variety of cheese that you can imagine. The smell of sautéed garlic, lots of local fish and meat and wine found among centuries old architecture, with views of the Mediterranean just around the next corner. And maybe these are the kinds of things you want to hear, and I certainly don't blame you, it is a beautiful picture. But even as I experience the beauty of all of these things, I am simultaneously experiencing a deep loneliness, sadness, and confusion.I considered keeping this from you, perhaps as an egoic attempt to preserve the likely unrealistic picture you may have in your head about me and my journey, but I have made a commitment to the truth. I've made a commitment to be truthful in my own life, to seek the truth in others, and as a teacher, I've made the commitment to deliver truth to my students. And the truth is that I'm struggling. I'm struggling with my shyness and my insecurities, my inabilities, my ego. Sometimes all I can do is sit down and cry. I write this not as a sob story designed to gain sympathy, but to remind myself that it's ok to feel grief and frustration and pain and tiredness. And it's ok for you to see me in these perhaps unsavory states, because they are all on the psychic and emotional spectrum of a whole human being. In this truth, I remember that we are all things at all times, and those of you who really know me, know that I embody this truth.I've had more opportunity now than I ever have had before to really be with these aspects of who I am. But I see them, and I get to know them and I try to be kind to myself about them. I get lost in the streets and explore the markets by myself. I make jokes to myself about myself. I have only myself to rely on, to blame, to be with. But even in the most frustrating, exhausting and lonesome moments, I know that I'm not alone in my struggle. Because even if we are surrounded by friends and family and familiarity, we are all just trying to navigate the intricate, sometimes unintelligible maps of our own hearts and minds. And that, my friends, is not an easy journey to take.

Inversions Workshop

This workshop is designed for the beginning and intermediate practitioner to learn (or review) how to move safely in and out of inverted poses. Focus with be on building the strength and awareness necessary for inversions. Themes will include overcoming fears, restoring balance, and ultimately changing our perspective. Featured poses will be (but not limited to) Shoulderstand, Headstand, Forearm Balance and Handstand.Please join me on Saturday September 28th from 12:30 to 3pm at Earth Yoga, Santa Catalina, Palma de Mallorca, Spain.