Inside/Out. Reflections on my Asian-ness.
I resisted learning my father’s native tongue because I wanted to avoid being seen as even more “Other” than I already was. As was revealed to Brené Brown by a wise 12-year old: “If I get to be me, I belong. If I have to be like you, it's fitting in."
And so I spent the first decade of my life trying to fit into spaces I didn’t always belong. I clung hungrily to the privilege I could access.
The Unlearning
Do you remember?
Do you remember who you were
before the world got its filthy, calloused hands on you?
Before those corrupted fingertips began to mold you
into a confined artifice of its own flawed self?
Before the impaired stewards of your formation imposed
their unmet longings
their shame-ridden regrets
their misplaced intentions
as warped compass to your path?
Before the muddled messages
transmuted into the unshakeable earworms
that have consumed every crossroads
you have since encountered?
10 Things in 10 Years | The Intro
Ten years later, I am still in love with teaching yoga. The initial endorphins of falling in love have subsided, as they do. But as Glennon Doyle, her sister Amanda, and her wife Abby discussed in their most recent episode of We Can Do Hard Things, I “landed in love”, and I have no doubts that Yoga is still “The One”.
Like any long-term relationship, Yoga and I have had our ups and downs. In the beginning there are always seemingly quirky things that get overlooked, and if left unchecked, can become problematic later (like…ummm…cultural appropriation).
September, The New January?
As a global community, we have been reckoning with the undeniable effects of numerous, enormous, and intersecting FFTs in the past while - racial injustice, climate change, the devastating legacy of residential schools, redefining gender, income inequality, the omnipresent impact of generational trauma, not to mention the global pandemic that has served as the illuminating backdrop to all the things that are in desperate need of our attention and our action.
The Heartbreaking Demise of Our Sacred Spaces
A few weeks ago, I learned that yet another yoga studio - the third to which I have direct ties as either a teacher or a student - is closing permanently. I have been at a loss for words, unable to summon the courage to express my grief, my despair, my frustration, my uneasiness, even my gratitude. But these sentiments have undeniably been the source of sleepless nights. In my restlessness I have wrestled with what to do, why this is happening, what is to blame, what to say and to whom, where to take my teaching practice next. I have no definitive answers yet, but I will start with addressing my connection to these places and what they have meant to me.
I stopped keeping a gratitude journal.
Nearly every morning for ten years I had committed myself to a ritual of journaling what I was most grateful for. I would pour myself a cup of hot lemon water, stream some ambient calming music over my bluetooth speaker, pull out my Virtues Project Cards and my favourite pen (whose singular job was to be the conduit of my musings), and get down to the serious business of identifying the specifics of my gratitude from the day before.
Becoming the Light
And then she said it. “Namaste means ‘may I live my life in such a way that the light inside of me ignites the light inside of others.”
And my entire existence fell neatly into place.
No Props? No Problem!
For you, my students, I recognized that not only are you struggling to learn the technology, but you may not have all the props you need to support your practice as you did when you were practicing in studio. This is especially tricky for you Yin and Restorative yogis, for whom practice is simply not the same without your props. And for students who are venturing back into studios but find that the studio is not allowing the use of props yet, you are finding that you need to bring your own.
Here are my suggestions for common household items that you can substitute for “official” yoga props.
We matter. And we need to hear it.
My deepest hope is that we may be blessed to know how much each one of us matters during our lifetime.
The following is my eulogy to Cosmas, and a small collection of my favourite photos of him throughout the years of his magnificent life.