Yoga Teacher Training Reflection

In one word, my yoga teacher training has been transformative -- and exactly what I needed. Prior to the course, I knew I was headed towards many life changes. My son starts high school in three weeks. I just moved to a new house in a new town last spring. I start a new job in ten days. My family adopted a rescue dog, Burt Reynolds. Just to name a few. In sum, nearly every aspect of my life has changed or is still in transition.

But the story really starts earlier than that. The story starts with me being an “award-winning” journalism adviser. Which is really a beautiful (and busy) thing to be -- because journalism is all about finding the story, the angle, the spark in another individual and sharing it with the world. And journalism at its core teaches highschoolers to recognize and appreciate each other’s stories. I loved what we did -- and we got good at it. Really good. We won awards. Lots of awards. We were an “award-winning” journalism program. Best in the county! And then last year, as the awards arrived in the mail, something strange happened. They felt lighter -- and when I opened the manila envelope and stared at the thick-stalk beige certificate, it felt empty.

I was on the top of the mountain -- and there was no more path. No where else to go. So after a moment heartbreak and a long sigh, I walked back down. And found an even older, taller, more ambitious mountain, my personal Everest: yoga.

Yoga is really the practice of mastering yourself. And yoga, in essence, is about alignment. For me that alignment came in the form of sloughing off parts of my ego to make room for a new, whole self.

I am not a teacher. I am not a leader. I am not a “tech guru.” I am not a “roller derby queen.” Not a triathlete, or marathon runner, or athlete of any kind. I am not a Committee Chair. Or board member. Or singer or dancer or actor or rock climber.

One by one, I unwound title, and role, and job, and relationship… until I got down to the core of my knot, the core of my being. Piece by piece, I took apart the bits of myself that didn’t serve me or my highest purpose.

Sometimes the bits came off easily like a loose tooth -- other times they hit a nerve or tangled. But by in large, over the course of a summer, most of my old identity has been bleached out. And my new one… shines through.

In doing this personal deconstruction, I made the space and silence to hear my heart and soul whispering: “When are we going to write?” The longer I put off the task, the achier I felt. Like bones that don’t move, stiffening. Then the ego softened, and the soul finally spoke loud enough to be heard: “Write now. Right now.”