Leading and being led, an observation

(This is one of those posts that is mostly a note to myself.  I’m writing while thinking.)

I came to yoga through the Iyengar tradition, which I think could be characterized as the unglamorous, “eat your vegetables” branch of the yoga family.  The classes weren’t workouts, they were classes in which we learned how to do one or two poses or one or two actions (opening shoulders, opening hips) at a time in order to build a practice at home.  If the typical yoga class at most studios is like a restaurant meal, these were classes in knife skills, sauteeing, and deboning chicken.

Because these classes were very… classical, I guess, and strict, I’ve thought that they were better or truer yoga than the more common vinyasa classes in which a teacher leads the group through a series of poses and does very little instructing in how to put your body into a pose and get out of that pose safely.  (I still believe that intensely taught classes are best for beginners.  Learn now, sweat later.)  I thought that a home practice was the best way to do yoga, and that a class-based practice, which put me in the studio several times a week, was a concession to America’s gym-going culture.

Yet I’ve found that it’s harder for me to get motivated to do yoga on my own for the past several weeks or even months.  When I was away from home for 10 days last week, I did yoga only twice, which is not like me at all.  Yesterday when I was back in the studio for class I realized what caused the change.

The short version is: I can’t lead myself all the time.  Sometimes, I need to be led. In yoga class, I am letting the teacher take care of me and my practice.  I am not one to admit that I really like being led and taken care of.  I put a lot of energy into defining myself as the leader and one who takes care — and then I get resentful sometimes that no one is taking care of me, but then I don’t make it easy for people (people = Daniel) to take care of me.  I keep giving them (him) very specific instructions on how to do it, which is not not-leading.

My book is forcing me to lead myself in more intense ways than I ever have.  It’s a little bit like being self employed — or as close to being self-employed as I am comfortable getting.  I decide every day what comes next, what I read, who I talk to, how much time I spend on a particular question or paragraph or idea.  My goals and standards are mine alone.  (Hooray for Nicole, who actually is self-employed, and has to do all this, plus build her business, plus generate every dime of her own income.  That’s massively impressive.)  So all my leading and self-directing energy goes there. In fact, I’m having to create extra leading and self-directing energy to get this done.  That leaves none to guide my own yoga practice, to do the poses and also think about the next pose or sequence or intensity.  Somebody else has to do that for me, and I  have to let them.

And somehow, I find this realization really cool.  I used to be uncomfortable — just slightly, but enough to notice — with being dependent on teachers and taught classes.  Shouldn’t I be in charge of my own practice?  In some ways I still am.  It’s my body, my limits, my choices about which teachers to love and which to avoid, and how far to go and what to ignore in every class.   It feels really good to say to myself, “Yeah, I’m not going to do what she says right now. I’m just going to hang out in another pose because that’s what I need.”  But it’s also really nice to say, “I’m not running the show here.  I’m following you. Go ahead.”

And this point is important, too: I am happy being led in something that matters deeply to me.  I have already surrendered the stuff I don’t particularly care about.  I won’t say that it was easy — control is itself addictive — but I think I’m pretty far along that path (Daniel would likely disagree.  We each think the other is a control freak.  I happen to be right about him.)  How my body works and moves and what happens to it is very important to me.  And I am very particular, even snobbish, about yoga and how it is taught and what I expect a teacher to do and what constitutes a good class.  And yet I am still able to say, I can’t be in charge here.  In fact, I am kind of luxuriating in the not-being-in-charge-ness.

One of my frequent self-criticisms is that I zig when I should zag.  I’m aggressive where I should be receptive, and passive where I should resist, loud where I should be quiet, fast where I should be slow.  This used to come up all the time with Daniel.  I feel like in this small way, in surrendering in yoga and being very forceful in work, I’m finally getting it right.  I can imagine readers saying, “Um yeah Dorothea.  Work is more important, and of course you should be more forceful there.  Why has it taken you 20 years to get this?”  Oh, because it has.  Because it did.  Zigging, zagging (“Serpentine Shel, serpentine!” — really, click on the link and watch the clip.  Am I the only one snorting and crying with laughter?)  I’ve long known I wasn’t getting it quite right, and now I feel like I am.  For now.  The balance may need to change later.  But I have the idea, and the sensation, of different degrees in different spheres, rather than an undifferentiated and exhausting and unnecessary push in all spheres at once.

 

Ready or not — intentions 2013

I woke up this morning feeling the after-effects of too much wine and too little sleep.  It seemed to be an infelicitous way to start the day.  New year’s eve and new year’s day, I thought, are in an irresolvable contradiction.  It seems impossible to celebrate the former and still start fresh and early (I like to start early — are you surprised?) on the latter.  I wished, as I walked the dog at 9:30 this morning that there were 24 hours inserted between the two.  That would be the day to wake up late and groggy, and then do what was necessary — clean out closets, pay bills, fold the laundry, stock up, pare down, make amends, reflect — to start the year in some state of perfect preparation.

Then I realized that we are always starting again in the middle, or at least I am.  I live on two calendars, secular and Jewish.  The new year isn’t exactly a surprise on either of them.   Yet I’m always so preoccupied with the current year, day, moment, I’m in that I don’t get the clean start that I say I crave.  But as I’ve thought about it since 9:30, I am okay with that.  I take the start as I find it, or as it finds me.  Maybe this is what living in the present means.

So, imperfectly, I’m having most of what I want so far.  I’ve seen friends, cooked and eaten wonderful food.  I’ll go to yoga later, a good, sweaty class.  Things are just slightly more in order than they were 10 days ago.  I am reflecting and taking stock, kind of.  My intentions are not especially well thought out, but last year’s weren’t either.  This, again, is starting in the middle.  If these intentions don’t serve me, I can find new ones (although I worry a bit that I’ll be peeking too much at my intentions, and wondering if I need better ones.  But maybe if I do that, the answer is yes and I can get on with it).

So, imperfectly, unreadily, provisionally, present-mindedly, here are my intentions for 2013 (there aren’t 13, at least not yet).

1) Stay the course!  This matters greatly to me.  I did so much last year.  I want to hold on to it, or deepen it, even.  So that means continuing to write the book, continuing to take up space, continuing to be present with Daniel’s feelings even when I strongly would like him to have other ones, and continuing to be comfortable with my life and luck as it is and has been and not comparing it (always negatively) to others’.  I want to continue to use my time in ways that are good for me, whether that is laying out my work day in big blocks every evening so that I move intelligently through the next day; or “suffering for 15 minutes” to accomplish tasks that I don’t love but that drag on me when they are undone.  (I have mixed feelings about the blog and project I’ve just linked to, but I find it useful nevertheless.)  When I do these things, I am easier to live with.  I am less likely to push my energy and anxiety on to others.  And I am happier.

2) Find a new job.  Not necessarily a new employer, but a new job.  Once the book is done, I’m going to have to reinvent myself as work, as I do after every new project.  I’m in a strange, in-between kind of position, and it’s pretty clear to me that even after the book, I’ll never be in management there, never have a line of business of my own, never have a full team to lead and work with.  That works to my advantage in some ways, but to my disadvantage in others.  I worry in particular that my current role and responsibilities makes me less hire-able elsewhere, and I want always to be hireable elsewhere, even if I don’t take advantage of it.  I am also just tired of having to reinvent myself every 12-24 months.  I am not sure what this new thing is — the hardest question for me ever to answer is “what do you want to do?”  This is the year that I press myself for answers and try to implement those answers in the world.  And then maybe come back with some new questions and new answers.

Implementation: finish the book and the marketing and then start relentless coffee and lunch dates to find out how people with skills like mine are operating and developing in other organizations.

3) Do a negotiation class.  Ramit Sethi’s time management class completely changed the way I work day to day, which has changed how I see myself professionally and has enabled me to write my book.  His recommendations seemed laughably simplistic, and during the online, pre-recorded course that was obviously just a repackaging of some of his other material, I thought “why did I pay so much for this? This is a bunch of hooey.”  But I did it anyway, and it was great.  I bought his very expensive negotiation class (again, online, pre-recorded, re-purposed) several months ago, intending to do the work after the book was done.  I can’t imagine that this course will work.  I believe that my job and life circumstances aren’t really negotiable.  I believe that my boss will never respond to the negotiation tactics that I’m going to learn.  So that’s exactly why I need to do the course.  This intention is a big part of the implementation of (2) above.

Implementation: Once the manuscript is turned in (approximately March 1) set aside time every Sunday to do the course work

4) Reduce spending/increase saving. Oh boy.  Spending is an issue for me.  My paycheck will be a little smaller for at least the first half of 2013 than it was in 2012, so a reduction will be forced upon me to some extent.  But I’ve been using spending like some people use food, and like many other people use spending — as a reward, as a comfort, as a treat, as a stress-reliever, as a facilitator of small adventures (A new lip balm = a small adventure).  I wasn’t eager to stop in 2012 because spending like this was bringing me pleasure and because I told myself that my energies were going into getting the book done and all those other intentions.  And that was true in 2012.  But in 2013, it’s time to find other rewards, comforts, treats, and paths to small adventures.  Oh I don’t want to do this!  I want to buy all the little treats I want — like the $12 eyelash curler I got yesterday at the pharmacy when I picked up a (rather pricey) prescription for Milo, or the $74 Rag and Bone blazer I scooped up on eBay two days after Christmas (originally listed on eBay at $150!  Original retail price $300 or so!).  I want this freedom from constraint.  But it’s either small constraints or the larger and awful-er constraints that come from having insufficient savings and rainy day funds.  So, again, other rewards and adventures.

Implementation: I’m in such a tantrum state about this that I don’t even want to think about implementation.  I’d rather just throw myself on the floor and pound my fists.  I’ve unsubscribed from all flash sale sites and most store newsletters and all eBay alerts.  I’m swearing off Paypal so that online transactions aren’t completely frictionless.  I can take a walk, meditate, or distract myself when I’m tempted to buy something.  I can also — to stop the tantrum — not criticize myself for the past year’s spending and for enjoying all the new fun things that my spending has enabled me to try (new lip balm!).  It was delightful.  I got a lot of pleasure out of my money that way.  I am happy to have acquired this new stuff.  But it’s not appropriate to continue this way.  Now it’s time to use what I have, enjoy it a lot, and find other things to enjoy.  Maybe I’ll start reading poems instead.  That sounds constructive.  Not rejecting the past spending is a very comforting thing, as is adjusting the intention by adding “increase saving” to my original negative statement of “reduce spending.”

5) Find substitutes for (web)surfing.  I am overly dependent on the pseudo-calming effect of screwing around on the internet.  I get an almost narcotic pleasure of seeing my top sites arrayed on my browser and visiting them every night between 9 and 10 (11, more often), and finding some new ones.  When I pull myself away from these sites I think, “oh, is that all?  Isn’t there more?” I feel like these sites are my friends.   I’m not talking about facebook or social media, where I might engage with people I know.  I’m talking about blogs.  There’s no connection, just consumption and craving.  This is another thing that I don’t really want to change, but I believe I will feel much better once I do.  Can I start tomorrow?  Always tomorrow, never today.  Two obvious and wonderful substitutes are reading  and meditating.

Implementation.  One day at a time, literally.  I don’t get on the computer on Friday nights now, because I don’t use the computer on Shabbat.  I can read or meditate rather than surfing on one more night a week.  And then another, and then another.  And then I’ll hold steady.

Okay, that’s enough.  Those last two are sufficiently pinching.  I had one more thought about intentions, though.  I am pleased that there are some intentions that I don’t have, which suggests areas in my life in which I think things are going pretty well.  I am so glad to realize that there are big swaths of contentment, sufficiency, good-enough-ness.  One of the rules in one of the time management class sessions was “You must allow yourself to celebrate your wins.”  I am very grateful that this process of intention setting has brought my attention to some wins and helped me see what to celebrate.  I wish the same for all of you.