Beyond Accidental Grace

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I’m as acquainted as the next potato head with accidental grace: green lights on the way to work, finding one pair of clean underwear when the washer is broken and every other item of clothing in the universe is dirty (that’s this morning), a note from a friend I haven’t heard from in twelve years.
And to be clear, I don’t believe in accidents. I use the word the same way you do in music, in which accidental notes are outside the key in which the song is written. They’re surprises.  Their strangeness draws attention.
Something happens to all of this with yoga. Something about the daily focus and purposeful open-heartedness of yoga is spreading grace all over the place. I’m sure of it: This morning the custodian in my office building stopped to tell me he had to put his dog down last week, and he’s been crying ever since. I hardly know Bruce, but I have watched little Duke follow Bruce’s mop around this building for years. It was a wonderful moment of … well, of grace, I think, listening to his love pour out like that.
The guy who tried to fix my washer yesterday charged me almost nothing, because he felt he could have discovered its death knell within five minutes if he’d been more aware. More aware? This is not your average repair guy behavior.
And five minutes ago, after I started writing this, a woman came into my clinic. She is the daughter of Edna, a great friend of mine who passed away at Christmas. I miss Edna every day. Suzie and I chatted. After she left, I found a present in my back room. It was a necklace of Edna’s. My favorite. I have no idea how she knew it was my favorite, and she can’t possibly know how much this gift means to my skin. That’s grace, isn’t it?
It’s as though these accidental notes are showing up so often that they’re no longer accidents. It’s as though the music has changed key altogether.
Has this happened to you with yoga? Has it changed the music you’re sending out? Or the music you’re getting back from the world? I’d really love to hear.
Thanks to Bruce. Thanks to Mike, the repair guy. Thanks to Suzie, and to her mother Edna.  Thanks to yoga for its open-heartedness, and thanks to you for the conversation,
Kristin
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (about All Things Wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario. Join her on Facebook at Dr.Kristin Shepherd, on the net at kristinshepherd.ca, or on Twitter at kristinwonders.
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Spectacular Change

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I’m obsessed with menopause.  
Hot flashes, cataclysmic hormonal shifts, wonky sleep patterns, periods run amok before periods gone altogether – I feel I’m on the verge of something spectacular.
  
My cycles became iffy for a time in my early 30s and I thought, “This is it! Here it comes! I am entering the Wise Woman phase of my life!” I bought books, questioned older friends and strangers.  I anticipated great things.
15 years later I’m still waiting.
A woman had a hot flash in my clinic today.  I asked her if I could feel her skin.  
She said, “Sure, feel the inside of my elbows, feel my kneecaps.  Sweat just pours from places that have no sweat glands as far as I know.”
Another woman in my clinic calls them power surges.  She looks like she’s about to give birth to the sun when she’s surging.  How could I not be enthralled?
This transition is seen by so many women as a negative thing.  I keep wondering why it’s so different than what we feel as we progress in yoga.  Some days are great, some awful.  There are months when my hamstrings have tight flashes every single day.  Days when I can’t breathe properly, days when I can’t focus to save my life.  And still I love yoga.
I hope to love my body enough to experience menopause with wonder and admiration.  
What are your thoughts? Did you love it?  Not?  Do you look forward to it?  Not?  Has yoga changed the way you experience menopause?  Are you a man?  In which case, are you still reading this?  (In which case, speaking for all women, we love you.)
Thanks to our bodies for growth and (sometimes) wild transitions.  Thanks to yoga for the same thing, and thanks to you, as always, for the conversation,
kristin
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“The quality of my life is determined by the quality of my questions.”

I love that quote for a million reasons.

1. Curious people are alive. This is what i want to be.

2. I can easily fall into asking questions like, “Why can’t you take the garbage out this week? Why is it only Monday? Why isn’t my career happening faster? Why is this awful thing happening to me/my kid/my best friend/Pakistan?

These are questions that leave me humming in a lousy place.

3. I appreciate the reminder to choose my questions carefully.

Here are some of the questions that serve me well:

What matters most to me at this point in my life?

Can I trust that I am enough, as is, to create the kind of life I want?

Do I trust in a beneficent universe or not?

Am i choosing this relationship/work/path forward out of love or fear?

What are the questions that serve you well? I’d love to hear.

Thanks, as always, for the conversation,

kristin

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Flight Plans

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It’s back-to-school time. The leaves are turning, and the geese are gathering on the beach to discuss flight plans for the fall.  
I saw my son off this morning. At 21 years old, he’s off to Montreal to theatre school, and he has never been happier. But here I am, like I was when he was 4, trying not to cry when I wrap my arms around him at the front door.  
Autumn. It’s such a time for endings and beginnings. Bare feet gone soon. Sun sinking earlier and earlier. Crisp mornings. 
But, oh, back to school is such a time of excitement, too! Twenty years out of school and I still ache to buy pens, fresh paper, and new shoes in the fall. I ache for new adventures.
Do you ache for that? I wonder, sometimes, whether adults stop listening to the urge to take flight, whether we dig our feet into the day to day bog of our lives and don’t feel our own wings itching.
During my practice today, I focused on doing exactly what I felt called to do by my body and heart, rather than hanging on to yesterday’s wonderful practice (don’t leave, don’t leave!) or just falling into habitual, stubborn stupor (downward dog #4, downward dog #5, blah, blah). It felt strange and a bit untethered, but I loved it.

As fall approaches, I want to listen for the call to new adventure. Yin yoga is calling. So is Anusara yoga, thanks in part to many of your e-mails. In the rest of my life, the call is so loud this year that I’m changing careers and homes. 

Ooooooh, the thrill is better than new shoes, better than pen and paper, better than the first day of grade 9.
Do you feel an urge to fly this time of year? A call to adventure? In yoga? In life? I’d love to hear.
Thanks to Adrian, my son, for following his own call. Thanks to yoga for providing a thousand new adventures. And thanks to you, always, for the conversation.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (about all things wonderful) in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on Facebook at Dr. Kristin Shepherd or on Twitter at kristinwonders. 

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A Beginner’s Love Letter To Yoga

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If I were to write a love letter to yoga today, it would go like this:
Dear Yoga,

I know, I know, we were just on the mat together, but there’s something I’d like to say before we meet again tomorrow.
We live in a world that loves to tell me what to do with my body. From parents to teachers to government to doctors and dentists and personal trainers to television to the backs of cereal boxes, for Pete’s sake.

Every day, someone tells me what and what not to eat (yes to quinoa, no to ice cream – thanks for that), when and when not to eat (every two hours, only when I’m hungry), what numbers I have to know (cholesterol, blood pressure, BMI), what behavior is acceptable (don’t sing on the subway), what I must buy to be attractive (that is so last year), what hours I must work to prove my worth (lots and lots), what performance I’ve got to give every day to be worthwhile to someone else (always on, always 100%).

None of this feels like me.

So, yoga, thanks for encouraging me to show up when it feels right, to do what feels wonderful and within my chosen limits (my choice!), to challenge myself when I care to, and to rest in Child’s Pose whenever I want. Thanks for encouraging and not demanding. Thanks for the joy you give back, whether I’m with you for five minutes or an hour and a half.

I love the way you make me laugh more easily, like myself more with every pose, and remind me with every practice of the beautiful, glowing-faced wonder I am.

Thanks for the way you make me feel like I just swallowed sunlight. I hope we’re together for as long as that sun shines,
Kristin
(Thanks to yoga for all of this, and thank you for the conversation, as always. I’ll bet you’d write a great love letter yourself.)
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (about All Things Wonderful) from North Bay, Ontario. Join her on Facebook at Dr. Kristin Shepherd or on Twitter at kristinwonders.

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Yoga Trolls

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The other day, my sister’s friend invited her to a different yoga studio for a class.

“I can’t do it”, said my sister. “I’d love to, but I’m not good enough. I suck.”

Fear shows up in funny ways. Tory pictures an entire class pointing at her and sneering.
This made me laugh for about four seconds. Then I realized that whenever a new challenge comes my way – going back to class after weeks away, trying a new kind of yoga, going to a different studio – my immediate, insane response is, “I can’t, I’m too fat.”
This is obviously absurd. There is no sign posted anywhere in yoga that says Stay Out If You Think You Are Pudgy.  Nor have I met a yoga mat that hasn’t welcomed my solid thighs. (Oh my god, the mats are too small for my lardy bum! I’ll have to put four of them together!)  Nor, come to think of it, have I ever encountered a yoga teacher who raises one eyebrow and says, “Oh, you think so, do you? If you were enlightened enough to be in my class, you’d be thin.  Now stop crying. You can come to my Class For The Fat and Unenlightened.”
Absurd, excessive, twisted, completely un-constructive, I know. But these are the trolls that leap up from under my bridge when I’m facing something new and scary. Or old and scary for that matter.
I like stating my fear out loud. It looks more ridiculous than ever that way. Gives it a loving kick in the head.
I suck. I’m too this, too that. Do you have a fear that yoga brings to light? Would you like to kick it in the head?
Thanks to yoga for showing me where and how I’d like to be more fearless, and thanks to you for the conversation.
Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, and speaker (about All Things Wonderful) from North Bay, Ontario.  Join her on Facebook at Dr. Kristin Shepherd or on Twitter at kristinwonders.

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Inner Teachers

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One of you wrote a kind note to me recently in which you encouraged me to discover my “inner teacher” during my home practice. This might involve veering off the straight path I’d been on. What a beautiful idea!

Originally, my home practice was basically whatever I remembered from class, in much the same order we do our asanas in class. Not much imagination involved.

All hell has broken loose, since. This morning I thought, I’ve got to reign this in a bit or I’ll never be able to go back to class. Today’s practice looked like this:

I’m in flannel pajamas, which are far more comfortable than my yoga clothes. I sing show tunes during my Sun Salutations. My secret desire (not so secret now, I guess) is to star in Big! Musicals! I picture some Famous! Broadway! Producer! driving down my very quiet street in Northern Ontario and hearing my voice Soaring! out the front windows, singing, Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better, from Annie Get Your Gun. It’s a tough fantasy to maintain given that I am terrified to sing in front of anyone but my dog. I maintain it nonetheless.

I put henna in my hair today for the first time. It’s mucky, it stinks, and the instructions say keep it on for hours, so I do my entire practice with a goopy head.

Toward the end of today’s practice, which includes some completely invented dance moves (in case that Producer needs a Dancer!, not just a Fabulous! Singer!), I find myself saying, “Oh, yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah”, with each forward bend and each spinal twist.  How did my practice become so loud?

Savasana, at the end of all this, is a quiet relief.

Is this my inner teacher at work? I don’t know. I understand that there is no mention of show tunes in The Upanishads, but something in my practice feels freer and more creative these days. Lighter.

Do you have inner teachers?  Are they serious? Funny? Creative? Are they dancers? Singers? (Do you want to do a musical together?)

Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, speaker, and workshop wonderwoman in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her at kristinshepherd.ca or on Facebook at Dr. Kristin Shepherd.

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Which Part of Me Is Leaping?

There’s this question that nags when I contemplate big changes.  By big i mean changing professions, life partners, countries to live in – the changes that affect me and everyone around me for a good long time.

The question that nags is: am i doing this because it is exactly what my heart wants most, or am i changing my outside world because i can’t find internal peace and satisfaction. Yikes.

I’d love to recommend a book by Michael A. Singer entitled The Untethered Soul: a journey beyond yourself.

In the book, Singer beautifully describes the brain battle that goes on in our heads day in and day out.  I should leave my job.  No i shouldn’t. But i want to. But it’s stable. But it’s boring. But it pays well.  What will Bob think?  God, i’m a flake.  But i’m happy overall.  Blah, blah, to blahfinity.

He suggests we personify this head noise as a roommate, in which case we’d kick that nut out within about two hours of listening to her insane, repetitive monologue.  That insane roommate is our mind.

He also suggests a simple, practical way to dissociate from that roommate and find the quiet, simple, loving centre of ourselves.

Every time your mind says, god, i don’t know if i can do it, i don’t think he’s the one for me, etc., your heart shuts down.  You can feel this.  It’s a tight-chest-and-jaw, fatiguing thing.  As soon as you feel that, leave your mind to duke it out. Don’t stop it (you can’t stop it), just leave it.

Take your energy to your centre – your heart, the observer, the witness of the battle.  Again, you can feel this.  You can breathe. Your heart, chest, and face are relaxed and open.  This removal of your energy from the mind shortens the battle by turning its power off.  It leaves you with a blissfully quiet head.  Do this a thousand times a day.

Finding the centre is the key.

If you have a method of finding that centre already – meditation, prayer, a cabin in the woods, a Buddha in your bathroom – go there.

If you don’t, and you’re looking for a method, consider the book.

Either way, don’t go to the insane roommate for advice on whether to leap. You won’t get a word in edgewise and you won’t come away any clearer.

Go to your heart.

Let me know what you think.

Thank you for the conversation,

kristin

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The Game

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We’ve been playing a game  all week. Maybe you’d like to play with us.

If you were stranded on a deserted island-it’s a beautiful island, great weather, great food somehow, great books, just no other people-and you could only do one yoga pose for the entire month, what would it be?

After much hand wringing and general hoopla, we’ve decided that Savasana is a freebie. You can do all the Savasana you want. And one other pose.

Another thing. In this game, you’ll be completely healthy at the end of the month. Flexible, strong, peaceful, and beautiful. So the pose you pick is just about the happiness it’ll give you, not about, “oh, god, if I don’t do the shoulder openers, I’ll look like Hulk Hogan by Friday” (no offense to Hulk).

Here’s what we’ve got so far:
My sister picks Upward Dog, because it looks so beautiful.
My lovely man says The Plow. He’s just gone back to it in class and it’s exciting to be able to do it for the first time in decades.
My friend Paul chooses Triangle Pose. I think he’s crazy, but free choice is a part of the game. (He did ask if we were allowed to come out of the pose at all, or whether we have to hold the pose for an entire month. The answer, with rolling eyes, is yes, you can come out of the pose.)
I will do Downward Dog. I love everything about it: the inversion, the use of my entire body, easily a month’s worth of interest.
And if we play again next month, I’ll pick handstand, because it makes me feel like a goddess.

And you? What pose? Why?

Hoho! I can hardly wait to hear.

Thanks to yoga for being so interesting, and so much fun, and thanks to you for the conversation.

Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, speaker, and workshop wonderwoman in North Bay, Ontario.  These games thrill her inordinately.  Join her on Facebook at Dr. Kristin Shepherd, on Twitter at kristinwonders, or at kristinshepherd.ca

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Teaching!

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Uh oh. Who would have guessed that 10 months into my yoga life, I’d lead a class?

Well, a small class. Three of us and a dog named Emma. At a cottage. I may not know what I’m doing when it comes to yoga, but neither did they, and we all felt certain we’d come to no harm. So we gathered on a deck looking over Big Marten Lake on a gloriously blue Saturday morning.

We started with a few Sun Salutations, followed by variations on Sun Salutations. We flowed gently from posture to posture, plank to Chattarunga to upward dog to downward dog. I gave them every tip I could remember (shoulder blades down, inner thighs rotating backward, rooting through hands and feet) and made up several extra.

More than once, Jenni said, don’t you mean my left leg forward? And isn’t it the right foot pivoting this time? (I am far more dyslexic than I imagined.) We moved onto slower poses, a ridiculous rendition of yin yoga – ridiculous given that I have not once attended a yin class.  I watch my lovely man do his poses at home and thought they’d be fun to try with my friends.
Class was a rousing success.

Until day two. During our Sun Salutations, neither Sue nor Jenni can move gently from plank to chattarunga. Not even the first time. Sue says, I don’t remember doing this yesterday. We did, I tell her. We did exactly the same thing.

“It didn’t hurt like this,” Jenni says.
“Hurt like what?” I ask.
“Like hell,” she says, “pointing to her chest and arms.  It hurts like absolute hell.”
“It’ll get better,” I tell them, hoping it’s true.

And through every Sun Salutation (and we only do five), they collapse like big bags of potatoes from plank to Chattarunga. Smack. Slam. Thud. Thwack. Bang. Crash. The new sounds of yoga. We laughed so hard I thought I’d blow a bhanda.

Great lessons from chattathwack yoga:

1.  Yeah for the shoulder and arm strength that comes with practice!!!!
2.  I adore sharing yoga. My only goal in leading the class was for them to want to do it again the following day. They did. Sort of.
3.  Yeah for real teachers, who know right from left, how to start slowly, and how to let us laugh.

Have you taught, those of you who aren’t teachers yet?  I’d love to hear about it.

Thanks to yoga, for fun on vacation, and thanks to you for the conversation.

Kristin Shepherd is a chiropractor, actor, speaker, and workshop wonderwoman in North Bay, Ontario.  Join her at kristinshepherd.ca or on Facebook at Dr. Kristin Shepherd.

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