Picking Blueberries, Austerlitz, New York, 1957

Mary Oliver

Once, in summer,
in the blueberries,
I fell asleep, and woke
when a deer stumbled against me.

I guess
she was so busy with her own happiness
she had grown careless
and was just wandering along

listening
to the wind as she leaned down
to lip up the sweetness.
So, there we were

with nothing between us
but a few leaves, and wind’s
glossy voice
shouting instructions.

The deer
backed away finally
and flung up her white tail
and went floating off toward the trees–

but the moment she did that
was so wide and so deep
it has lasted to this day;
I have only to think of her–

the flower of her amazement
and the stalled breath of her curiosity,
and even the damp touch of her solicitude
before she took flight–

to be absent again from this world
and alive, again, in another
for thirty years
sleepy and amazed,

rising out of the rough weeds,
listening and looking.
Beautiful girl,
where are you?

Winging It

This past week has been discouraging. I’m six months into my job (and in Cleveland), and still I don’t have a clear sense of what I’m supposed to do. Impostor syndrome burrows deeply into the core of partially-legitimate questions about my competence. The familiar, stinging sound of the Peter principle rings in my ears: “We rise only to the level of our incompetence.”

Over coffee this morning with a colleague, I was reminded that I’m not alone in figuring it out. She’s been in her current position a few months more than I and has just recently gotten a sense of what she’s supposed to do and where she’s headed. The words of my dear friend Sarah returned to me from more than a year ago: “None of us know what we’re doing. We’re all just winging it.”

She’s probably right. And, I might add: those who don’t feel they’re winging it are probably just good at lying to themselves. (Or maybe not. No reason to hate on the folks who have it ‘all figured out’.)

Regardless, the winging it narrative is one I plan to keep in my pocket with me today. Using narratives for good rather than creating stories for self-sabotage: I like the sound of that!

Powerful Flow in the Face of Cold Weather

It’s officially cold. I don’t know who declares it “official,” but somewhere, someone has made the announcement, and, damn, has the temperature dropped. In the face of the frigid winter air, I taught a fun, powerful flow recently that I’ll share with all you yogis keeping score at home. Enjoy!

Opening breath work + meditation

Twisted seated flow
Table top + opposite arm and leg extensions
Plank (hold) + core work
Down dog

Sun A’s x 3-4

Chair + airplane arm flow
Warrior I (R)
Vinyasa + repeat (L)

Chair + twists (both sides)
Warrior I (R)
Humble warrior
Vinyasa + repeat (L)

Low crescent/”Runner’s lunge” on tented fingers (R)
Lightning bolt
Crescent
Core twist flow (reach (R) fingertips back, (L) fingertips forward)
Warrior II
Reverse warrior
Side angle
Triangle
Vinyasa + repeat (L)

Child’s or inversion practice

Chair + airplane arm flow
Chair twist (R) + step back
Crescent twist (R)
Crescent
Core twist flow
Warrior II
Dancing warrior
Balancing half moon (R)
Warrior II
Straddle fold + shoulder opener
Skandasana + pivot forward (R)
Forward fold + variations
Chair + repeat (L)

Plank (hold) + core work
Fallen triangle
Lizard lunge (R) + variations
Forearm plank
Dolphin

Eagle or tree (balancing on (R) first)
Warrior III
Revolved half moon
Standing split
Forward fold + repeat (L)

Garland squat
Crow
Bridge x 2-3
Supine butterfly
Supine twists
Happy baby
Waterfall or shoulder stand

Svasana

Feeling Grateful

Today I feel grateful for the innumerable ways in which yoga has shaped who I am and how I show up in the world.

I’ve recently struggled with my dedication to yoga. Feeling pressure to look a certain way, I’ve tried convincing myself that I should be doing other things with my body and my time — like going to the gym, lifting weights, running. Sure, those things are important, and I do hope to commit to them more frequently. But I’d also like to commit myself to feeling no guilt about using the physical practice of yoga as a way to cleanse and strengthen my body. It’s a spiritual practice, yes, but yoga is rooted in physicality. No more shame about that.

Year-End Reflection

The end of each December brings a certain pressure to “conclude” one chapter before turning the page on another. Since childhood I’ve been suspicious about the supposedly magical moment between 11:59pm on December 31 and 12:00am on January 1 that signals something new. Isn’t this moment just like any other? The transition from December exhale to January inhale nothing more than the exhales and inhales I take at my desk here and now?

Still, if nothing else, the New Year seems to cultivate a communal sense of transition. It offers space to reflect on our recent past and look ahead, with new insight, to the future. This sort of reflective thinking isn’t en vogue throughout the year, so I’ll take any opportunity to engage with it — even a contrived one — as a good thing.

In the coming days I plan to spend some time reflecting on simple questions that I hope will stimulate personal growth. Hell, maybe it’ll even be sort of fun. Here are some of the questions I look forward to answering.

  1. Describe three to five “good” things that happened this year. Describe three to five not-so-good things that happened this year. Do you notice any patterns?
  2. Of what joyful activities in your life have you been deprived? In what less-than-joyful activities have you indulged? Why?
  3. Describe a situation in which your words or actions reflected the values of the person you aspire to be. Describe a situation in which your words or actions did not reflect the values of the person you aspire to be.
  4. Describe an experience in which you played it safe when you could or should have taken a risk. Describe an experience in which you took a risk when you could or should have played it safe.
  5. What is the future you feel won’t happen if you don’t chase it? Personally? Professionally?
  6. What are three to five traits you’ve discovered or rediscovered about yourself that you like? That you don’t like?
  7. BONUS: Write a thank you letter to someone who has made a different in your life this year.

Are you taking time to reflect this year? What questions do you plan to ask yourself? Share them in the comments below!

Peace and love,
Dan

Snowy Night

Mary Oliver

Last night, an owl
in the blue dark
tossed
an indeterminate number
of carefully shaped sounds into
the world, in which,
a quarter of a mile away, I happened
to be standing.
I couldn’t tell
which one it was –
the barred or the great-horned
ship of the air –
it was that distant. But, anyway,
aren’t there moments
that are better than knowing something,
and sweeter? Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness. I suppose
if this were someone else’s story
they would have insisted on knowing
whatever is knowable – would have hurried
over the fields
to name it – the owl, I mean.
But it’s mine, this poem of the night,
and I just stood there, listening and holding out
my hands to the soft glitter
falling through the air. I love this world,
but not for its answers.
And I wish good luck to the owl,
whatever its name –
and I wish great welcome to the snow,
whatever its severe and comfortless
and beautiful meaning.

Buck Moon

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While inviting folks out of svasana during last night’s Deep Stretch Vinyasa class, I had the pleasure of reading Mary Oliver’s Buck Moon–From the Field Guide to Insects. It was the perfect end to a lovely class centered around moon salutations, groundedness, and deepening into hip openers.

**

Eighty-eight thousand six-hundred
different species in North America. In the trees, the grasses
around us. Maybe more, maybe
several million on each acre of earth. This one
as well as any other. Where you are standing
at dusk. Where the moon
appears to be climbing the eastern sky. Where the wind
seems to be traveling through the trees, and the frogs
are content in their black ponds or else
why do they sing? Where you feel
a power that is not you but flows
into you like a river. Where you lie down and breathe
the sweet honey of the grass and count
the stars; where you fall asleep listening
to the simple chords repeated, repeated.
Where, resting, you feel
the perfection, the rising, the happiness
of their dark wings.

Teaching LOTS in Early November

Hello, friends! I’m excited to announce that I’ll be teaching three classes during the first week of November. Such a great way to welcome a month of giving thanks.

Here’s a peak at my schedule that week:

The leaves dancing whimsically toward their final rest on the earth signals continuous change and a shift in energy toward the cooler, darker months of winter. I look forward to welcoming this these changes with you, as we build solar energy together (and perhaps some lunar energy as well!).

See you on the mat!

For Women Who Are ‘Difficult’ to Love

Warsan Shire

you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him traveling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.

Another Birthday

Another birthday. Where did this year go? My energy is stretched in different directions today, hoping to “use” this day for something “productive.” Maybe I should reflect on the past year: What went well? What didn’t? Or maybe I should set goals for the next: How can I be better? What can I improve?

As I slump into my desk chair, weighed down by a mild mid-afternoon crash, all I want is to be. No looking back. No forecasting. Just be here. Present. Fully me in this moment, and feeling grateful for the sun streaming through the windows, warming my skin. (I’ve missed autumn in Ohio.) Grateful for Sarah’s visit this afternoon filled with cupcakes and gossip, laughter and poignancy. For the millions (literally millions) of processes in this universe that had to function perfectly in order for me to be alive. Right now, in this very breath. In this very moment.