Words on Wisdom - Excerpt from November 2010 Newsletter

Hello dear students!

Before we get started, I'd like to say a sincere thanks to everyone who contributed to our first Stretch To Recovery pledge drive! The difference your donations make is more than a drop in the bucket for this young non-profit program. We hope you will continue to help us by spreading the word. (You can still donate - every dollar helps us offer Pilates to someone with cancer. Thank you! stretchtorecovery.org.) See below for more information about the program.

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Now, to begin, I should first offer a brief forewarning: I almost got absolutely carried away with the quotes at the top of the newsletter this month. A bit like the persistent, nagging autumn-time fly that's been hanging around the studio, an unwieldy number of exhortations have been orbiting my attempts to get started this month. "Resistance is futile" comes unfortunately to mind, but it pretty much says what I now know. You will have to bear with me. Hopefully we'll come out on the other side with something coherent or at least mildly motivating. You never know. We'll hope for the best.

Here they are:

From a friend of mine who got it from who knows where:

"A worry is a prayer for something you don't want to happen."

From The Diamond Cutter - Geshe Michael Roach:

"- There's no word in Tibetan for "guilt." The closest thing is "intelligent regret that decides to do things differently.""

From Stanford University Commencement 2005 - Steve Jobs:

"For the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something...almost everything -- all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure -- these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose."

Put together they make me think of the ubiquitous - often ambiguous and sometimes lightly frustrating - advice of it's the journey that counts not the destination or as the Buddha said, "It's better to travel well than arrive."

No doubt you've read those words here in some form or other if not exactly. Honestly, until recently I haven't had a truly deep understanding of what they mean. I've always given them the "Yes. Right, of course. I know" shrug off. However, my ruminations as of late lead me to believe that wisdom really does necessitate age - at least the accumulation of experiences - hence I seem to be making progress.

Today, in the studio, I noticed every face that came in. I noticed the words the teachers spoke, how they cued and how they touched or guided their students. I noticed the satisfaction as students left and my feelings of gratitude that they made it to practice today. I spoke to a student about how she felt her abs for days and days after her last session and to another about how she uses her shovel. I noticed that the big picture does not exist without all the small pixels that give it color, form, texture and depth. I noticed that no matter what my goals are, being where I was today, saying the things I said, listening, guiding, questioning even feeling disappointed and unsure was perfect.

I feel as if I've finally passed some threshold -- cosmic, astrological or otherwise -- in my life that makes me really know the value of right now. Finally the "there" at the end does not seem as important. Like my son Charlie says "Kablam!" it just happened. But as with injury, rarely does it just happen. More accurately, injury or in this case lasting revelations come over the course of many years. So, older and wiser? Yes, I think so. Sometimes.

I have been a fool often enough in 34 years. Do you know anything about that? Growing up I mostly believed my parents' forewarnings and that they knew what they were talking about - at least I told myself and them I did. That is until I knew better. Because how can you avoid that feeling of knowing? In retrospect, the feeling of the unavoidable mistake - the necessary evil. And besides, being told I didn't know often felt like a challenge.

I've said things I wished I hadn't, lost sleep over ridiculous things of one color or another, suffered nightmares, slammed doors, thrown things, lost friendships, tried to find love in the wrong places, been mean on purpose, woken up moody, lied, jumped into things too quickly, said things before thinking them through and much, much more.

When my parents told me "slow down, don't be in such a hurry, believe in yourself, family is important, follow your heart" and "it's not about where you get but how you get there" cursory impact was the most they could hope for. It turns out they weren't just vomiting seemingly useless parental garbage. Holy cow! They actually knew what they were talking about! (Perhaps there is hope that Charlie will have this revelation, too?)

When we talk about the importance of practice, devoted and meaningful practice, this is what it really means. Our attention to the practicing itself rather than the goal we are trying to reach is the heart of practice. In yoga last night, our teacher Anne talked about relishing the practice. Wouldn't that be nice? Can we relish practicing a teaser or roll-up knowing we may never get there? If so, then we practice for the sake of practice, which becomes motivation in and of itself. This leads to dedication and devotion no matter what other forces are at work.

Can we rest comfortably in the presence of past mistakes while deeply valuing just who and what we are capable of in moment without expectation of what's to come? Isn't this what they mean when they say enjoy the journey?

Perhaps in a very naive way I think I've grown to appreciate my multitude of missteps and ultimately incurable imperfections. After all, there is no escaping them. It's kind of like watching a B movie, one you can't help but love. And it all feels really good. It feels real. It makes me want nothing more but to continue to do it.

In this month of Thanksgiving, I hope that you are able to notice from time to time the tiny pixels, the small invaluable moments that are the larger picture: a deep breathe taken while in a challenging exercise; the realization that your shoulders feel more connected to your back; the feeling of energy as you leave the studio; the voice of your teacher as he or she gives you encouragement or insight. To these things let us offer thanks and gratitude and see if we can begin to feel what it means to enjoy the journey fully.
May you enjoy every moment of it, especially when it's not what or how you would prefer it to be. :)

With gratitude,
Chantill