An Article I Read Today

This article has been copied verbatim from http://www.elephantjournal.com/2013/06/i-certainly-dont-want-to-teach-you-yoga/. Please check it out and give your love and support. This is one of the most breathtaking and loveliest articles about yoga I've ever read, so I invite you to join me in sharing a spirit of love and goodwill. Enjoy:

 

I like people—I love people—but on certain days, I don’t want to see people, and today I don’t want to teach yoga.

I wouldn’t say I’m a complete introvert. But on certain days,

I want to be under something soft.

I want to observe and I want only to listen.

I love you, I do,

But on certain days

I don’t want to touch you,

I don’t want to talk to you,

I don’t even really want to see you and

I certainly don’t want to teach you yoga.

When I started teaching, this freedom to hide, to crawl under, slide behind, to take the back door, side door, in and out—anything but the front door—all changed.
On days I want to hide, I have to show up. I have to squeeze into something relatively small and tight. I have to step into a room with an entire wall of mirrors and turn the temperature up high so that what is small and tight becomes smaller and tighter.
I have to arrive not fashionably late but 30 minutes early—the first to arrive at the party I don’t even want to be at. I have to arrive early, not as an anonymous guest or a friend of a friend, but a generous host.
See, my job is to make sure everything is ready. The room is ready, the lights are ready, the temperature is ready, the props are ready and then I have to stand by the entrance way and find a way to smile and greet all those people I might not want to see today because I am a yoga teacher and… yoga is about connecting.
And when I see the brunette with the high pony who walked out on me in the middle of savasana last Sunday, I will greet her just the same as the rest. I will greet her and I will stand tall and breathe when I do it because, if I’m going to lead a group of students through a series of backbends, I better learn to stand tall and offer you a hair elastic band even though you made me cry because I am a yoga teacher and… yoga is about connecting even in the unpleasant moments. 
And when I walk into a room with an entire wall of mirrors I will look into my own eyes when I talk about drishti. I will look into my own eyes even when I ate chocolate cake for breakfast and skipped meditation to look up all my ex-boyfriends and all my ex-boyfriends girlfriends on Facebook because I am a yoga teacher and… yoga is an honest practice.
And when you lift your foot higher than it needs to be in tree, I will find my vrksanana. I will keep my left toes on the earth and my hip-bones square to the mirror and I will connect to what is beneath me even though everything feels like water because I am a yoga teacher and… yoga is finding the courage to lead, even when you want to follow.
And when I see your hips lifted in child’s pose, I will offer you an adjustment. I will place my palms on your low back on an inhale and I will press down on an exhale. I will sync my breath with yours, your breath with mine, and I will be taken out of my own silly cycle of too many thoughts for a minute because I am a yoga teacher and… yoga is about something bigger than the physical body.
And after we finish Kapalabhati I will invite you to seal your practice. And when you seal your practice, I will seal mine by thanking the earth for every one of you. And I will send you love and I will send a little more to you, brunette with the high pony because I am a yoga teacher and… yoga is about letting go.
And when I walk out the door and leave you in savasana, I will resist the urge to check my phone within the first 30 seconds. And when I’m cold and I wrap myself in a blue towel, I will resist the urge to put the towel over my my whole head. I will resist the urge to run after sharing something vulnerable. I will instead drape the towel over my shoulders and I will wear it more like a blue cape and I will invite you to sit and have tea with me because I am a yoga teacher and… yoga is a courageous practice.
And when you sit with me and tell me that class was special I will resist the urge to deflect the comment by complimenting you on your very exciting pink tank-top. I will meet your gaze and because my pores are wide open. I will allow the gratitude to enter every cell of my body because, as much as yoga is about giving… yoga is about learning to receive.
And after I hear you, I will stand there in a blue-towel cape, a little bit proud. Because after 60 minutes of teaching I will see each student and notice the difference in them from when they first came in.
I will see them and I will become less aware of what is small and tight and stuck to me and more of aware of what is big and round and bigger than me and I will be reminded that… this practice isn’t about me.

As as soon as I’m reminded of this, I want to disappear

A little less.

Did I Forget To Mention...?

So...I left the States on January 11, 2013 to go on an 11-country-in-11-month mission trip called The World Race. I'm currently in Month 6 and it has been AWESOME.

However, in the midst of the AWESOME, I left one very important detail out of my life: you.

I have to admit something that is quite painful, and I'm quite ashamed of it....

I've been cheating on you.

I've been blogging on another site.

But, wait! There is a very good and reasonable explanation of my behavior!

You see, while on the World Race we are required to blog at least two times a week (or as much as we can if we don't have accessible internet). So it's really not my fault! I will return to you when I come home...in December. But it's really not that long! You haven't really missed me that much! And, if you have, you can access all my adulteress (and awesome) blogging at http://andimoore.theworldrace.org, as well as check out some photos form my adventures.

I really do hope you've missed me, however, and I hope you'll forgive the absence, as well as head on over to that site to show your support there.

Blessings!
Andi

 

the face of someone who still loves you...

Sometimes Scars Don't Heal Perfectly

I think I'm traumatized. I really do. Watching my new favorite show of the moment, Grey's Anatomy, there was a scene with an elderly couple. The wife had a brain tumor that needed surgery. She signed Do Not Resuscitate forms in case the surgery went awry and she came out on permanent life support. Before she went under, she kissed her husband and said "Goodbye, Darling," to which he responded, "Goodbye, Love," knowing that they would just say hello again afterwards. The surgery went fine, but due to her age and frail body, her heart stopped anyway. He begged the doctors to do something, but they couldn't...because of the DNR. He panicked and started giving her CPR himself.  And I just sobbed like a little girl whose puppy had just been killed.  Sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

I lived with my mom and my grandmother (along with my brother and my aunt) for about 10 years. We moved back home, moved in with my grandma and aunt, when my mom and stepdad divorced.  I was almost 11.  My grandmother loved me very, very much. She would take me to karate classes in the evenings and watch my training, telling everyone within earshot how proud she was of me, and how beautiful she thought I was. Sometimes she would be the one to take me to school, or to pick me up from soccer practice. She would let me sit next to her at church, and the sound of her singing hymns like Because He Lives is something I will never, ever forget. She always told me she loved me and was proud of me. Always. She never neglected one moment, one chance to make me feel special and important.

I loved her. I loved her in a way that is nearly indescribable. She was the best woman I've ever known. Best in every way.

I left for college in the fall of 2003. It was the first time I lived away from anyone in my family; it was the first time I lived on my own.  I loved it! Classes were fantastic, I made fast friends, and my program was everything I wanted it to be. And the following spring I had an incredible opportunity to go with the Baptist Student Union on a mission trip during spring break to Panama City Beach, Florida- college's spring break capitol city.

It was an incredible start to the week. And my birthday was that week, too! I woke up that morning, and all the staff and students participating in the mission sang to me. What a great day! After the morning pancake breakfast we served to students off the streets, I spent the day fellowshipping and resting, preparing for the work that we did at night- walking around, having conversations with people, building relationships, praying, and giving drunk college kids rides so they wouldn't have to pay for a cab or attempt to drive somewhere on their own. About 30 minutes before we were supposed to head into town- the night of my birthday- I got a phone call from a family member:

"Andrea. Your grandmother had a heart attack. She's in the emergency room." And then he hung up.  My heart stopped, too. I tried to call back repeatedly...no one answered. We were at a church, just having prayed in preparation for our work. I was in the hallway.  I remember falling back against a wall and sinking down to the ground...hyperventilating....weeping. I was alone. I was states away from my family, from my grandmother who had practically raised me through adolescence. And I couldn't get hold of anyone for more information.

My campus minister, Jon, came into the hallway to see what had happened. I just cried and cried and cried while he prayed for her, and for me. And then, because we still had a job to do, everyone left. But me. I stayed in that hallway and cried until I fell asleep. I just cried myself into exhaustion.

Everything else was a blur. At some point, someone called me to let me know she was stable. I came home from the mission trip when the week was over. Sometime that semester, my roommate Tagan drove me the four hours home so I could lay in her lap and listen to her talk for just 2 hours before we had to come back to school. She was scheduled for open heart surgery the next day and the doctors couldn't tell us if she was going to make it or not. She did, but had to stay in the hospital, pretty permanently. I finished the semester and came home to spend my summer sleeping next to my grandmother every night in the hospital, curled up as best I could on a chair. Sometimes when the nurses would come in early in the mornings to give her food and medicine, I would hear her telling them to please bring in an extra bag of cinnamon teddy grahams, because she knew I liked them. And if they couldn't, she would just hide hers in the top dresser drawer so she could surprise me later. I remember opening that drawer one day and there must have been 20 or 30 little bags of cinnamon teddy grahams in there. She loved me.

She got to come home for a bit that summer. She was home for a day and a half. One night. She taught me to cook fried chicken and broccoli cheddar rice. I slept on the couch in the living room, because she had to sleep in the chair, and we didn't want her to have to sleep alone. She had another heart attack that night.

...It took me until just last fall to step into a kitchen again. 

She went back to the hospital after that... and never came home. She stayed in that hospital for quite awhile. She went to a nursing home for 2 weeks, and then on to a different hospital.

And then the time came when I had to go back to school. It was a Wednesday. I went to see her one more time, and she was sitting up in her bed, surrounded by her whole family, talking and laughing, and making jokes. She hugged me and told me she loved me very much, and was proud of me. Then I left.

I got a phone call from my mom that Sunday morning, early. As soon as I answered the phone, I knew.  She was gone.  My whole family was there in the hospital, but I was 5 hours away at school. And all alone.

I came back home for the funeral, where I sat in disbelief while people who knew and loved my grandmother filed past me, patting me and whispering words of condolence with looks of pity and sadness on their faces.

I don't think I ever got over it.

It's been 8 years.

...I think I'm traumatized. I really do.

Since my grandmother died, I have a genuine fear of elderly people. I'm afraid at any moment they'll collapse, or have a heart attack, or forget who their loved ones are.  The nursing homes that I frequently volunteered at in my youth suddenly became havens of grief and terror for me.  I remember one summer I was working at a Christian camp in North Carolina and I was helping to oversee some of the mission work a few youth groups were doing in the area. I went with my supervisor to visit a group at a nursing home. I didn't even make it to the front door before collapsing into hot, horrible tears. I had to escape back to the car and wait for my supervisor to finish.

It's been that way since her funeral.

And watching this stupid Grey's Anatomy episode, seeing an elderly man begging his dying wife to come back to him just wrecked me.

I'm not even sure why I started writing this. Maybe it's cathartic or therapeutic in some way. Maybe it's just to make sure I never forget how truly lovely my grandmother was. I often think about what she might think of my current lifestyle, or the choices I have made or am making. I imagine things she might say to me, to encourage me on my path, or to help nudge me in the right direction when I know I'm not heading that way. I dream about what she would say to me on my wedding day, when she sees me all in white, beaming and eager to run down the aisle toward a new life.

But the reality always comes back. And sometimes scars don't always heal perfectly.

I'm sure I'm leaving some things unsaid. I'm not even positive I have the order of events perfectly correct. What I do know is that I was lucky and blessed enough to know Joan Eloise Harris for 20 years. I got to listen to her laugh, I got to learn from her wisdom, I got to feel her warm embrace.

And I'm grateful.

This was my grandmother and me at my high school graduation.

Yes, I realize I was blonde.

But just look at her smile.

She was extraordinary.

Listen Up!

Ok. I realize I "missed" a day. But my best friend, who is getting married SATURDAY, came into town and it has been wedding-preparing-and-planning-and-also-bachelorette-party-planning-and-preparing literally non-stop since she arrived. Bed times at 1 am, wake-up times at 7 am. Not including work, gym time, working out, or buying more stuff for the wedding.

Makes for a really rough time.

So gimme a break!

Short And Sweet

Again, I know it says I skipped a day, but it's just 1:06 am, and I haven't been to bed yet. Unfortunately.

I woke up this morning at 7:32 WITHOUT an alarm, excited and eager for the day to begin. Totes hit the gym and spent some quiet time with the Lord before a long, long, sloooow day at work, and then some wedding prep and crocheting, followed by a bonfire with friends and a spontaneous trip to a tiny, creepy, sketchy, haunted town in Kentucky. I'm trying to embrace more spontaneity in my life. And it was a blast, this trip.  But I'm EXHAUSTED.

And 7 am comes awfully early when you don't get to bed at a decent hour.

So what do I do about not just getting into bed early, but also fitting in my blogging every day? Skip out on opportunities to spend time with friends? Skip out on time at the gym? Skip out on time with the Lord? Don't go to work?

Nope.

Final answer? Blog early, be spontaneous, but give yourself a curfew.

My Best Friend Is Home!

She really is!

Sarah has finally come back home to Richmond, in preparation for her wedding this coming weekend. She came to church and team interpreted with me (she's amazing), we went to lunch with her fiance and his mom, and then spent the whole day knocking about town, shopping for last-minute wedding items, and generally enjoying time together.

I then had the opportunity to bless her, Bryan (the groom), and Lorna (the groom's mommy) with a night out to the cinema, just to get away from wedding planning stress, and enjoy an evening away.

We went to see The Watch, the new Ben Stiller/Vince Vaughn/Jonah Hill movie. And while there were some really hilarious moments in which I laughed inappropriately too loud, there were A LOT of incredibly inappropriate moments. Moments that were incredibly unnecessary to the story. And sometimes to the scene.  There was a whole 2 minutes when Lorna and I looked at each other in disgust, red-faced, awkward, and uncomfortable, while Sarah stared at me in shock that I would choose a movie so closely related to pornography. That's right. Pornography. Completely inappropriate for a movie that you might even think about taking your family to see, let alone a bride and groom who are preparing for their 6-day-away wedding.

Sheesh.

But then the moment passed, laughter resumed, and the movie concluded in a ridiculous twist-of-plot-I-can't-believe-what-I'm-seeing-and-not-necessarily-in-a-good-way kind of finale.

And yet I don't care. Because we had a great time! And she's home for the week. The last week she'll be a single woman. And then she'll be married! To a man who loves and adores her, and treats her with more respect and adoration than anyone I've ever known.

Many prayers, hopes, wishes, and blessings for the upcoming nuptials, and their fairy-tale marriage directly after!

And she's pretty, too.

Oldie But A Goodie

I watched the Newsies today, for the first time in years. I first experienced this movie in the living room of my best friend Sarah's house. Her dad played the dulcimer and loved this movie. Not sure what the dulcimer reference is for, but I feel it's important in some way.

The first time I saw the film, I didn't catch a lot of the references, and as an under-traveled middle school student, I couldn't understand a lot of the regional dialects that were happening. So I missed a lot of the dialogue. But the singing was great, the dancing was great, and hey! a musical about newspapers! Whoop whoop!

I found the dvd in the $5 bin at Walmart a few months ago, and just haven't had the time to watch it. Boy, was the wait worth it! I caught very reference, understood all the dialects, and as a seasoned dancer myself now- the choreography was even more amazing!

This time around, however, I wasn't as impressed with the singing. It was a little sub-par for a musical, if you ask me. But I'm used to seeing stage shows where the principal characters are always singer-actors, as opposed to this film, which cast mainly actor-singers (and sometimes just actors who had been asked to sing) as the principals. But I really liked that all the singing was done by the actors themselves, and not voice-overs. I also really liked that, because most of the actors were not professional singers, I could get more into the characters and the relationships they had with each other. There was a much stronger emphasis on character development and storytelling via singing, rather than simply sounding out lovely music.

And how can I not say anything about Christian Bale? Geez Louise.  Tolerable singer, tolerable dancer, PHENOMENAL actor. Wow. He had such incredible charisma even back when he was a teenager. He just draws you into his performance. We should have all known what was in store for him.

It was also interesting to re-visit this movie after having seen Ann Margaret in Grumpy Old Men. She is lovely! And a real performer. So classy.

Lastly, I just want to take a moment and praise Robert Duvall. Wow! What a character actor! His little mannerisms, his sounding out the "calculator" when he was attempting to figure out salaries, his subtle hints at hypochondria- were just all amazing! I was completely floored by his performance.

And to think- as a 12-year-old I just thought he was a weird guy. Huh.