If and When

My good FB buddy Lisa Hill is an ashtanga teacher(who is awol from her excellent blog) maintains the feed of Ashtanga Yoga Chicago over at Facebook with consistent and up to date Ashtanga news, teachings, and opinions. She recently posted this on the group feed and asked to start a dialogue/conversation. Here is my very personal opinion. Opinion, not ruling,or law, or edict. If you are a teacher, who no longer will practice or offer Mysore style & guided classes, please do provide a PSA to your students letting them know you quit Ashtanga. If you have are famous on youtube, snapchat, Instagram, and twitter for your asana demonstrations, instructional videos, or beautiful photos and have a ton of followers, do announce as well, because someone is going to ask where did you go? The rest of us? No matter how how heartfelt our blogging or our practice was and for how many years, and how bad the injuries, or how many awful Ashtangis you know, we should follow this sage advice offered by Peg Mulqueen on her feed not long ago:

Bin-yoga-mat

Oh, but you say, what about an abusive teacher or a studio that runs away with your money, or, or uh, I dunno. I’ll listen and thank you for the tip. but don’t blame it on Ashtanga, Ashtanga is not a person, or a disease, or an act of nature. it is a portion of your day where you sweat, breathe and try not to screw yourself.

48 thoughts on “If and When

  1. I’ll respectfully disagree here! I feel people should process however they like on public platforms. It’s up to me whether I read or engage. And for something as consuming as ashtanga, I think it’s understandable as many would reach out during the divorce phases as during the courtship & marriage.

    As far as blame goes, I’m think of that NY Times Amazon piece. It’s true the entity is not the same thing as the sum of its parts, but certain organizations and endeavors attract certain types of individuals and generate certain types of typical scenarios. Just one, small, personal example – in eleven years of being a DEVOTED gym rat I had not a single overuse injury or a nagging ache that kept me up at night. Never!πŸ˜‡

    Live and let live! Lol.

    • A halo??? Are you fucking kidding me??? Hahahahahaha! And I thought I was safe from your blowback because you would surely know you’d be in the youtube sensation who would be asked if she died or something if she did not tell people she quit. In all seriousness B, my entire point is that no one should consume or devote themselves to ashtanga in the manner that it feels like you married an entity that you become so over attached to- that you’d want to quit/walk out divorce in order to regain your identity. In this day and age it is a householder practice. Not to say that you cannot become a sanyasin or a traveling ambassador to the practice if you want to make that sacrifice. The body, like the sages say, can be a wonderful servant but it is a terrible master. As for injury, Lisa herself is an example of a person who decided to forge ahead with a modified practice that was nothing like the impressively crafted practice that she worked for so long and so hard to cultivate, but is still devoted to the limbs available to her. She feels genuine affection and has a relationship to the practice. I am pretty sure it is because she does not use ashtanga and asana as synonyms. I also thought I was quite clear about not implying that processing or announcing was against the rules of good behavior. I was saying that as a person who reads about the topic of ashtanga practice, If I don’t know you or follow you it becomes as redundant as when you read about strangers who became vegan, or quit being vegan, or stopped dieting, or smoking, or sleeping with strangers, or whatever other column appears as clickbait in faux news sites. Now use your skills to thread that halo on that emoji through a pair of horns Miss goody two shoes! xo >

      • Oh it wasn’t what I’d call “blowback”, just a comment πŸ™‚ I’m on a bus still. I’ve got time!

        But also, I was once obsessed, as were, by far, the vast majority of serious practitioners I’ve met. I can only think of two who weren’t. Two!

        You know I still like asana, and some of the bits on either end of their series.

        Sent from my iPhone

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      • Blowback sounds more fun than comment. I am someday going to write a post about the difference between a serious practitioner, and a practitioner with an advanced asana practice. Hope you see handsome Henry soon. >

      • By serious practitioner I meant anyone serious enough to consider themselves and ashtangi & would practice regularly, feel guilty when skipping practice and either would go to India or dream about going. Nothing to do with where in the series!

      • Then we’re on the same page. Just two?? Now that is worrisome. The passing of time and its effects on matter may mellow out some of the crazy hopefully. >

      • Ya…. two. I was not one of them! Interestingly, neither of those ladies burned out on it, like so many of the rest of us β€œformers”. Who knows what it’s like now though? Certainly not me. I was out of the studios and the India cycle for a long time before I stopped regular practice. I had to laugh when a friend of a friend got my email and contacted me for advice on going to Mysore. That’s like asking a four-years retired IT tech for information on the latest software incompatibilities.

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      • You weren’t?? Nooo, really? Hahahaha! Well those of us that love you, love all the parts. Even when you talk scary from far away and get me all worried. Straight talk might sound wild but honesty does not get along with crazy so I think you’re good. MUA!! >

      • πŸ™‚ I love you, Lady! Don’t mean to worry anyone, besides myself cause I’ve got good reason. My emotional cycles are… turbulent lately.

  2. kinda agree with Boodiba on this one… why can’t someone write about something as intense as leaving their yoga practice on their own FB page and/or blog? Sort of weird censorship otherwise.

    • They can, They can. I do not have hard data on this one, but for those of us who remain in the practice, very many of them read like the person broke free from a curse that the rest of us are to blind and obstinate to set ourselves free from. Nothing in this earthly existence is ideal or perfect. Maybe to me and maybe others it feels like when someone trash talks your favorite band if you are into music? Or if someone wrote about California residents, being crazy and foolish to still be living there right now. Or saying thank goodness I no longer live near Wall St. last Friday. I don’t want to censor their right to make fun of my taste in music, or criticize where I chose to live. I just don’t need to be notified I guess. >

      • I think I was responding to the graphic. Sort of shaming. But of course, you don’t have to read or be notified. And I didn’t move back to California because crazy and foolish πŸ˜‰

      • I see. Maybe it tickled me exactly because it was a snarky comeback for our easily bruised feelings when someone says that our favorite pizza topping or ice cream flavor is not so great.πŸ˜›

        Sent from my iPhone

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      • Ya the graphic seemed smug to me as well. I’m thinking back now… I can’t remember a case of feeling like anyone ever wanted me to rethink my obsession with ashtanga and mastery of poses. I DO remember getting defensive when my mother said, my first year of Mysore style, something like, “It seems like a really injurious thing.” Anyone in the cult?… Mmmm…. I don’t think so. Mostly I got scolded for being too irreverent.

        But holy hell, some people get ATTACKED when they write their tell-alls. It’s amazing. You’d think they were admitting decades of pedophilia or something.

  3. Hmm..I’m torn, big drama means different things to different people:) emotional attachment and the need to defend your decision can sometimes be cathartic and yet sometimes it’s just a rant of dirty laundry. At the same time, sometimes you just need to hide in a shell of introspection( at least that’s what I do!) and sort things out without too much public postulating.
    I read the Brighton post yesterday, and boy, did I get it, I really understood her need for a break. I think the intensity of ashtanga can be overwhelming and creeps up insidiously and sometimes hard to step back and realize as David Robson put it, we practice to be better in the rest of our lives, not living to practice. It can sometimes get blurred, I think, in expectations, whether self inflicted or in a peer setting. No, practice isn’t always fun, nothing is, but it shouldn’t be daily penance either. The balance we strive for in asana, ie steady, stabile, content, should help us find more of that in life.

    • I think you touch on an important aspect/element which is part of the theme in many of these posts. It is along the lines of “this practice took over and choked certain aspects of my life, and it could happen to you as well.” This is not the only practice that offers steadiness, stability and contentment. But whatever you chose in order to seek that, will require effort and will at times be hard. I think what rattles my chain is the almost unsaid reclamation that what ashtanga promised to deliver was bogus. There are many beautiful places to dwell in during this existence, it is okay if you don’t want to dwell where I dwell, but I do not need to understand your reasons for moving if we were not close during your stay here, is what I say.

      • Ha! I love they way you put that, as a promise that failed to deliver…yes there is a bitterness, in some blogs on this subject, like in a failed relationship, and wanting everyone else to think you’re the victim and the other guy is the bully….it’s a blame instead of understanding it always takes two to tango. Personal responsibility, time, and compassion. Ultimately, when in a funk I think of the words one of my teacher’s said, ” it’s your practice. You decide.” I also chuckle as an ex smoker I vowed never to be the psycho ex flipping out on anyone still puffing away.( I know smoking isn’t healthy, but hey, it’s a past love, yes defending it! Lol) ..I don’t judge, because I know how hard it is, however, don’t blow it in my face please, depending on my mood I might think it’s gross, or I might pine for one, but that’s my journey, not theirs.

      • Girl! Do I understand smoker talk. Just last week I bummed a cigarette from some hipster lady friends I made at the beach. After decades, I still bum one once in a while. Fortunately the wind smoked most of that one. I guess that’s why there are so many awesome songs about winding roads.

        Sent from my iPhone

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        P.S. Oh! There is an anecdote that Michelle Goldberg shared in the Intro to her book The Goddess Pose about the life of Indra Devi. Michelle was in India and having a smoke after practicing over at place run by a teacher called Venki. Venki came out and bummed a drag off her cigarette and she was shocked. Venki said “Michelle smoking will not interfere with your yoga. Yoga is going to interfere with your smoking.”

  4. Let’s say she had written a blog saying she would no longer knit Intarsia sweaters, because knitting intarsia is “starting to feel joyless and restrictive – it’s really demanding, it takes up too much time, requires a lot of focus and dedication, and she’s starting to get carpel tunnel from it, too. (“There is a something wrong with Intarsia knitting!!!!”) Now, she is knitting simple one-color panel sweaters and scarves, and has rediscovered freedom and joy in the craft. She’s still knitting – and while it’s not as impressive as Intarsia, she is happy with the results. πŸ˜‰

    Would we care quite so much about her announcement? Or is it because Ashtanga has become such a sacred cow with us, that it causes a furor on fb when someone publicly quits the practice?

    I think Maria’s point is we have seen this “I’m quitting my Ashtanga practice” essay many times. And always for these reasons stated in the blog. And, always the responses to the “quitter” are the same, too, falling into one of two categories: commiseration or condemnation. It gets a bit old after a while! Do we have to care, do we need to weigh in??

    imho, she should adopt a “zero F@cKs given” attitude about what other Ashtanga practitioners think – as not ONE of our opinions about HER life decision matters one whit. But, her intent in writing this was to get some reassurance – because of the very real Ashtanga peer pressure to “stick with it, even when it gets difficult!” (I’m guilty of this, too. Sigh.) I hope she finds some closure with it all.

    • Well, I am not even going to google Intarsia Knitting because it sounds terrifying. I don’t think anybody likes the last tiny paragraph of my post. Having such anxious feelings about breaking up, quitting, stopping a physical activity that you perform for 45 to 90 minutes of your day AS PART of your practice is not the fault of the activity. The activity does not have the ability to jilt you, betray you, or trick or lie to you. I also think chronological age plays a role. I don’t think those of us in the 50 something fun car would feel compelled to share ima gonna FTS and try something else, or maybe not as the sole topic of a post. Most of my pals mention it in passing if it does happen, sort of like beer now gives me gas, or cabernet makes my hot flashes unbearable so I had to lay off.

      I also want to point out that I went rogue and posted this on Ashtanga Yoga Chicago because Lisa wanted to start a conversation about it!! Now it turns out that it stayed in here. Argh. >

      • Agreed! Admittedly, I’m in the camp that it’s not the Ashtanga, it’s the approach (no matter if one’s approach is guided by one’s gut – or one’s guru – if some vairagya/nonattachment isn’t there to balance the abhyasa/practice/effort, well, I think you eventually burn out. )

        That was my point about the Intarsia knitting (although I was really thinking of fair isle, Laura!): it’s not the knitting practice that’s bad per se – it’s that it’s difficult, demanding, frustrating, sometimes (ultimately) meditative, even FUN. Your efforts bring beautiful results when attempted with reverence, consistently, for a long time. You even follow a set pattern throughout – but if you stray from it, the end result would be considered NOT well done.

        (Actually, not a bad analogue, now that I think about it!)

    • Ys, sacred cow and yes, boring because we’ve heard it before. Both. True. But that doesn’t change the fact that I hate intarsia and therefore it must be bad. xo

  5. I feel well-qualified to respond to this because:
    1) I quit Astanga.
    2) I did so quietly.
    3) I don’t think there’s a right way or a wrong way to do this.

    For me, leaving the practice was a very quiet, introspective decision, but that’s how I tend to go about my life in general. That blog post by Hannah could have easily be written by me, if I had decided to document my process (and I didn’t find her account overly dramatic, to be honest).

    I’ve seen dozens of other blog posts on this topic, all over the ‘drama scale’ from “I’m just not into you anymore, Astanga” all the way to “DIE, ASTANGA, DIE!”. But I agree with Laura: It’s a free ‘blog country’ and people can post what they like. Personally, I *like* reading these posts – I find them validating. By the same token, I can kind of understand why a dedicated ashtangi might find them infuriating.

    I think the relevant and most interesting question here is this: why are ashtangis getting their panties (or yoga shorts?) in a bunch about this? Why was Peg compelled to post that graphic (which frankly, I find judgmental and arrogant). I loved the knitting example. Why is this any different than writing about a lost interest in basket-weaving or orchid cultivation?

    Is Astanga a sacred cow or is it just sacred to those who practise it?

    • Exactly what I’ve wondered for so long: why does Ashtanga needs defending? It’s OK if people quit and it’s even OK if people say mean things about it. Should have no effect on the validity and joy of your own practice. But I’m a quitter too, so I guess I would feel this way πŸ™‚ I still do the yoga just not Ashtanga and it isn’t/wasn’t an easy decision. But I was in unremitting pain and when I stopped and did the Moon Sequence, or gasp!, even my own sequence all the pain went away. I’m quiet about it because inevitably I will be told that I was doing Ashtanga ‘wrong’. Maybe so. But I like being able to sleep pain-free so frankly don’t care. But I also miss the Club. So that’s why I’m sympathetic to the online quitters perceived drama.

      • I miss the club too, especially all isolated by poverty as I am in PDX. I kind of wanted to join but even in the spring (the poverty is naturally getting worse and worse with the onset of each new month) I knew I couldn’t.

        And let’s face it, I couldn’t force myself to do the same thing over and over for even a full week. All the repetitive strain injuries are gone, but if one of those didn’t “get me” the boredom would!

      • I didn’t know you’d quit too, Laura. Several others I know from the Astanga blogging community also quit – both Astanga and blogging. Our reasons all seem to be similar: repeated injuries, pain – and the revelation that asana doesn’t need to hurt.

        I still practise every day, I just practise differently.

        As for ‘doing it wrong,’ the only mistake I believe I was making was in practising Astanga too rigidly and ignoring the signals my own body was giving me that the practice wasn’t healthy for me.

        I sometime miss the social aspect of the practice, but to be honest, most of the BFFs I met at the shala are no longer in my life, aside from a few stragglers (and, interestingly, they’re mostly ‘quitters’ too).

        I’ve made new friends, expanded the scope of my interests (made possible by no longer being hog-tied by eating and sleeping at certain times). My world is bigger now and yoga isn’t front-and-centre.

        Quitting doesn’t work for everybody, but it worked for me. It’s a shame a conversation like this couldn’t happen in the context of the wider Astanga community, but oh, that’s right: we’re not supposed to blog about quitting because it’s self-indulgent and negative, so… πŸ˜‰

      • Kai, although your comment is addressed to Laura, I’ll respond by saying that I think that is what Lisa is trying to do. Initiate a conversation among a wider range of practitioners.

        Sent from my iPhone

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    • Perhaps it has something to do in the systemic, somewhat ritualized guilt we all seem to get when we miss a day (or more) of practice while into it. I never heard anyone get so precious about a gym workout… There’s a difference, even for those of us who never were affected by the guru worship aspect of it.

      • Good point B. The only other group that I can think of is runners. They will go out in a blizzard instead of facing having missed a day. Rituals area complicated regardless of being secular or having a religious/spiritual aspect. I still notice an element of discomfort or concern when you mention that you have missed a day or two of exercise (I hope it’s okay to mention that). The other thing that popped into my head when I read your comment, was that the I quit/goodbye to ashtanga letter writers are mostly female (like yoga demographics in general) guys just start cross fit and forget to say goodbye at the shala. I do seem to recall having read a fair amount of goodbye letters to running and marathons from guys after too many miles of pounding the road. >

      • I totally get nervous but missed exercise, but it’s a different sort of thing. There’s no fear of “losing” anything for one thing, the dreaded loss of a hard won & self defining asana achievement. It’s not so much a religious type of guilt but a might get fat guilt now πŸ™‚ One thing I HAVE really embraced, in this current phase, is the job of practicing asana badly, when I do it, as random as it happens to be. I always had that a bit, but then I’d go into a studio setting and be shamed for lack of perfection. I’m talking drop backs here.

      • LOL One of the hidden benefits of being a fat Ashtangi! My anxiousness about missing a practice is more similar to when I have to abbreviate my sitting practice and it affects the quality of how I handle what happens throughout the day. >

      • Ha! I worry about lapses in discipline, but its different from feeling like a “bad” person / bad yogi. I was once the type who’d travel 48+ hours via coach class & then get on the mat after a quick nap.

        Sent from my iPhone

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    • Kai!! I miss you :). There is a drama scale and it exists because social media exists I guess. I can more or less glibly say that Ashtanga is a sacred cow to those who have dedicated their lives to study, teach, and carve a livelyhood from it, and it is sacred to those of us who found our lives transformed by it. In many ways this conversation has been a mirror of sorts for me, where it shows me how our families felt when Ray and I decided that Christmas was bullshit many years ago, and to this day our choice is seen as judgment/disapproval of their ritual/behavior just because we don’t participate. Good thing blogging did not exist then because I surely would have written a post entitled Fuck Christmas.

  6. Funny how the only place where I’ve encountered rigidity in Ashtanga is online.

    My teacher is Tim. I’ve never heard him tell anybody to practice six days per week, or to practice in the morning.

    Nancy Gilgoff says to practice six days a week, but ‘practice’ can be 3 surya A and 3 B and closing, that’s fine. She also says practice whatever time of day works for you.

    David Garrigues (in his podcast with Peg) emphasizes that Ashtanga Yoga is a system for learning Hatha Yoga, it is not the only way to practice Hatha Yoga.

    Matthew Sweeney created alternative sequences for when he wasn’t feeling like his normal Ashtanga practice.

    Maybe the rigidity exists under other teachers. Or in different communities. Or maybe it exists in some peoples’ minds? I know some people who are burning their candle at both ends, pushing to 99% of max in every single practice, and I don’t expect them to stick with it. I know a whole lot of other people who steadily operate at 80%, who have been practicing for 15 years, and are in it for the long haul.

    I blew out my meniscus taking my practice too seriously. I’ve learned a lot in the two years since. One is that being able to practice on any level is a magnificent privilege. Another is to figure out what 80% is.

    • Thanks for commenting. Self imposed rigidity stifles both mental and physical flexibility. There are many ways to figure this out as all the comments made here demonstrate. Fortunately none of us (at least I think) have come across a post that says the are sorry they ever tried Ashtanga and wish They’d never found out about it.

      • There’s a good point! I think of myself as having graduated πŸ™‚ I realize that sounds smug. It’s kind of smug. But basically, I got what I needed to & learned a lot about myself and got out (after protracted struggle) when it was no longer fun.

  7. As someone who does the practice at about 60-80% most days (because I have other physical needs and demands that require my doing a a less rigorous practice) for the last 18 years or so, and who teaches the practice in a very humble way – I would not call it making a livelihood! – I’ll offer these musings, sorry they are not more succinctl:

    – I was a physical wreck when I started Ashtanga – and it took me years to figure out how to find the healing and growth it provides consistently. But, I rarely hurt myself, as I was and still am laid back in my approach. Without Ashtanga as part of my life, I’m certain I’d be less content, I’d age more quickly, and would still be experiencing autoimmune disease along with physical weakness and debilitation. So I’m a believer and that’s why I appreciate Ashtanga and have never wanted to leave it.

    -I am fortunate my teachers were all old school – Nancy,Tim, Beryl Bender – and all have a very reverent yet sensible attitude about the practice: that the practice should support your life, not BE your life. Practicing with their more sensible and realistic approach has been a boon to both my personal practice and my teaching.

    -But, nevertheless, when you join the community, when you drink the kook aid, you imbibe the dogmas through some sort of collective mindset or osmosis- and hence, I’m certain I’ve made the mistake of exhorting students too hard to practice at times. Much of this exhortation – if I am going to be honest – also came from the very real fear that I would have to shut my doors for lack of students. I never made the mistake of trying to create superyogis, but there is a lot of this in the Ashtanga teaching community methinks, more than any would care to admit. It’s a hard thing to admit one’s need and codependency! With this exhortation to practice, practice, practice, I am certain I have driven students away. Plus, Ashtangis (especially the newer ones) are not unlike Born Again Christians in our need for validation and proselytizing. (I think that need gets worn away eventually. Practice and all is coming. πŸ™‚

    -as a teacher, just as it’s difficult to find a balance in your own practice, it’s also challenging to find a balance in how each individual student is facilitated as they find their own wellbeing and growth through this rigorous system. Is the student more prone to pushing themselves or more prone to “dial it in”? So, it’s helpful to really know the student, their Ayurvedic constution and approach to life and their practice. Even knowing these things, then how are they on a given day in the shala with you?! The teacher’s job is subtle but crucial here: to know when to encourage more wise effort and when to say “that’s enough for today” – all in a manner which does not discourage, offend, or God forbid, lead to injury – or to neurotic hang ups about the practice (as bad as injury and as difficult to root out and heal as the more in your face physical challenges, imho.)

    The teacher’s job is to is to facilitate the students own ability to use the Ashtanga system as a tool for grounding, awakening, healing, growth – in a sensible way – so that their lives can improve, and so their interactions with their world are more sattvic, beneficial. This is an art form that takes years if not decades to master. It requires truly KNOWING both the system AND your students – which may only be possible after years of personal practice and years of working together in a Mysore setting in a small practice community. Hence, maybe this is why so many get injured – and so many leave.

    – Finally — it’s truly a shame folks leave the sangha of their Ashtanga communities because they feel they would not be accepted for doing a modified form or alternate form of their own practice in the studio.That’s never been my approach or message teaching. And I’ve only experienced that ostracism on line, never in the real world or in any shala I’ve ever taught in or visited. But, if a teacher does turn you away for modifying your practice, well then you’re better off, really.

      • LOL, it’s OK if no one reads this, Maria! It’s just my thoughts on teaching and practicing. Nancy G. says only one in 500 people who start doing Ashtanga will become a longterm (i.e. more than a decade) practitioner – so we should not be surprised when folks quit, really.

        So much emphasis on asana in Ashtanga, it’s bound to drive most people away eventually, if they don’t add some variety to their sadhana – i.e. other limbs. Which is why Tim Miller teaches pranayama every morning, and sings the Chalisa every Tuesday. We dry up if we only do asana all the time!! (My other practice is hiking. I should make a tee-shirt that says that, to wear on the trip πŸ˜‰ )

        (btw, are you getting excited??)

      • Regardless of whether you care or not, there were several points in your comment that address the whole reason for writing this post which was to discuss why practitioners write detailed accounts sometimes more than once about their experience of stopping their practice. Your comments went past is it a good idea or a bad idea to how to reach a sense of closure that stays closed. I am anxiously excited and the days are going by real fast. I am heading for Maine next week and returning two days before my flight. Let me know via slack as soon as you arrive.

        Sent from my iPhone

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  8. So late to this conversation and too late to add anything worthwhile. I just wanted to say – I quietly left things, came back, and left again in the interest of having more time for myself and not wanting to talk about it. I am injured and so am doing a modified practice, but practicing every day outside of the shala, rather than going there because I don’t want to screw up everyone’s vibe. I feel very grateful and yet very tired when I think about ashtanga right now. And, I’ve been here before. And, I’m sure I’ll be out and back again many times. I’m okay with this. There doesn’t have to be a defined, “I’m definitely this” or “I’m definitely not this” in sadhana, which is not about a particular form, though there has been a prevalent method and teacher and lineage in my life. It took me a while to accept this arc. Most of all, I just wanted to say – I love this conversation, and seeing all of you talking here, and I miss you! XO – K

    • You wrote Sadhana. Enough said. If you have been here before you know that the constant is always becoming stronger when we swim through the variations in the amounts of clarity and endurance. Yoga provides a space where we unhurriedly get to understand ourselves. It is better to treat all pronouncements and decisions as rough drafts. Love you right back.

      Sent from my iPhone

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      • I love that, “rough drafts.” Indeed! Much of life is, isn’t it? That is a perfect description. I don’t mean for my comment to imply I’ve left ashtanga (not that anyone cares) but just that I left off various platforms of talking about it or forcing it … and the routine practice for now in favor of modified for injury. I feel it coming back around already, though. I feel there is much more to give. XO And yes, that is exactly the way to deal with India! Surrender to it all. K

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