It’s not about me – another yoga lesson


I am a woman, an Aries, and the youngest child in my family of origin.  Those things combine together to form a very potent brew of egoism in the cauldron of my skull.  Everything is about me, at least in my mind.

  • Stub your toe?  It’s my fault.
  • Milk went bad?  I chose the  wrong store.
  • Got a raise?  It’s because I told you to ask for me.
  • Your grandmother died?  I had a grandmother.

You get the picture.  It’s not pretty and not something I’m proud of, but that’s the way my mind works.  Or, well, worked, that is, until yoga.  Yoga changes things, changes people, and also changes minds.

Yoga Sol is just starting out.  There hasn’t been any advertising yet other than on Facebook, Twitter, this blog, and word of mouth.  Some classes get a large turn out.  Some, like last Thursday, not so much.  Last Thursday, I had no students.  Some time ago, that would have killed me.  I would have doubted my ability to be a good yoga teacher.  I would have thought that no one likes me.  I would have been ready to throw in the towel, call myself stupid, and turn my yoga mats into flip-flops.  I might have cried, even. I certainly would have taken it personally because, of course, it was all about me, right?  Right?  RIGHT?


It wasn’t and still isn’t about me.  It has never been about me and it never will be about me.  It’s about a new business.  It’s about feeling things out.  It’s about suiting up and showing up and doing the best we can with what we are given.  Thursday, I happen to be given a drop dead gorgeous space in which to spend my morning.  I was given a great sound system and the freedom to play whatever music I wanted. I  was given the freedom to practice my yoga in any way that  I wanted.  I was given the chance to see a happy hoppy little squirrel do a little nutball dance out in the sunshine.  I was given the chance to LIVE my yoga, not just teach my yoga.  I didn’t take it personally at all.  I was, and still am, grateful for the opportunity.  I know as well as I know my own name that it’s not about me.

Yoga transforms. The bubbling, boiling cauldron is no longer bubbling and boiling.  It’s not even a cauldron anymore.  It’s an endless clear lake of still, still water.  It runs deep and strong and calm.  The lake doesn’t question whether or not the fish will show up.  The lake doesn’t worry that the cattails won’t grow.  The lake doesn’t worry about who comes to swim.  The lake just exists and is open to whatever comes.  Just like me.



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