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Self-Doubt, Ego, Humility, and Acceptance

posted 30th November 2010    Written by: Doniree    CATEGORY: Doniree, Inspiration, Job/Career/Work, Season 3, What I've Learned

“Am I ready for this?  Am I even good enough?”

“I should be practice teaching more often, otherwise I’m never going to get this.”

“Is my love for this practice going to be apparent in my teaching, or will I be so distracted by ego — by how I sound and what I’m saying that that love will be totally lost?  How can I move through ego in order to get to heart?”

“Maybe I should take a few more months developing my own practice before I should start really teaching.”

“What if I teach something wrong?  What if I mess up and everyone knows?”

Self-doubt is ugly.

It’s especially ugly when you’re on a beautiful journey, preparing and training for something you love, something you feel called to do.  I’ve known for years that I want to teach yoga.  That desire morphed from a fun “I want to teach yoga on the beaches of Hawaii!” to a way of giving of myself and back to a practice that’s had such a profound influence in my own life.

A practice that’s given me coping mechanisms for anxiety and has helped manage panic attacks.  A practice that’s released tension in my shoulders and has alleviated frequent tension headaches.  A practice that’s connected emotional to spiritual and helped me move through periods of questioning self-doubt, loss of identity and the precious connection to my own sexuality and energy, healing a damaged spirit, and learning how to move through any of life’s challenges – small or seemingly massive.

A practice I want to translate into my role as a teacher.  So here I am.  A year out of my first teacher training, Official Yoga Teacher Certification under my belt, and halfway through a hands-on, four-week, get-’er-done second program.  By mid-December I’ll be more than equipped to step out into and lead my own class, and sometimes, that lights me on fire.  Recently though, and a bit without warning, I start to question myself, asking myself if I’m really ready, really capable.

Then, it gets worse. I start to blame myself.  I find myself in a downward spiral, hearing the words of self-criticism course through my veins and the subsequent internal conversation that happens when I try to talk myself down from that.  “Am I capable?”  “SURE you are!”  “Am I sure?”  “Stop this chatter.  This isn’t productive.”  And so it goes.

From student to teacher to student

And so it went, right up until the part of the sequence I was supposed to teach.  In the time leading up to my turn to teach, I kept telling myself to bring these feelings into and through my practice – to acknowledge the nerves, accept the fact that I didn’t know everything and wouldn’t be perfect, and allow where I was to be the right place.  I tried to relate my nerves and internal arguments to a place of compassion and humility that perhaps my students could relate to.  I tried to find a way to use where I was to guide me and my students.

It worked and it didn’t. It worked in that I truly felt present in those moments.  It worked in that I remembered and felt comfortable talking through the postures, looking to my students to guide my next words in response to what they needed to hear.  It worked in that I felt more confident than I did last time I taught.  I genuinely felt as though I spoke from a place of authenticity when leading the class into and out of final savasana.  It felt natural to remind them to find a place of love and acceptance, because I was telling myself to love, honor, and accept where I was in my own practice as a student and as a teacher. I felt a little emotional as I finished with, “The teacher in me honors the teacher in you, namaste” and bowed towards them.

It didn’t work as well as I thought it might to “fake it ’til you feel it,” to bury the feelings of nerves and fake feelings of confidence when the first piece of feedback I received from my instructor was “You sounded nervous.”  I over-compensated for nerves by inflecting too much energy into a surrender part of the sequence.  I was so caught up in sounding stable and confident that I lost some of the connection to the energy in class until I came back to a place where I could relate to them — that place of humility and of compassion.

My Commitment to Myself

To me, self-doubt perpetuates more self-doubt if the thought processes don’t change.  Thoughts become things, right?  In order to change this, my self-dialogue has to change and ego has to be addressed.

I acknowledge that I’ll question myself again, and that I need to detach from this idea of “good” and commit to a practice that is instead focused on being authentic.  I’ll also slowly start to undo the notion of “working” and will start instead surrendering into the challenge, the doubt, and the questions.  I’ll acknowledge that they’re present and then let them pass me by.  I won’t “fight” the questions that pop into my mind, but I’ll welcome them, surrender into them, and learn from them.

I’ll remember that I can use these feelings of self-doubt and this journey right now to relate to future students who may be going through something similar.  I’ll be able to teach strong postures and speak from the heart of someone who’s been there.  I’ll be an authentic voice, and will hopefully be able to say and teach just the right thing for just the right heart at just the right time.

And that is what enables me to detach from self-doubt, to see it, to open up to it, and move through it.  To rid my thoughts of it and to replace it with humility, self-love and acceptance, and an open-heart.

{Photo credit}

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Awe, Imperfection and Integrity

posted 29th November 2010    Written by: Molly Mahar    CATEGORY: Inspiration, Molly

You know when you hear an invitation to be more yourself? When something resonates with you so strongly that you can’t help but pay attention?

It can take any form.

A poem that floors you, a moment of clarity, an incredibly life-changing sunrise…

I’ve been keyed into three words as of late: awe, imperfection, and integrity. I’ve been rolling them on my tongue, letting them sink into my personal vocabulary, and trying them on for size.

And I’d like to share them with you.

Perhaps my words will be a call to action, a lightening bolt, a sweet song whispered in your ear. Perhaps they will be an invitation to explore a new route, a reminder of a long lost treasure, a match that lights the fire.

Perhaps they will remind you of your own true words.

AWE

If you can live in awe of life, you can more easily recognize the miracles, the wonder of our world, the infinite wisdom we carry. It’s a simple as gazing into the night sky. It’s as amazing as sailing in the wide ocean. Awe can be born of a shared heartbeat, a pulsing crowd, a natural wonder.

Awe is everywhere if we open our eyes to its glory.

If you can live in awe of YOUR life, you can take delight in the paths that need exploring and the burning passions you’ve yet to uncover. You’ll be blown away by your intuition. You’ll be in love with the miracle of your body as it gives birth, bolsters you through hardships, and ages with grace.

Cultivating awe takes openness. Eyes wide open, we allow mysteries and unknowns to bewitch, to mesmerize us, to delight us.

IMPERFECTION

If you can accept imperfection in life, you’ll be at peace with the daily battles that unfold and truly pleased when you give your best. Imperfection emerges in the quirks of a lover, the humanity of heroine, and the power it takes to face life when it feels like it’s crumbling around you.

Imperfection is not a sign of weakness; it’s the mark of humankind.

If you can accept imperfection in YOUR life, you’ll find peace and humor and joy within reach.  The grasping, clenching control that never works in the first place will relax. The tears will slow, the haze of “not good enough” will lighten. You’ll find joy in pushing yourself, success in simply trying, and pleasure from shining your true light- the one that is not managed and branded and polished for the world to see.

Inviting imperfection into your life takes courage. By developing fierce love for ourselves, our sisters, and our world, we allow things to be simply as they are.

Flawed or glowing, scarred or luminous, broken or reborn; we are not afraid to inhabit ourselves in the most authentic way– imperfections and all.

INTEGRITY

If you can value integrity in life, you’ll be able recognize the noble. With the clear eye of wholesomeness, you’ll be able to spot the businesses, people, and situations that stand for the values you yourself believe. If you can honor the good in life by associating and supporting the good in others, you’ll find freedom in decisions. Rightness in action. True comfort in association.

Integrity means you are standing up for what is right for you.

If you can value integrity in YOUR life, the navigation of life’s waters becomes easier. Second-guessing and breaches and pit-of-stomach-aches lessen. Lies to yourself and to others become obvious, grating, and soon enough, stop. You simply can’t swallow the exaggerations, the faking it, the looking the other way.

As you embrace your truth, you realize it was always there. You stand up straighter, you love harder, you find comfort in the small synchronicities.

Filling your life with integrity isn’t an easy choice. It’s uncommon. And utterly beautiful.

I’d love to hear the words that you’re stuck in these days.

Whether they are a desired feeling, a new habit you’re practicing, or an inspirational anthem- let them be known, love.

How are you living your life right now?

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Religion, a Travel Perspective

posted 28th November 2010    Written by: Lindsey    CATEGORY: Lindsey, Season 3, Spirituality, Travel

I lived in Turkey for a semester in college, where, although technically a secular nation, the population and recent history are primarily Muslim. The city of Istanbul is filled with beautiful mosques, intricate Islamic art, and an echoing call to prayer warbled out of every mosque’s speaker system five times a day. I’d frequently traipse across the city, filled to the brim with everyone from businessmen, to hunched over old women hawking packs of tissues, to giggling children, to the ever-present Turkish man, identifying my American-ness from miles away, to slyly mutter “cok guzel…” (very beautiful…) as I walked past. To shed my shoes and step onto the soft carpet of the empty mosque in between prayer was overwhelmingly peaceful.

It was my first exposure to Islam, still coming as an outsider, from a primarily Christian nation, and a Christian upbringing. I felt no threat to my personal belief system as I watched barefooted men on their knees on the ornately patterned carpets, offering up their prayers. I felt only peace, glad that there was this place for these men to be still and quiet and reflective, in the midst of a bustling city.

I questioned religion, and my own experience. How could I claim that the services I attended were more righteous than these services? How could I argue that one way of expressing love to God was better than another? It started to seem that religion was more exclusive than inclusive. That there were battles of HOW to love God, when in the end, all this religion stuff was a different way of celebrating a higher power full of love.

The memories I have of the Methodist church I grew up in, were of serving my community. The motto was “all are welcome.” There was an an open door kitchen every week to feed anyone in our community. We had an annual fundraiser for world hunger. In high school, while all my fellow National Honor Society members were scrambling for community service work, I had mine completed halfway through the year via my own personal children’s education project in the church basement. It was an awesome, inspired community to be part of.

I never felt exclusion as a part of this religion. But as I was exposed to more and more opinions of religion, as I went to away to college, and traveled more, I found a general consensus that religion was accepting one story as fact, and refusing all the rest.

This weekend I was watching Donnie Darko (again!), and on the subject of God, he hypnotically rambles, “It’s like I could spend my whole life debating it over and over again, weighing the pros and cons and in the end I still wouldn’t have any proof so I just… I just don’t debate it anymore.”

There’s no right answer to the religion question. So I’m not going to argue.

I think religion is a beautiful way to connect to a higher power, and with others who seek this connection. But any extremism, exclusion, or control by a man-made system… count me out.

As I’ve grown up, I have stepped away from identifying with a specific belief system. I have deep respect for Islam and Christianity, as they are the religions I know most about. I have been practicing meditation and self-knowledge through a variety of Eastern religions and yogic philosophies. I am always moved when I am a part of a spiritual service, of any type. It’s exhilarating to feel the electricity in the air of a group of people celebrating life and God.

In the end, I just think it’s all about love and kindness. Operating by a moral code that encourages positivity in the human spirit.

My mission is “to share life and love in a beautiful world” and I guess we can say that’s my spiritual guideline as well.

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The Pope, The Soul, and The Goodness of People

posted 27th November 2010    Written by: Renee    CATEGORY: Renee, Season 3, Spirituality

There’s a quote that always comes to mind when I think of my personal spirituality.  It’s from Anne Frank:

Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.

I don’t like discussing religion because organized religion makes me nervous.  I grew up Catholic.  I genuflect and cross myself.  I taught catechism when I was in my late teens.  I was my stepsister’s Confirmation sponsor.  I’ve been on retreats.  I was blessed by the Pope.  I went to one of the greatest Catholic institutions in the nation.  I spent a semester in Rome, living literally down the street from the Vatican.  I’ve crawled the steps that are said to bear Jesus’ bloodstains.  I’ve hung out with nuns, priests, seminarians, the Pope’s Swiss Guards, and I enjoyed it.

So, you might say I’m Catholic.  I would definitely say I’m Catholic.  But I say it in the same way Jon Stewart might say he’s Jewish.  It’s a cultural, historical distinction.  This is the way I was raised. This is the culture that inspires all my decisions.  This is the guilt I bear.  This is why I raise my glass for a refill of wine.

At my core, I disagree with the Church quite a bit.  I don’t regularly attend Mass, though I believe it is the most beautiful religious service on the planet. Instead of Catholic doctrine, I subscribe to what I believe is the true meaning of Jesus’ teachings: Be kind. Be thoughtful. Don’t be selfish. Give thanks. Love everyone equally.

If you asked me these days what I believe, I’d say I’m a cafeteria Catholic (a pick-and-choose believer) who simply believes in the good of people. I believe in a supreme being of some sort, though I don’t know who or what he or she is, if it’s a group of deities, if it’s a march of saints, if it’s a spirit or an inkling, if it’s our ancestors or guardian angels, if it’s fate or karma… something is out there looking out for us.  I believe in the soul. I believe Jesus lived and he was a man with a lot of smart ideas and a big heart.  I believe that hard work pays off in the end and what goes around comes around.
But, most of all, I believe in the inherent goodness of people.

“A small group of thoughtful people could change the world. Indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” Margaret Mead

{photo: my own, Michelangelo’s altar in St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City}

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Love Is My Religion

posted 26th November 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, All Posts, Life Lesson, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, Spirituality, What I've Learned

I don’t know how to have this conversation without offending someone.  (Aren’t religion and politics like, the top two things you shouldn’t talk about if you want to keep your friends?) If this were my personal blog, it would be a different story.  But it’s not.  And though I take pride in telling my truth, my whole truth, and nothing but my truth, I’m afraid that this post will fall short.  And so this is what I have to give.

 

 

 

Love is my religion.  Compassion is my religion.  Connection, Openness, Tolerance, Graciousness are my religion.

 

I have faith that as long as I try my best to be loving to all in this life, then I will either:

1.  Become something other than a dung beetle in my next life

2.  Read peacefully in heaven

3. Die knowing I was a good person

I believe that the world is my church.  That the mountains are my altar, the ground is my pew and the raindrops are my angels.  And each of you sing in the choir.

(photo credit)

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