As I sit on my couch to write in our dimly lit, snug one bedroom apartment with old, beige carpet and stained linoleum, the smell of lilies fills my nose and I pause to think about what might be useful to write. This is my aim, always, “To serve.” Often I don’t know how, I’m choked by fear, my mind tells me, “You’re not good enough, who do you think you are, what the heck?” and I am reminded of the first time I started a blog—I was 19 and went to Brazil for three months. Christina Sell suggested that I keep a blog. So I did. I trust most people until I don’t. She’s someone I continue to trust. It was a way my friends could follow along with what I was up to without inundating their e-mail inboxes. At first I felt afraid to write “out loud”—What can I say that will be useful and that people will enjoy? I had been instructed to, “Just write.” I started with the details. I wrote about my day, however uneventful. I told stories. And people actually read what I wrote, (other than my devoted mother, which), yes, surprised me! I kept writing.
In 2015 my writing changed. It became about marketing and sales as I forayed into being an entrepreneur in the health and wellness field. Whew! (My writing wasn’t bad, just different. I was unsatisfied.) My writing was strategic, and I thought in the language of “conversion rates,” and “opt-ins.” I wrote methodically, not organically. I forced it. I fell. As my dear Husband put it, “I was a little too aggressive.” Okay, he’s being nice here. I was extremely determined to make money at what I loved because that was what the culture was selling me. I trusted my mentor’s model, and I believed that I could “win” if I just pushed harder. So I pushed harder. My life came crashing down. I was trying so hard to make money doing what I loved, to make “it” happen. Dancing, reading, writing, teaching yoga, being outside, cooking food all become a platform for selling. Each yoga class I taught, every meal I prepared, I viewed through the lens of “Optimization” and “Capture to Sell.” I was not writing for the love of it anymore. I was writing content. I was not having fun. And I didn’t know it then. I was trying to make money and sell what I loved to other people.
Healing takes time. Discovery takes time. Re-learning takes, yup, you guessed it—time. I went through an incubation period. I slowed down. I went back to paper calendars. My laptop broke, I didn’t fix it. Through my efforts of trying so hard to connect with others I disconnected from me. What I’m learning on the path of the spirit is that we have to become fully ourselves first, before we can move along the path to serving others. Also, there are lessons we have to learn in life that are unavoidable, and sometimes those lessons are painful. However, as Patanjali says in Yoga Sutra II:26, Hayam duhkham anagatam, “The avoidable pain that is yet to come, can, and should, be avoided.” Through the practice of yoga, which requires steady effort and is not necessarily easy, we come face-to-face with ourselves. I’m grateful for the lessons and I try my very best to avoid the pain that can and should be avoided.
Today, I write to you on the eve of my 31 years on planet Earth. (Well, actually, my birthday is on November 12th, but at this age who’s counting). I sit here humbled, still naive, still wanting to serve, still wanting to make a difference in the world, but less aggressive in my approach (most days—I still get righteous and loud in defense of what I believe). This is a long story aimed at telling you why I write a blog, or write at all, or teach yoga, or do anything really—I “teach to learn,” as Bab Hari Das encouraged his students. He said, “I can teach you how to cook but I can’t eat for you.” I’m in the process of digesting a BIG meal that I received from one of my great yoga teachers, Bhavani Maki during the six weeks Jesse and I studied with her in Kauai. I’m re-learning what I love and how to write for fun. I thought I’d share this with you. Why? Because stories connect.
Werner Erhard said, “Relationship is a clearing for love to show up un.” Relationship, to me, is not hiding behind our hurt, not pushing our hurt onto others. Relationship is also not hiding behind a facade of “It’s all good,” or forcing our “know how,” or our “tips and tricks” onto others. I agree with Mr. Erhard that relationship is a clearing—it means turning toward that which is uncomfortable, facing what’s no longer working and “getting off it” as one of my teachers used to say—it means being spacious.
Today, as I talked to Jesse about the 9:00 AM yoga class I taught, my tone was a bit incredulous, “I had 18 people in the room! They just keep showing up,” I said. “Well, yeah!” He replied, a little exasperated but also smiling. “Shinay, this is what I’ve been telling you.” Okay, okay, I think to myself, When am I actually going to “get” this? Perhaps I just need to keep showing up. Perhaps I just need to do what I love and not try and convince anyone else of it’s worth (or my worth). And sometimes it’s not enough just to show up, to push, to sell, to cajole, to tell people what to do and how to do it—I have to do my own Work. This is true of writing and life and yoga. When I set out to write this letter, I wanted to tell you what I’ve learned, but instead, I told you a true story. I left out many details, which will come later, and I’ll leave you with this:
31 looks like a long way from understanding anything. And it’s a heck of a lot more fun when I get to do yoga and write about simply for the sake of loving to do both. With no hidden agenda. It’s getting dark now, and the sun is setting—golden, orange light along the tall, brittle grasses of the Arizona desert. I look up, I see a picture of my teacher’s face, I smile at him and nod. It feels good to be seen, it feels good to have written, even if no one reads my words. It feels okay to tall the truth, to not know some things, to fall down, and speak from the ground about the journey that got me there.