Biking, Business Casual, and How I Ended Up as a Yoga Teacher
Good morning, world.
As of this writing, I've given up adhering to a set schedule of blog posting. It just ain't gonna happen that way, y'all. But, I want to qualify that by saying writing is still something I want to prioritize. Professionally, I know developing a writing habit of any kind will serve the flow of future academic work. And personally, I know the combined elements of reflection and discipline that come with journal-like writing make me feel more like myself.
I'm still feeling out my relationship with this space. Much like teaching yoga, the public nature of blogging brings with it a level of accountability which, in terms of my writing habit right now, is pretty necessary. But it also brings the potential for feelings of vulnerability and/or exposure. Vulnerability, to a certain degree, makes me feel more sensitive & raw, vividly human and alive. It also fosters connection, allowing other potential soul-friends to see beyond the everyday layer of veneer and presentation.
And.
Vulnerability is terrifying in unsuitable contexts, like when you're surrounded by strangers who don't give a damn about your well-being. Or when you're in the middle of processing some personal gunk, and don't quite know how to make heads or tails of anything, so you find yourself spewing emotions nonsensically one moment, and horribly regretful the next. I'm blushing just thinking about that. I want to take risks, yes, and reveal aspects of myself that, for fear of judgment or rejection, might have gone underground. But I don't want to reveal so much that there is no mystery left for myself.
Alright, well that's a long enough disclaimer I suppose. Let's get on with it.
Today is Saturday. I woke up without an alarm at 7:30, relishing the dense, low layer of cloud that blanketed the sleepy city quietly with grey. From where I sit, looking directly out the window, the sleek black pavement of our rain-slicked street runs diagonally upward, the houses perched like mountain goats on staggered hooves to negate the treacherous incline. I charged three quarters of the way up that hill last night, standing up on my bicycle and gasping, in order to watch Netflix and eat ice cream without a shred of guilt. I keep telling myself that my ass will look great after a year of plodding up this hill, and while my thigh muscles are currently in agreement, the ice cream habit is willing to bet otherwise.
At any rate, it's a good life here on the hill. I'm feeling very much alive, biking everywhere: I get my daily dose of cardiovascular activity in 5-minute spurts every time I heave upwardly home, and my daily dose of adrenaline every time I fly careening back down the hill. Our house is tucked in a few blocks from main roads, so the din of traffic is muffled by the buffer of tree, bush, and brick. We're a straight shot to the Farmers Market downtown, and if I lean a little to my right and crane my neck, I can see the courthouse.
I'm singing praises every morning, while the weather is nice, that my campus commute is so simple and sweet. The immediacy of the world from the vantage point of a bicycle seat is deeply preferable to the enclosure of a car. I can make each morning ride a mini-meditation, feeling the dewy freshness of late-summer air against my skin, the pump of blood into my still-sleeping legs, the gradual warming of my muscles and oxygenating of my lungs. By the time I've whizzed past the residential blocks to arrive on campus, it's only been seven minutes, and I alight from my trusty black Bianchi (with the FRESH hot pink new brake cables!) looking pink-cheeked and healthy and only a little bit sweaty.
Luckily, a little bit sweaty is not a huge problem in my new job at the university's Counseling Center. I say this figuring that, if we can wear sandals to work, there's probably a little leeway for some initial perspiration. This is especially fortunate for me, as I have never once set foot in a "business casual" workplace. Once this realization hit me, I actually had to sit back and think for a moment: have I really reached the age of twenty-seven without once having to consider how the words "business casual" apply to my person? Indeed, I have. So for now I am in the blissful, honeymoon stage of my employment, where every day feels like dress-up and I'm still pleasantly challenged by the task of translating my personal style of "hipster/hippie meets librarian meets artsy fartsy meets nature-lover meets yogini" into a business casual format.
It's a funny transition--one day I'm in stretchy pants conducting physical movements and meditative moments, and the next I find myself in slacks under fluorescence, sitting for seven. hours. straight. Right now the sitting is really getting to me, not to mention the seemingly impossible task of absorbing so much newness (new work culture! new material! new tasks!) but ultimately, this shift feels suitable for my multi-leveled self. My nerd brain is absolutely geeking out over my little corner desk and DUAL MONITORS. I don't care what anybody says, the fact that I have two monitors has officially ushered me into adulthood (never mind the gradual accumulation of experience and responsibility.) And my ambitious self is simply tickled at the task of gaining a new set of skills, particularly those which so wonderfully complement my work as a yoga instructor. I'll be coordinating and facilitating five-week treatment programs for undergraduate students seeking to tackle anxiety. Right now I'm in the thick of learning the various physical and cognitive strategies that we'll be covering, but eventually I'll be presenting these strategies to a small group of students. I'm excited to continue to hone my skills as a facilitator, to engage and interact with groups in ways that really make them feel seen and heard.
Five, ten years ago, I never would have pictured myself doing this. I still sometimes hedge at self-identifying as a "facilitator" or "presenter" or "teacher." What, who, me? Present?? Guide a group?? Pffffftttt, yeah, ooookaayy *walks away laughing to herself.* Honestly, I think it's worked out for me thus far because, well.....it's the work that I need the most. It figures, right? I grew up so painfully shy. Of course I would end up working with people! I am slightly terrified of connected with others. Of course my line of work would involve this very goal!
Seriously though, the by-product of spending so much time personally integrating the practice of yoga? I really, truly care about it. It matters to me. And I feel compelled to offer whatever I've gleaned from the process of learning to those who are similarly interested.
So it goes with counseling, I suppose.
I'll keep you posted.
As always, thanks for reading,
A
As of this writing, I've given up adhering to a set schedule of blog posting. It just ain't gonna happen that way, y'all. But, I want to qualify that by saying writing is still something I want to prioritize. Professionally, I know developing a writing habit of any kind will serve the flow of future academic work. And personally, I know the combined elements of reflection and discipline that come with journal-like writing make me feel more like myself.
I'm still feeling out my relationship with this space. Much like teaching yoga, the public nature of blogging brings with it a level of accountability which, in terms of my writing habit right now, is pretty necessary. But it also brings the potential for feelings of vulnerability and/or exposure. Vulnerability, to a certain degree, makes me feel more sensitive & raw, vividly human and alive. It also fosters connection, allowing other potential soul-friends to see beyond the everyday layer of veneer and presentation.
And.
Vulnerability is terrifying in unsuitable contexts, like when you're surrounded by strangers who don't give a damn about your well-being. Or when you're in the middle of processing some personal gunk, and don't quite know how to make heads or tails of anything, so you find yourself spewing emotions nonsensically one moment, and horribly regretful the next. I'm blushing just thinking about that. I want to take risks, yes, and reveal aspects of myself that, for fear of judgment or rejection, might have gone underground. But I don't want to reveal so much that there is no mystery left for myself.
Alright, well that's a long enough disclaimer I suppose. Let's get on with it.
Today is Saturday. I woke up without an alarm at 7:30, relishing the dense, low layer of cloud that blanketed the sleepy city quietly with grey. From where I sit, looking directly out the window, the sleek black pavement of our rain-slicked street runs diagonally upward, the houses perched like mountain goats on staggered hooves to negate the treacherous incline. I charged three quarters of the way up that hill last night, standing up on my bicycle and gasping, in order to watch Netflix and eat ice cream without a shred of guilt. I keep telling myself that my ass will look great after a year of plodding up this hill, and while my thigh muscles are currently in agreement, the ice cream habit is willing to bet otherwise.
At any rate, it's a good life here on the hill. I'm feeling very much alive, biking everywhere: I get my daily dose of cardiovascular activity in 5-minute spurts every time I heave upwardly home, and my daily dose of adrenaline every time I fly careening back down the hill. Our house is tucked in a few blocks from main roads, so the din of traffic is muffled by the buffer of tree, bush, and brick. We're a straight shot to the Farmers Market downtown, and if I lean a little to my right and crane my neck, I can see the courthouse.
I'm singing praises every morning, while the weather is nice, that my campus commute is so simple and sweet. The immediacy of the world from the vantage point of a bicycle seat is deeply preferable to the enclosure of a car. I can make each morning ride a mini-meditation, feeling the dewy freshness of late-summer air against my skin, the pump of blood into my still-sleeping legs, the gradual warming of my muscles and oxygenating of my lungs. By the time I've whizzed past the residential blocks to arrive on campus, it's only been seven minutes, and I alight from my trusty black Bianchi (with the FRESH hot pink new brake cables!) looking pink-cheeked and healthy and only a little bit sweaty.
Luckily, a little bit sweaty is not a huge problem in my new job at the university's Counseling Center. I say this figuring that, if we can wear sandals to work, there's probably a little leeway for some initial perspiration. This is especially fortunate for me, as I have never once set foot in a "business casual" workplace. Once this realization hit me, I actually had to sit back and think for a moment: have I really reached the age of twenty-seven without once having to consider how the words "business casual" apply to my person? Indeed, I have. So for now I am in the blissful, honeymoon stage of my employment, where every day feels like dress-up and I'm still pleasantly challenged by the task of translating my personal style of "hipster/hippie meets librarian meets artsy fartsy meets nature-lover meets yogini" into a business casual format.
It's a funny transition--one day I'm in stretchy pants conducting physical movements and meditative moments, and the next I find myself in slacks under fluorescence, sitting for seven. hours. straight. Right now the sitting is really getting to me, not to mention the seemingly impossible task of absorbing so much newness (new work culture! new material! new tasks!) but ultimately, this shift feels suitable for my multi-leveled self. My nerd brain is absolutely geeking out over my little corner desk and DUAL MONITORS. I don't care what anybody says, the fact that I have two monitors has officially ushered me into adulthood (never mind the gradual accumulation of experience and responsibility.) And my ambitious self is simply tickled at the task of gaining a new set of skills, particularly those which so wonderfully complement my work as a yoga instructor. I'll be coordinating and facilitating five-week treatment programs for undergraduate students seeking to tackle anxiety. Right now I'm in the thick of learning the various physical and cognitive strategies that we'll be covering, but eventually I'll be presenting these strategies to a small group of students. I'm excited to continue to hone my skills as a facilitator, to engage and interact with groups in ways that really make them feel seen and heard.
Five, ten years ago, I never would have pictured myself doing this. I still sometimes hedge at self-identifying as a "facilitator" or "presenter" or "teacher." What, who, me? Present?? Guide a group?? Pffffftttt, yeah, ooookaayy *walks away laughing to herself.* Honestly, I think it's worked out for me thus far because, well.....it's the work that I need the most. It figures, right? I grew up so painfully shy. Of course I would end up working with people! I am slightly terrified of connected with others. Of course my line of work would involve this very goal!
Seriously though, the by-product of spending so much time personally integrating the practice of yoga? I really, truly care about it. It matters to me. And I feel compelled to offer whatever I've gleaned from the process of learning to those who are similarly interested.
So it goes with counseling, I suppose.
I'll keep you posted.
As always, thanks for reading,
A
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