Tibetan Buddhist Pema Chodron writes about following our path at the risk of our own lives.
She’s not talking about our actual mortality, here. She’s talking about a willingness to be deeply, radically honest with ourselves, even if that honesty threatens to alter our life plan or poke holes in what we thought was our rock-solid identity.
I cried at the Whole Foods fish counter the other day. As soon as the fishmonger asked me what I’d like I felt the sting… warm face flush, heat in the eyes, wobbly bottom lip. I recognized it immediately and laughed at the absurdity. So did he. We shared a nice little moment over some responsibly sourced tilapia.
Muff and I were driving to class yesterday and as he shuffled through my iTunes, Mr. Wendel came on. It’s an old Arrested Development song from the 90s about life from the perspective of a homeless person and what that perspective has to teach us. It got me thinking.
My entire adult life I’ve thought that if I could be smart enough, nothing would be able to hurt me. If I could collect enough information, find the logic, make sense, sort out, maybe even predict a little I could keep a safe distance between myself and pain. I probably became a teacher, at least in some part, for this reason.
I don’t care how good a yoga teacher you are, when you stand at the front of an unfamiliar studio it’s a little like the first day at a new school. Where do I fit in here? What will happen when I open my mouth? Is what I have to offer…enough?
There is a kid in my prison class on Friday nights, we will call him Susan (his name is not Susan).
Susan is really disruptive. Challenging to teach. Whenever there is talking in class, it’s either him or the guy next to him responding. As an experienced teacher, I have a pretty fierce people’s eyebrow that works the way I want it to in the moment, but then not five breaths later Susan is talking again.