I missed out on Tim Miller when he came to DC. I missed out on “Timji” one of the first Western students of ashtanga, a rare big kahuna certified teacher. I missed out on led primary, led second, legs-behind-the-head and pranayama. There would be no Tuesdays with Timji for me– or, in this case, no Friday, Saturday or Sunday either.

How does a card carrying ashtangi miss out on an opportunity like this?

Priorities.

In the past month I’ve made practice– regular, six days (approximately), balanced within my life and family needs— primary. That means practicing six days is more important than hijacking family sanity to finagle a weekend in DC (at the expense of a practice day). It means I cannot workshop every weekend, so I prioritize study with the few teachers who speak to me. In this case, missing Miller meant not missing a weekend with my core teacher David Garrigues in November.

But as the Tim Miller weekend drew closer, it becomes harder to stick to my initial guns as a tirade of social media excitement kidnapped my consciousness. “It’s Miller Time!” shouted coy memes from photos splashed across Facebookdom along with excited posts detailing the wonders of the workshops and let’s not forget the hashtanga frenzy…. #timmiller #timji  #timinDC! And what’s that? A glimmer of hope in the weeds of the comment threads: does anyone want my spot in the sold-out Timji weekend?

Maybe, I thought, as my own hashtag paraded across my brain:

#holyshitiammissingoutonalot!

It’s a familiar queasy uneasiness that sets in when I see everything everyone ELSE is doing. All too often I watch my sense of Self get hijacked by the Jones’s, from yoga teachers traveling, leading workshops and teaching up a storm to what other yoga teachers are studying to how other families function. All of it swirls around and I draw it in, streamlining the onslaught of OTHERS’ lives into a scathing critique of my own:

What’s wrong with you, Jean, why aren’t you teaching more? Why can’t you manage trips to Mysore, or week-long intensives in Philly or retreats to Costa Rica?  What’s wrong with you that one kid feels overwhelming when others gracefully instagram lives with two, three or four– and teach and have jobs? Why can’t you squeeze in a fucking weekend with fucking Tim Miller? Why can’t you be like everyone else?

Because I’m not. David Keil gave me a great teaching last month. He watched me force a leg behind my head using a technique I’d seen another yogini use, then stopped me. Instead of doing this her way, we were going to find mine. His words, “How bout you be you” echo through practice into life. Indeed, the mysore room– a phalanx of sweating, jumping, meditating bodies — is this fantastic training ground for owning yourself as others do everything differently. Sure, it’s the same series; sure, there are common “not like that” rules keeping the ashtanga police gainfully employed –but within that sameness there are myriad mutations: the way you do upward dog may not be the way I’m instructed to do it– because our bodies are different, our levels are different, or our teachers have different priorities. You may be further along, she may struggle with backbends, he may be working on a forward fold while she is making inroads with forearm stand. It’s all happening at once– all of us being “us” by being ourselves individually.

“You have to realize your individuality to a tee to get our togetherness”- from notes of November 2012 workshop with David Garrigues

Here’s how I did “Me” when Timji came to DC:

While you explored how Ashtanga penetrates our layers Friday night, my husband and I had dinner with our first friends — after 18 months of living in this town — and our three-year olds (we’re all former New Yorkers shellshocked as to how we ended up in Virginia– we bonded immediately). While you sweated through Primary Series Saturday morning, I walked to the local farmer’s market with my daughter for cinnamon rolls and croissants, Honeycrisp apples and gorgeous golden beets. While you asked Tim practice questions late Saturday afternoon, I prepared for a date with my husband, where I tried not to eat too many bites of his ice cream dessert (you know, early mysore practice the next day). On Sunday morning, as many hearts fluttered over their first Timji-led second series, my heart sang over an eka pada sirsasana tutorial from a local DC teacher whose usually packed mysore room was more like a semi-private (thanks, Timji!). That afternoon, while you learned the art of breathing, I inhaled and exhaled through social anxiety at a party packed with people and kids at my new buddy’s home, where I forged more real life human bonds, laughed as children tried to impale a piñata, and most importantly, supported my new friend, who faces an ordeal greater than missing out on Tim Miller: cancer.

As I settled at home after a long eventful weekend I felt full, content, grounded and connected. Maybe it’s not possible to miss out when you tune in to yourself and where you are. Maybe — no, surely–

I did not miss out on anything at all.

 

 

 

Speaking of missing out– I mean, NOT missing out– I am no longer teaching at any public studios (except for a bit of subbing and such at my beloved Inner Power Yoga. I’m primarily teaching Pop Up Practice classes at my home studio. Call it a case of “Me being Me.” Contact me if you’d like to join our Facebook group or sign up for class.

I am not missing out on David Keil’s Functional Anatomy of Yoga Book

Oh–and I am definitely not missing out when David Garrigues comes to DC November 14-16!