Why I Retreat (Part 2)

(…the ‘to be continued’ from Why I Retreat Part 1…)

As the saying goes, “Leap & the net will appear.”

I leapt.

To be honest, I felt like I was falling for some time.

Like Alice down the rabbit hole, I’m not exactly sure I knew where I would land, or when. The period of time of nearly a whole year that I was ‘looking for It,’ did not always run smooth, but I persisted.

What I didn’t always see at the time was that I was planting seeds.

One of the seeds I came to nourish, develop and fall in love with during that time of transition was with a group of yoga teacher friends. My dear friend Anita and I tossed the idea out there that it would be cool to try our hands at putting together a retreat. Fueled by the idea that we could share this transformative experience (as in Part 1) with others, I saw beauty in this organic formation of a group of good-hearted people who would come together in a magical place to unwind, practice and grow. Whoever these people would be, I knew they would be joining us in a similar manner to how I dove into all my own retreat adventures – by feeling a strong call to be there, whether to heal, to rest, to have fun, to get re-inspired or to simply feel reprieve from the snow and cold.

Inspired, we approached our  yoga teacher friend Jeff Mah with our idea. The intention was pretty clear: a yoga getaway in a place that would take your breath away, opportunities for people to practice, eat amazing food, soak up the beauty of nature, re-connect with themselves (and some new friends!), and return home feeling like a million bucks.

One year after Bali, One More Breath Retreats (a team comprised of Jeff Mah & his partner Hilary Young, Anita Athavale, me and our incomparable chef Brett McDermott) brought a group to Maui. Bringing this dream to reality involved countless hours of e-mailing, phone calling, coordinating and gathering around Jeff & Hilary’s kitchen table, or (one of my most favourite ‘tasks’) sitting on Brett’s living room floor sampling the kinds of foods he envisioned serving up to our guests. (Drool.)

When the retreat arrived at last, I remember stepping off our flight and walking out into a classic, balmy Hawaii morning. The sight of the palm trees and feeling of the soft, warm, humid air turned us all into mush. We had only been on this island for a matter of minutes when Jeff said, “Guys, we’re totally coming back here.”

And we did.

As we had expected, the nicest, down-to-earth group of people came together and willingly agreed to be our guinea pigs for two very different experiences that I am positive none of us will soon forget. No matter how each participant chose to spend their time, our hope was  that each person who joined us would leave on departure day feeling that they had found even a sliver of what they needed.

Our first retreat (in 2012) fell over the Leap Year and one of our cherished retreaters celebrated his leap year birthday half way through our week together. That night, I remember looking around at this big-hearted group that had banded together to kick off John’s upcoming year with laughter and good cheer. As this community-away-from home celebrated their new-found friend, I saw another layer to this Leap Year celebration.

Each and every one of these amazing people had seen themselves in our dream as vividly as we had seen them in it. They saw us jump, and had whole-heartedly jumped in alongside us.

 Still flying high from the second Maui trip in 2013, a new opportunity to retreat presented itself in our own backyard.

My Dad had been raving about his multiple return experiences to a hidden gem called Maurelle Island off the coast of Vancouver Island, BC. Go With The Flow Adventures is the luxury kayaking dream/brain child of a wonderful couple named Brody Wilson & Cristina Fox. Brody was keen to marry the meant-for-each other activities of Kayaking and Yoga. We would paddle the calm waters of the Discovery Islands during the day, have daily yoga practices both at the luxury base camp and out in nature on our paddling trips, eat delicious home-cooked food (again, good food — very important!), and allow ourselves a week to simply, well, go with the flow.

We were SO in.  Kayak + Yoga = Kayoga! Then Mother Nature threw an unexpected test our way.

Just over a week before we were due to leave, Southern Alberta was hit with a devastating flood.

Our hometowns of Calgary & Canmore declared a state of emergency.

No matter whether the flood affected our own neighbourhoods directly or not, we were all in shock.

Our hearts were torn. Was this really the time to skip town when the entire city was putting on gumboots and venturing down into the affected areas to help out with the clean up?

Two of our guests who were to join us on the trip were feverishly working with a host of volunteers to save their family home.

The highway between Calgary & Canmore was a mess.

For a moment there, it was hard to see how this was going to happen as we had hoped. But something inside me told me that the timing of this trip couldn’t have been more perfect. We were all emotionally drained. Stressed. Exhausted. Our city had been working around the clock to get life back on track for its citizens. As I visualized the quiet, island oasis that I knew Maurelle would absolutely be for us, I couldn’t help but feel that our perception of Mother Nature right now was a bit skewed, and that all we needed was to be reminded of the healing  forces of nature .

I searched  for a sign to validate my feeling that getting some reprieve from the stress and chaos of a city in crisis was actually a good thing and not something to feel guilty about.

Hallejulah. I found this quote (and promptly plastered it on top of a beautiful image that Brody had sent me).

It was hard for every single one of us to not feel guilt-ridden about getting away, if only for a week.

 It turned out that a week was all we needed.

Maurelle was pure magic.

There was laughter and tears.

There were groans as shoulders and hips were stretched.

There were sighs as we settled into Yoga Nidra and relaxation.

We couldn’t get enough of the quiet and stillness there, being out in the fresh air all day every day, rolling our mats out overlooking the water, the incredible food, the hot tub, the paddling, the fluffy white bathrobes, the stars that lit up the night sky…

It was the best medicine. 

When we saw the relaxed faces, bright eyes and contented smiles on our guests as they (somewhat reluctantly!) began their journey back home, it became clear to me why the retreat experience holds a value that can never be quantified:

When we give ourselves the opportunity to rest, relax, heal, and brighten our own inner light, we have SO much more to to give to the world. 

The photo below shows one of the most painful sunburns I have ever had the privilege of sporting. More than that, though, I snapped this photo in Bali as a reminder of why I retreat, and now, why I have felt inspired to share this experience with others. What I can see in my own eyes and face in this picture speaks volumes — that I took a leap and gave myself permission to let go, unwind, take care of myself, have fun, be quiet, rest, get grounded, explore, connect with my own heart and re-fill my tank so I could be a better person in my day-to-day life.

Call it cliche, but Morocco, Mexico, Bali — and then eventually Maui and Maurelle Island — have all changed the way I love, think, and live.

In each of these places, I have gotten to know myself better just as much through the exhilarating moments as I have through challenges on my yoga mat, or recently, in the kayak!  When I retreat, I dig deep. It isn’t always easy, but every time, I feel I have found strength and energy to make my life and world more meaningful.

Isn’t that what it’s all about — how well you lived, how well you loved, and how you shared your light to help illuminate the world?

Why the dancer in me (who yearned to dance) loves Yoga

Yoga videos. They are everywhere.
Sped up, slowed down, jazzed up, stripped bare, Hollywood glamorous, or iPhone masterpieces that capture the building up to, or getting right to the heart of, that one elusive shape that justifies why we call Yoga a “practice.”

Yes, that one holy grail of a pose that makes Yoga skeptics, pooh-pooh-ers and naysayers affirm to themselves once and for all that placing one’s feet on top of one’s head (regardless of which direction they may be coming in from for landing) does not make world peace any more attainable, rent any cheaper, or credit card debts any lower. As someone very near and dear to me once said, “the world would be a much better place if people stopped twisting themselves into pretzels!”

For the record, this person is now one of the greatest Yoga enthusiasts I know, and can frequently be found taking in an upside down view of the world…in a headstand.

But for the sake of generalizing here, don’t worry. I’d be the first to gently offer up thoughts from the other side of the coin:

No matter whether you are putting your feet on your head, standing upside down on your hands, backbending yourself into a rainbow, sitting quietly cross-legged, or lying motionless on the floor in savasana, Yoga has the ability to deepen who you are if you let it. It has the power to shine a light on the qualities in yourself that you have buried away because, somewhere along the line, you lost faith in their capacity to flourish, whether through your own self-judgement or the criticisms of others. Yoga has a different impact on each and every life it touches. Some are unchanged by the practice because they forget or deny to take on the part where ‘the practice’ moves into the world beyond the short rubber runway beneath your feet. Others are transformed in the most positive ways, and for good — softened where they were hardened, opened where they were closed, inspired where they were once searching for their spark…

I took my first Yoga class at 17. It was one of the most physically challenging things I had ever done…but amidst the awkward downward dogs, something clicked.

I had recently graduated from high school where I had been turned off from anything related to using my body, unless it was acting in Drama classes or the school musicals. Even there, I was self-conscious to a point. In Musical Theatre, I yearned to dance as confidently and with as much grace and coordination as those who probably spent time every day in a dance studio. Oftentimes, it took me twice as long as the other kids to gain my footing with the choreography…

And then there was Gym class.
It’s sad to think that my primary recollections of Physical Education (the time where I should’ve been thrilled to get to know my body) involve the humiliation of having to wear a bathing suit in the presence of unforgiving teenaged boys, being left to partner up with the teacher in tennis lessons (I was, admittedly, HORRID at tennis), and praying that I wouldn’t end up having to Cha-Cha with the meanest (and most popular) boy on the rugby team in Social Dance. Yes, even Social Dance — the part that was supposed to be more creative, fun, expressive… more like Musical Theatre! — became an object of dread. Sure, I wanted to be able to dance like all the dancers in the school musical, but this was the last place I could envision myself finding my inner Gene Kelly, let alone cultivating a single shred of self-esteem.

In short, I hated Gym.

Wait, I re-phrase. Perhaps I would’ve been tolerant of Gym if I didn’t have any reason to be afraid of it. Each sport, each subject area, felt like another opportunity for me to suck at something, and risk being made fun of for it. And even more tragic, it wasn’t just me who felt this way. There were other girls who had all the same reasons to be anxious of being in command of their bodies too.

Enter Yoga.
THANK. GOODNESS. My saving grace.
As awkward as that first class was, something kept me going back. I’ve heard it said that you choose all the players in your life’s story, and I must confess, my choice in a very first Yoga teacher set the tone for a wonderful journey. With her steady, reassuring presence, I had found a place where, no matter how ‘bad’ I was, no matter how much of a confused novice, I still felt accepted. There was no judgement. In fact, better yet, I felt nurtured, and encouraged to continue. It was a refreshing contrast to the old high school feeling of wanting to curl up in a ball and be visible to no one. I could be me, and I could be in my body, no matter what that looked like…and (hallelujah!) that was more than OK.

As I grew more familiar with the sequences and postures, simple sun salutations began to feel like dancing. *Gasp!* I was dancing! When I moved and breathed, I felt graceful. More than that, I felt…beautiful, and strong. It was something I could never have said about myself in a decade of Social Dances. Maybe my body wasn’t open, flexible or strong enough to do all the fancy postures (to this day, there are many postures that remain untouched, barely explored or just highly modified) but I felt ease, and peace. I felt that I could grow more fond of my body because it was doing something that made me feel deeply content inside.

To this day, I see my yoga practice as a form of expression, my dance, with as much to share in stillness as in movement.

Life will be what it will be, but the simple act of sweeping my arms up over head as I inhale, lifting my gaze upward, and then falling, floating forward as I exhale to fold over my legs, touch my toes, a soft smile on my lips… At last, this sense of peace.

I don’t need to be a dancer in this lifetime, but let me have THIS dance.

When I found this video featuring Elena Brower moving through a short, simple sequence in front of a video installation at the MoMA, it took my breath away. Yes, this 5-minute Yoga video on the internet highlighted part of what I see to be the beauty of the practice of Yoga: simplicity, ease, quiet strength, connectedness…the breath, body, mind, heart, spirit, all united in the moment. This is as magical to experience from the inside as it is to witness, something so vibrant, alive and passionate it blows the locks off the doors of your heart; the courageous act of using a vocabulary of movement and shapes to create a story with our one unique body, our own unique breath.

A dance…a deep surrendering to the dance.

Why Me?

Stop. This isn’t the ‘Why Me’ you’re thinking of.

This question may conjure up images of a whiney teenager, bemoaning their  life circumstances or first world problems. Or it may be a reflection of that Facebook friend you have (you know the one) who airs out their ‘why my life sucks’ laundry online.

Not that ‘Why Me.’

The ‘Why Me’ question that has come up as of late is more about why we are, for lack of a better word, ‘called,’ or ‘inspired’ to do what we do, especially when we are paralyzed by that moment of doubt that makes us feel we can’t actually do it at all.  It may also come up when an opportunity knocks at our doorstep beyond what we feel  we are ‘qualified’ for, beyond our ‘expertise,’ or our comfort zone:

‘Why me? Why this? Why now? What on earth do I know or have to share?’

Can anyone see us and value us as being more than just our credentials, our current job title, or the fit-onto-one-page-please summary of our experience?

And for the ‘young’uns’ reading this, that question of ‘how many people see my youth as lack of experience; maybe not in education, but in life?’ I recall an ‘older’ friend of mine once lamenting the fact that so many young people were becoming ‘life coaches’ — ‘What person in their 50s and 60s wants to learn about how to live life from a 20 or 30-something year old who has barely lived yet?!’ That was his argument. There are, however, some exceptional men and women who attain incredible and admirable goals by the time they hit 25. Whether it’s starting a successful business or winning Olympic medals, heck, who wouldn’t be up to learning something (at any age!) about how to actively pursue your dreams and attain them? None of us is perfect, no matter how old or how young we are, and we all have something to  learn from each other.

I realized today that this, ‘Why Me’ — this questioning of our value, worth, expertise, skill, talent or gift — is a manifestation of what is often referred to as our Inner Critic.  We all have him, or her, or it. (My most current critic’s image is reminiscent of a snooty French waiter in a cartoon. I’ll call him Maurice.) When I give Maurice the chance, he turns up his nose at my ideas, or the irons I have in the fire, and whisper-spits into my ear:

There are millions of yoga teachers in this world. Everybody’s doing it. Who cares how long you’ve been making shapes on a mat, or that you took the trainings you took. (Hmm, now that I think of it, you might need more…) There are people who know way more than you, and will always know more than you, no matter how much you study, or read, or practice. Doesn’t teaching make you nervous? That’s a yicky feeling… maybe it’s best to leave it up to the others who approach it with confidence, ease and a brain full of sanskrit and anatomy.

But he doesn’t stop here. I have neglected my blog as of late, even though thoughts and stories have been plentiful…

Writing? Come on. Instead of taking creative writing classes in school to show people you have HARD SKILLS as a writer, you took a class about the Rolling Stones! And Art for Children! And Dance! Sure, they were options you needed to graduate, but you’re not a “writer.” Just liking to write whatever comes to you doesn’t make you so. Furthermore, does anyone really care what you think? Or what you’ve experienced? Everyone’s a blogger. Stick to your journal. No one needs to read that. 

Luckily, I’ve begun to see my history with Maurice more clearly. I think he had his hayday during most of my teens and 20s (bless those times).  As I continue to grow, I have made a commitment to not let him speak as often, or promptly cut him off  JUST BEFORE he gets the chance to talk me out of doing that thing that I am excitedly fearful of, or see big potential in.

Haha, sucker.

When we leave space for our critics (living or imaginary) to get more airtime, they can say things to us that, if we said them to our loved ones,  would sting hard. Wouldn’t we, instead, remind them of why they are perfect for the job/opportunity/challenge/dream? And not just because of the credentials they may have earned in that particular field, but because of the inherent gifts they were born with, and the fact that who they are holds more value than we could put a dollar amount on. 

Whenever I get asked to prove my “worth” or competence through my credentials, I am so reluctant to define who I am solely through what I’ve done. My university degree is a BFA in Drama — one that I am proud of and worked incredibly hard to get, not just by writing papers and reading textbooks, but through hard mental, physical, emotional, creative work. The ‘Drama Kids’ in my life are some of the most creative, hard-working, thoughtful, kind, passionate, incredible people I know. In fact, they are just as talented, hard-working, thoughtful, kind and amazing as the ‘NON-Drama Kids’ who followed more ‘straightforward’ paths. These paths certainly aren’t without their own challenges — whether you’re a musician, a doctor, an engineer, or a circus performer, everyone meets obstacles in their learning and growth. Everyone meets indecision of where to go and what to do with their lives. Everyone doubts whether they have what it takes to do what they do, and to do it well. I have had this conversation about ‘being qualified’ with people who have much more than the ‘minimum requirement’ of education one would expect to make an ‘expert.’

For all of our stressing out, I don’t know a single person who is ‘unqualified’ for doing what they do. In fact, because of that pairing of all the things they have studied with their natural gifts and talents, some are grossly overqualified.

In a perfect world, we do what we do — whether that’s for work, or for play, or both — because it lights us up. Who wants to be a miserable lump full-time? We’re not asking to be special, or famous — unless that’s what you really want. The Royal We (or maybe just the We I’ve had this conversation with) is asking to be recognized for what we have to offer to the world beyond all the learning we did in school, or the trainings we took, and all the letters that could follow our names.  We want to be seen for the passion in our hearts, the sparkle in our eyes, and the conviction in our words because we believe that we have a positive mark to make on our planet. We love when someone gets behind us fully because they believe in what we’ve got to share, and who we are. What makes us qualified to face the opportunities and challenges that are placed before us is the fact that we invest everything we have, and take big risks, to make those things a reality; that we build the bridges to get there, and that upon our arrival, though we may we hear  the muffled sounds of our critics in the background, we do something not everyone can muster the courage to do…

We follow our hearts anyway.

This isn’t to say that we should be cocky about what we DO know. Part of growing is acknowledging what we need to learn. If anything, my recent movement towards teaching has been more humbling (and uplifting and rewarding) than I could have imagined. But sometimes, we don’t get time to be ready. We get a few tips from the well-meaning coach before they throw us off the deep-end.

Spluttering and coughing, we find our bearings, get comfortable in the water, and learn to swim.

Is this the end of asking ‘Why Me?’ Probably not. All of us, young or young at heart, may continue to ask this question every day of our lives, with each new opportunity that arises, with each new dream that floats into our seeming realm of possibility. But more than that, we would be wise to recognize when to let the question “Why do this?” fade, and feel the depth of the quiet answer rising from our hearts:

“Because it’s what brings me to life.”