Before we left Florida this morning, Carolyn and I did yoga
together. I was sad and emotional about
leaving, so I didn’t want to lead a class. We just did whatever asanas we wanted for
about 20 minutes. Towards the end of our
practice, she helped me stay up in pincha, and it felt wonderful. Squeezing her arm between my legs allowed me
to stay up longer away from the wall than I ever had before.
Then she said she’d like to do headstand, a pose
she’s worked on a bunch recently and has improved greatly. To repay her assist, I offered to assist
her. I did a great job stabilizing her
hips, but while I was admiring my handiwork and her headstand, I zoned
out. I wasn’t present.
2 seconds later, girlfriend falls on her back. Eep.
Pictured: NOT CAROLYN
Girlfriend is unhurt and cheerful about the whole thing, but boyfriend
is a little embarrassed at the very basic lesson he apparently needed to learn. Today’s lesson: if I am grumpy and not committed to teach, I will not teach, not even for one pose. If I do commit to teach, then I must teach 100 percent, even if it’s “only” for one pose. My students will count on me to be present for however long both of us have committed.
Last weekend, I had coffee with the owner of the World’s Greatest Yoga Studio, and she advised that a yogi who teaches from a place
of love, moderation, and humility will always remain in balance. Lately I find that humility is very, very
easy, because I continue to make mistakes when I teach, and those mistakes do
not hesitate to manifest themselves in ways that touch other people. All I can hope is that I learn my lessons.
Any red-blooded American male knows that there's a formula for how a low-seeded team in the NCAA tournament pulls off an upset. Takao maintains that all upstart double-digit seeds need a quick point guard, a lights-out shooter, and a bamma-ass power forward who tries hard. It doesn't hurt when the favored team doesn't take the game seriously. The lower seeded team hits 'em quick and builds a double digit halftime lead, usually because they hit a ridiculous percentage of their three-point shots, then holds on as the more talented favorite makes a run that may or may not make up for their early laziness.
If it doesn't, you have two days worth of heartwarming stories and images of the latest Cinderella, but two days is all they get. Cinderellas can win one game in the NCAA tournament, but they rarely win two. Most of these stories end with Cinderella absorbing a 20 point loss in their second game and everyone forgetting about them.
Needless to say, Florida Gulf Coast University is not following the formula.
This can't be stressed enough: Dunk City is far, far, FAR more athletic than the average low-seed Cinderella, and they didn't hit more than 8 three pointers in either of their first two tournament games. Neither of their first two opponents took them lightly. FGCU was basically tied with both Georgetown and San Diego State at the half. The typical underdog script does NOT include blitzing the higher seed team after halftime with the type of free-wheeling athleticism seen above.
Because I'm a nerd, I think about the difference between the typical Cinderella and FGCU as a difference between types of outliers. The script I described above is probably the easiest way for an outlier to manifest itself, and outliers are bound to manifest themselves. Odds say that the worst Division III team in America could beat Louisville or Indiana if they played enough times, even if those odds are probably, literally, at least one million to one. The odds of a real, live Division 1 program that won its conference getting hot enough from the 3pt line for a day and catching a good team napping are considerably higher. However, no one pretends that the normal Cinderella is actually better than the teams they beat. They get hot for one night, and they get a great win, but there's no doubt who would win if they played a best of seven series. What makes FGCU an outlier among outliers is, I think they're actually better than the two teams they've beat. Once FGCU stopped holding Georgetown on a pedestal, they blew them away.
Stats has come to dominate sports generally and the NCAA tournament selection process specifically, and we have really good stats that measure the quality of teams that can predict with startling accuracy how 99 percent of the games between two teams will go. I'm starting to think that FGCU is the 1 percent of teams that advanced stats really can't capture. This team isn't winning flukey, like most underdogs do. Over the past week, they have been better than two really good teams, because they've been more athletic and more skilled. Maybe the stats penalized them too much for playing in a crap conference. Maybe FGCU just got a lot better over, say, the last month, and the advanced stats are not rewarding that improvement.
It's one of those craziest, most unpredictable things I've seen in sports, and anyone who tells you they know how this will end is lying. All bets are off with this team. If they can blowout Georgetown and San Diego State, they can absolutely beat Florida and the Michigan/Kansas winner. Numbers tell you that they shouldn't have a chance against any of those three teams, but it's pretty clear that numbers fail to capture the magic of FGCU.
I feel like I have to be perfect, or everything I care about will be taken away from me. It's only gotten worse since the REBUT, when it really was.
One of the unfortunate consequences of this feeling is that I put so much pressure on myself when I go after the things that I care about. It's counterproductive, but it's what I do. This pressure has probably gotten worse since the REBUT. Then again, it's possible that, since the REBUT, I'm now going after things that I really, truly want for the first time ever.
And it's scary. But I'm doing it.
Something I need to start doing again is writing here. Lately I've saved all my best thoughts for teacher training, but the whole point is, one doesn't have to have a perfect thought to write. I like writing, and someday I'd like to get paid to write about the kinds of things I write about here, now, for free.
I teach my first public yoga class in 10 hours and 15 minutes.
I guess I'm nervous, but mostly I'm just excited. I've heard people talk about, when they start doing something they knew they were always meant to do, they have a great sense of arriving. That's exactly how I feel. I feel like I should have been doing this all along. I know I will mess up tonight and many, many times in the future, to the extent that "messing up" is even possible in yoga (and I don't think it is). I know I've been a teacher and a student for a long time. Still, tonight is a milestone.
In recognition of that milestone, I would like to express my tremendous, ongoing gratitude to the teachers that have helped me get to this point. I could speak generally to the teachers that have informed my life, which of course animates my practice, but then I'd be here all day, and what began as a mild procrastination before I calculated _________________________ (INSERT CONFIDENTIAL WORK BUSINESS HERE) would turn into a serious productivity drain. No one wants that.
So in the interest of brevity, let me a send a namaste to the five people that have had the greatest influence on my practice of asana.
Lori Burgwyn and Deb Lazer, you taught me that a studio could be a community. You provided the space for my practice and my heart to grow, and you always went above and beyond to support my progress. That you do so for all of your students is a humbling lesson I will try to keep in mind with my own students. Namaste.
Mike Lyons and Andrea Martinez, you taught me that grace under pressure was not only possible but the place to be. In the middle of all the noise and the chaos of the universe, there is a place of deep quiet and total peace, and I don't think I would understand that nearly as thoroughly without your teachings. Namaste.
Nancy Shelly, you are my favorite yoga teacher ever. You got me to go to my first yoga class, then reminded me of yoga when I was hunched over a desk finishing my dissertation and complaining about my back. Everything that has happened since stems from that moment, so any good I've accomplished in the practice of yoga or will accomplish in its teaching is your good too. I love you so much. Namaste.
