Climbing Trees -- Vis, Croatia

It's difficult for me to know what to write. Aspects of the retreat are proving to be more challenging and stressful than I'd anticipated (as happens with everything you put on a pedestal), but my coworkers are more supportive and encouraging than I'd imagined. So I'd rather not delve into our helter-skelter run through crazy-town because the last thing I want is to create bad publicity for these positive, proactive people who are working unbelievably hard to create a space for health and relaxation.

Do I write about my challenges? Do I write about my insecurities? Do I write about how I consistently (as consistently as possible over the course of a mere two and a half days) promise things I have a hard time delivering? Do I stick to describing my personal problems so that I can maintain a certain level of honesty without potentially compromising what my new friends are trying to create? 

Or do I spill all the awkward beans and say, "hey! retreats are hard. Here's where we've struggled, now let's all be nice about it."

I feel much more pressure working at a retreat than I did at a studio. When blossoming yogis and yoginis visit studios, they have the luxury of selecting a time and a style to suit their needs. If the style and the teacher aren't a good fit, they're fifteen dollars short and an hour and a half poorer. 

Which generally isn't a big deal. 

When people attend retreats, they pick dates that jive with their vacation schedule, a country that's toasty and a center that doesn't break the bank. They pay hundreds of dollars and set aside precious free time to attend the resort. 

They take what they can get, as far as yoga and meditation are concerned. If they don't like what they're offered... well... they're kind of stuck with it for the duration of the retreat. 

It's like being the only cinema in town. The only cinema that boasts one screen. 

I'm afraid I'm the film that nobody wants to watch -- that nobody wants to watch, but everybody sits through because there's nothing else available. 

The film everybody complains about afterwards. 

The more I travel, the more I learn how unpopular Vinyasa yoga is in Europe. In my experience, Europeans prefer more traditional forms of yoga that incorporate mantras, bandhas, meditation and an abundance of AAAAUUUUUMMMMM. While I have no problem with mantras, bandhas, meditation and an abundance of AAAAUUUMMMM, these components of yoga are not as pronounced in the style I teach. Vinyasa emphasizes movement with breath. It is an exhilarating, thrilling dance between the hands, the feet, the breath, the body and the space between. It is a fast and flowing, lengthening and deepening celebration of the human body powered by the rhythmic, victorious Ujjayi breath. 

It teaches us to find relaxation in our exertion. Stillness in our movement. Gentleness in our challenges. 

This is the yoga I teach. This is the yoga that fits my life right now, so this is the gift I have to offer. 

When my life changes, my gift will change. 

But this is all I have in this moment... and I feel like it's not enough. 

I'm tremendously insecure around European yoga teachers. I can't count the number of times I've had to justify the significant lack of limbs in my practice with a defensive smile and a, "well, this is what suits my life right now. Asana feels good in my body, so it's what I teach. When something else feels good in my body, I'll teach that." 

"Yes, but it is not yoga," some teachers reply. 

"It's one of the most popular forms of yoga in the States," my smile cringes up and down and around as I regret my choice of argument. 

"In the States, you are all about getting fit." 

Maybe we are all about getting fit... but isn't that the beauty of yoga? that people can use it as they need? That it can be adapted to fit all bodies, all lifestyles, all goals? Perhaps a lot of practitioners in the States need an intense asana practice to reach their goals -- who's to say that's not "real yoga"? It's "real" if it is practiced with awareness and care of the mind, body and spirit.

I was feeling flustered yesterday morning. I went walking.

I tried to notice the little things.

The things I normally walk past.

But can be so beautiful when I pause for a moment to appreciate the delicacy.

The intricacy

The boldness

The sweetness

I sat against a sunny stone pillar on a sunny stone wall and felt the sunny sharp stones digging into my back and backside.

The sun against my face outweighed the aching of my back. I placed my notebook against my lap and began to scribble.

I don't know how to write for myself anymore. I feel like writing this blog has stolen something precious from me. 

A sort of intimacy. With me. 

Whenever I sit down with a pen and paper, I feel like what I ought to be doing is working on dearly beloved Gallivanting Grasshopper. So regardless of whether or not I've chosen to "write for me", Gallivanting Grasshopper is always on the back of my mind.  

I'm thinking about it right now, as a matter of fact. I'll probably type this page into word later (leaving out some juicy bits) and post it as my 200 and something entry. 

When did this happen?

When did I start thinking more like GG and less like Aimee? DO I need to take a break and rediscover the voice of someone who doesn't share absolutely everything (minus some juicy bits)? with anyone who'd care to click a funky sounding link? 

I'm mourning my purposeless childhood now. Writing to write. Yogaing to yoga. Painting to paint.  Climbing a tree to f*cking climb a tree. 

I don't like painting and thinking about what I can sell. I don't like writing and thinking about how I can one day make money off of my blog. I don't like climbing a tree and thinking... well... no. I simply like climbing trees. Perhaps I need to climb more of them. It's kind of difficult to climb trees for other people. 

How can I incorporate my purposeless pleasure into my life? Joy for the sake of joy? How many trees can I climb? 

 My yoga class went fairly well (although a far cry from "swimmingly"). Kristina (a sensuous, sensational Dharma Yoga teacher from Split) led the beginners in the main studio and I took the rest to the living room.

I'm just not competent enough to teach beginners at this point. Injuries scare me. Constantly double, triple, quadruple checking alignment makes me stressed. I love this whole intermediate business wherein people feel confident and comfortable in their own bodies and are eager to advance. Thank god for Kristina taking the beginners. I might break them.

Some of my intermediate students caught on quickly. Some caught on less quickly. Some seemed happy. Some seemed less happy.


I tried not to take either personally.

I don't think a gift has any intrinsic value. It is simply appropriate or inappropriate. I'm not sure whether or not "appropriate" equals "valuable". The intention is where the value lies... yes? What is my intention? What is my motivation? Why am I sharing this practice? How can I love these people more through what I'm sharing? 

This is what I have to tell myself, anyway. Else I get all woebegone because I take the common response of, "Well... it was... different..." personally.

I miss my university students. All those football players and dancers and gymnasts and yogis who got addicted to my morning classes. Do I need to change my approach? Do I need to teach what feels unnatural in my body because it suits other people? 

No. No, that goes against everything yoga means to me.

After a breakfast of yogurt, banana and coffee, we loaded into a taxi van and drove down to Vis.

Notice the clear harbor water. I know of no other harbor that is this exquisitely clear.

Mario gave us an animated brief history of the town. I will get to listen to this history four times. I'm very excited.

An old spa built by a Roman who felt so welcome on the island that he made his bathing chambers public. Which was entirely unprecedented and made him extremely popular.

I love these women. Friends for twenty years, they parted ways in the 90s. Since then, they meet every year for a week or two and catch up where they left off. They mountain bike and kayak and practice yoga and swim with whales. I want to be like them.