Dear friends:
I just spent the last hour cleaning and tidying up because I’m avoiding writing.
It’s always funny to me, the lengths I will go in order to avoid writing, especially when I have a lot to say. I’m reminded of something my teacher, Bhavani, once said:
“We often refer to yoga as ‘the middle path,’ as a practice of non-extremes. But yoga is radically non-avoidant.”
Writing is also radically non-avoidant, which is probably why I avoid it - because the only way I can avoid feeling the big feelings that writing brings is to avoid the act of writing altogether! But alas, a life of non-writing is not a sustainable existence for me…
The thing is, there are so many things I want to tell you about, I don’t know where to begin. I want to begin with tonight’s Kirtan event, but I feel like I should begin by telling you about Mexico. I want to tell you about my subscription platform and all the changes I just made to it, but I feel like it needs more context. I want to tell you about the podcast episode that I recorded last month and still haven’t edited, and who knows when I’ll actually do that, so maybe I should wait until it’s done to tell you about it… (Oops!)
Suffice it to say: There are a lot of things swirling around in my head and I’m feeling anxious.
But you know when I didn’t feel anxious?
When I was in Mexico.
I am so good at planning things, and even better at getting anxious about whether my plans are good enough. I am excellent at anticipating what I might need in the future, what my students might need, and at communicating those things. But at some point, the planning needs to stop, so that I can actually enjoy the thing I’ve been planning for. At some point, it becomes necessary to loosen my grip.
One of the most magical things about the retreat was how natural it felt to be there. Not just in Mexico, but teaching, creating and nurturing and witnessing the community of humans that were there (not to mention the dogs!). Each retreat I’ve hosted, I have felt confident that it would be a wonderful experience, and each time, I have been surprised and delighted by just how wonderful it was. Of course, there is the fact that everyone there is taking time away from work and the responsibilities that tug at them to come practice yoga and be together - how could it not be fabulous?! But still, there is always a part of me that wonders: But will everyone get along? Will they like my teaching? Will they feel satisfied with their experience??
It’s amazing how, even after teaching for 12 years, hosting 4 teacher trainings, and leading 9 retreats, I still get fluttery and nervous. I trust that things will work out, and I know in my bones that it will be beautiful, but that does not always quell the anxiety.
One of my favorite concepts that I learned about in counseling class is that of existential anxiety. Existential anxiety is the sort of fluttery, urgent energy we feel when we recognize how short and uncertain our lives are. In Existential Theory, this is contrasted to neurotic anxiety, which stems from a desire to control, and leads to worry and fear. Unlike neurotic anxiety, existential anxiety animates us, motivates us to do things, helps us to really live, because we know that one day, we will die. Without existential anxiety, we would never wonder what we are doing here in this life, or what our purpose is, let alone attempt to fulfill our purpose…
When I read the Bhagavad Gita for the first time, I remember being struck by how anxious Arjuna was. Throughout the 18 chapters, Arjuna asks Krishna some variation of, “But what should I do??” over 20 times. He wants so much to do the right thing, the good thing, to live well, to die well… He becomes obsessed. After 16 chapters of Krishna giving advice that ranges from cryptic to hilariously specific, he finally shares with Arjuna the concept of shraddha. While shraddha cannot be directly translated into English, it is something like trust, faith, deep knowing, or, more literally, “what is held in the heart” (Easwaran, p. 243). A person can do all the “good” things, Krishna tells Arjuna, but unless these things are done from a deep and quiet shraddha, they are no good at all; “A person is what his shraddha is” (18.3).
If you think about it, it’s amazing we’re all not totally overwhelmed all the time. With how short life is, how much there is to experience, how many beautiful people there are to know and be with, how many career paths we could have, how many hobbies we could pick up, how many languages we could learn… ! But I think this is actually a great sign. Just like Arjuna’s anxiety made him an eager and willing student, our existential anxiety makes us alive, alert, and ready to experience everything we possibly can in this lifetime! Perhaps the trick to not being completely overwhelmed is to support this existential anxiety with shraddha; to know, deep in our bones, that we will not possibly accomplish everything we want to accomplish in this life, and that is exactly how it should be.
As I settle back into home life, I am trying to remember that I do not need to do everything on my to-do list.
I am trying to be inspired, excited, enlivened by all the things I could do, rather than overwhelmed and defeated by all the things I should (or didn’t) do.
I am trying to remember that not everything can be planned, and that without room for spontaneity, I will never be able to follow my intuition, my heart, my inner knowing.
I am trying to remember that life is short, and that one day, I will die, because this helps me to be present.
I cannot wait to sing with many of you tonight. And I cannot wait to share with you (gradually and patiently!), all the changes that are evolving in my business as I continue to evolve. May we remember that life is short, and also, that we have time; we do not need to rush.
Sending you so much love,
Abby