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Three Weeks In

It’s been just over three weeks now since my injury.

While Trump has been busy setting fire to democracy, I’ve been tending the fire at home, grateful for the warmth; grateful for the crackle; grateful for the burning.

The weather in Seattle has been oddly sunny and dry. It shifted today in favor of more typical Pacific Northwest rain, but these few weeks, I’ve been so grateful for the unusual sun streaming into these big skylights. This living room, with its high sloped ceiling and windows looking out onto the evergreens, has been such a grace.

My cozy sanctuary.

Around 11am the sun comes in through that window on the left. I stand in the light and do gentle upper body yoga stretches: Gomukhasana binds and Garudasana twists and half sun-salutations and simple arm exercises. It’s quiet and bright and nothing like my usual planks and Chaturanga push-ups, but it feels like something, and it drops me into my breath, and helps with circulation, and I’ll take any and all of that after three weeks of not much movement.

The healing is slow going, but each day feels a little better. I can sit on my cushion at the dinner table now for 10 or 15 minutes and actually eat a meal with my family. I’ve graduated from standing at my laptop at the kitchen counter to sitting across from this crackling fire, breathing in the warmth while I type. Sitting too long or climbing too many stairs leads to a dull pain, though; my body really tells me when I’ve pushed it too hard, and then it’s back to lying on my side I go.

Driving is still, well, kind of awful. I can manage to take my kid the five minutes to and from school. Any more than that is tough. Driving means bracing all my muscles and pressing my left foot hard into the floor and gripping the ceiling handle with my left hand when we go around corners, and always, always going slowly, never pushing the speed limit.

The other day I gathered up my courage and drove the 15 minutes to Trader Joe’s. I moved so slowly and mindfully around the store, pushing my cart like an arthritic elderly woman, breathing in through my nose reaching down for the canned diced tomatoes, breathing out through my nose lifting them up and into my cart.

When I got to the checkout, the always-friendly cashier (of course, because he’s paid to be) said jovially, “So, got any big plans this weekend?”

I threw my arms out and declared proudly: “This is it!!”

And it was!! It felt like such a huge accomplishment.

Starting next week, thanks to a referral from the orthopedic trauma specialist, I can begin regular physical therapy. I’m so excited to sit down with a real anatomy/kinesiology expert and sort out exactly which yoga poses I can begin to incorporate again, and when. They’ve got clever apps that remind you to do your home exercises at a certain time every day and everything.

I can’t wait to be the ultimate PT overachiever.

A few other things that are helping right now:

How Sondheim Can Change Your Life. This new book from Richard Schoch has been such a light. I first discovered it because my old friend Shaun Taylor-Corbett happened to narrate the audio book. (And he’s amazing! Reason enough to check it out.) But American musical theater icon Stephen Sondheim has always been a favorite of mine. As Schoch writes: “His musicals are for grown-ups.” Sondheim’s music and characters feel like dear old friends. They rush me back to early college mornings when I’d trudge across the UDel campus, piano books in tow, and belt out showtunes in an empty practice room in the echoing Amy E. DuPont music building while my fellow undergrads slept off hangovers. Amazing the power of a lyric or a melody to take you back 25 years in a heartbeat. I so highly recommend this book to any fellow musical theater-lovers. It’s a joy.

Pixar’s Soul. We watched this last weekend and oof, what a film. Can’t believe we hadn’t seen it yet. Loved the jazz vibes, the amazing piano work, the many meaningful moments, the emphasis on spark and finding what gives your particular life purpose, and — perhaps most importantly — the way it modeled wonder and awe without being overly preachy. Was so glad to look over at my kid and see him soaking up these messages. It felt like church. Such a pleasant surprise.

Duolingo. This isn’t a new discovery, but a treasured one that’s reminding me of its value right now. We first signed up for the Duolingo language app back in 2018 when we first moved to Switzerland. I’ve been practicing with it reliably since then — and that’s right, I’m proud to have maintained a 1446 day streak! Don’t lose that shit! Not everyone may agree, but I’ve found it an amazing way to keep learning and to continue to develop my German skills. It’s also a great way to stay connected to friends and family across the globe: my goddaughters in Delaware, BFFs in Basel, cousins across the country, nieces on the East and West Coasts, and former colleagues in Pennsylvania. Giving each other a virtual high five across the miles feels, well, kind of great. And it’s one more accessible thing I can accomplish, even while lying on my side on the sofa when my injured body says whoa.

Magnesium and calcium supplements. I’m taking both of these in an attempt to support bone healing. Magnesium glycinate is a great help if you’re waking often in the night. My acupuncturist had recommended it to me several months ago for deeper sleep, and when the ER doctor mentioned it as a muscle relaxer, I was grateful to already have a bottle in the kitchen cabinet. It has helped with relaxing my sore muscles post-fall and with managing to sleep even when my hips ache from always being on my side. And calcium is, of course, great for fending off osteoporosis, anyway.

Chia pudding. Another longtime fave that’s proving its worth these days. Chia seeds are a true superfood, packed with nutrients and energy and protein and fiber. Throw 3 TB chia seeds in a glass mason jar and add 3/4 cup chocolate or vanilla soy/oat/almond milk. Add a splash of maple syrup and a dash of vanilla flavoring. Stir it well. Wait 10 minutes, stir it again, and then put it in the fridge for a few hours. Voilà. Your favorite protein pudding. We eat it every day for breakfast — and I can feel the energy difference when I don’t.

John Lewis and Good Trouble. I’ve long been a fan of the late Congressman and civil rights icon John Lewis. We’ve had this art print by Heather Schieder hanging on the wall for a few years now. I look up and see it daily, and am inspired by Lewis’s story and his example, and his directive to “Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.” It feels more important now than ever.

Sticky socks and orthopedic sandals. Yup, the ones your kids wear to the trampoline park. And yes, the kind your grandma wears around the house to help with her plantar fasciitis. We’ll do whatever it takes to not slip anymore around here. We were lucky to kind of accidentally land in a beautiful 1970s home with all the foresty Pacific Northwest vibes — including super slippery wooden floors, and multiple unique stairways throughout. But after my sacral wipeout (and ok, probably due to some lingering PTSD from the fall, too), we’re not fucking around anymore. I ordered six pairs of sticky socks so that all three of us won’t risk slipping again. I started wearing orthopedic flip-flops around the house. And those bitches feel like fucking clouds on my feet. My orthopedic trauma specialist warned me how important it is that I don’t fall again — that this fracture will heal on its own as long as I don’t land on it again. And baby, I’m taking that 100% seriously. We’re sticky and sexy and supported over here.

Workday Jazz. I’ve been listening to Spotify instrumental playlists while I work at home. Blues, jazz, classical: the background tunes make all the difference, and keep my mind from running to planning or worry. Highly recommend for an easy upgrade to your WFH vibes.

The Wicked soundtrack. Have you seen Wicked yet? We were lucky to catch Stephen Schwartz’s famous musical in London when we were there last year. I had seen it 20 years ago when the national tour came through San Francisco, but the music (nor the plot) never completely stuck. This time, it’s different. We saw the film together a few days after it came out. My son has this brilliant ear for remembering music and lyrics, so we’ve been singing the soundtrack together ever since. I will never stop smiling to myself when I hear him belting out the big “Defying Gravity” finale while he and my husband play FIFA together in the basement. It’s great. Cynthia Erivo is excellent — and though I was skeptical about Ariana Grande as G(a)linda, she proved me wrong. We’re already looking forward to Part 2 this fall.

Tending the fire. Zen Buddhists say: “Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.” And I have really felt this in my bones over the course of this winter, and these last few weeks especially, tending to the fire within while I tend to the fire without, as well. Our house runs cold — especially this high-ceilinged living room with the windowed wall. It never quite gets warm. So the fireplace is essential. (It proved itself particularly so last November when a bomb cyclone knocked out our power for 72 hours. But that’s another story for another time.) Something about this fire has fed me, fueled me, comforted me in these cold January weeks post-injury.

At first, I couldn’t do anything but rest on the sofa, let alone crouch down and arrange logs to make a fire. Robb would make one in the evening as the sun went down, and I would curl up there next to the roaring fire in the only place in the house that felt good on my broken sacrum, supported by the firm cushions, warmed by the flames. So it has become my home away from home in these weeks when it’s been too impossible to climb the stairs or mount a tall bed or sleep on a soft mattress.

Tending the fire. Tending to the breath. Tending to the pain.

Tending to the flickering light dancing on the windows when all of the lights in the house are out and I’m there, quietly, with myself and my broken butt.

Healing slowly, bit by bit, every day closer again to whole.

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Already Great

Gotta put this resistance art from @camizeadotcom forever on the blog because it’s so damn important — and so damn true. 

I have fiery novels to write about the jarring experience of returning to the US last fall after six years of relative political sanity in Switzerland — and promptly watching my fellow Americans somehow, shockingly, and against their best interests, re-elect a fascist felon (and his oligarch bros) as President.

That story remains half-written, largely because even these three months post-election I feel nothing but 

🤬
😤

 and 

🤯

 toward anyone who could’ve possibly voted for this dude again, knowing all we know. There’s nothing yogic or compassionate about all those feelings of mine — and I’ve got very little grace to offer, especially after these first 11 days of an administration that seems hell-bent on setting our democracy (and the world) on fire. 

I know I’m not the only one. I see a lot of folks stepping back or going silent on social media as a protest to the conservative tech bro takeover, and I totally get that. Sanity, right?! Hopping off the MAGA chaos maelstrom for your mental and emotional well-being. It’s real.

But I can’t tune out. We owe it to one another (and the planet) to stay engaged. We have to keep abreast of what this miscreant and his cronies are doing in the world. 

And yet — and yet — this wannabe-dictator so driven to wreak havoc and create suffering is still, f**k, somehow a fellow child of God. Sigh. Anyone who can figure out how to reconcile all that and find grace somewhere in the midst of the world-burning going on is welcome to come sit by the fire and teach me a few things.

Until then, I’ll be over here checking the news while smoke streams out my ears. 

Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu. 

 May all beings, everywhere, be safe and happy and free from suffering.

(Even that guy. Maybe he’d spew less hate in the world if he hated himself a little less.)

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The Holy Bone

Last week I fell and fractured my sacrum.

I was reading while walking down the stairs, my morning cup of tea in one hand, and completely missed the bottom step, smashing the wooden edge with my tailbone and landing hard on my ass.

Later that day, lying on my side on the sofa trying to tell myself it was just a bruised tailbone, I watched the Palisades Fire in Los Angeles explode, and was soberly reminded that my situation wasn’t so bad after all. 

(A little perspective goes a long way. I had a roof over my broken butt. So many others now do not.)

But that night, after trying to push through the pain all day, a series of x-rays and CT scans in the UW Emergency Department diagnosed a fractured sacrum. 

I’ve essentially been on bedrest in the ten days since then, lying on my side and rotating every 30 minutes or so when my hips start to ache.

Needless to say, this is not how I expected 2025 to begin. I’d been planning to teach new yoga classes both locally and online in January. 

D’oh.

But the good news — the great news — is that the orthopedic surgeon confirmed that no surgery is required. By March or so, my sacrum should heal on its own, thanks to 6-8 weeks of rest and limited mobility and my new best buddy, the soft little donut cushion I’ll be carrying with me everywhere I go.

The sacrum is traditionally known as “the holy bone.” It’s like an upside down triangle at the back wall of your pelvis, just above the tailbone; the seat of the second chakra. You might’ve experienced a yoga assist from a teacher pressing back steadily on your sacrum during Downward Dog or massaging it gently in Child’s Pose. 

Thankfully, the S-4 section I fractured is not weight-bearing, and the nerves are not affected, so I can still stand and walk without much pain. Sitting and lying on my back are another story — oof, the agony! — but both should eventually improve over the weeks to come. I feel so grateful for a spine that remains strong and healthy, and for the core muscles that are working especially hard to support my body right now.

Of course it’s hard to be patient about waiting months to do a vinyasa again. Movement is my daily must — whether that’s athletic yoga asana or a brisk walk in the thin afternoon sunlight. It’s torture to not even be able to fold forward in a simple hamstring stretch anymore.

So naturally I’m hungry to get back. 

You should’ve seen the orthopedic surgeon’s face when I consulted him with my laundry list of questions. How long until I can do a headstand? Planks? Backbends? Twists? Forward folds? He got a whole Yoga 101 orientation that morning in his office. 

The answers were mostly promising: Listen to the pain. Trust your body. Back off when it doesn’t feel right. Don’t rush back into it. Full range of motion will come with time.

So, I just keep reminding myself, as Zen teacher Frank Ostaseski says: 

Right now it’s like this.

And it won’t always be this way.

A few other things I’ve learned along the way:

Be mindful walking down the stairs. Boy, did I feel like an idiot yogi for missing that bottom step. Why wasn’t I more present? Where was my Zen practice in that distracted multitasking moment? It was (and is) a humbling reminder that we’re all, always, beginners. And that one second — literally one step — can change your life.

When in doubt: laugh. That first day post-diagnosis, lying there on the sofa like a vintage odalisque painting, unwashed and under-slept with penguin-shaped ice packs shoved down the back of my pants, I tried so hard to be productive. There was so much I’d been wanting to get done in the new year! But it’s next to impossible to even reply to an email when you’re reclined on your side holding your phone awkwardly in front of your face. So I gave up the productivity ruse and dialed up Schitt’s Creek. I’d heard such good things about it and knew it was exactly the kind of lightness and absurdity I needed. Eugene Levy & Co. didn’t disappoint. Six seasons got me through the first ten days of bedrest. Premier League soccer and Will Ferrell on the New Heights podcast were two other welcome balms.

Our practices ebb and flow. This rest period reminds me a lot of being pregnant, when my once-strong and agile body suddenly couldn’t do what it had always done. Our bodies and our asana practices are always changing. They will continue to do so as we age. We can’t get attached to one state of fitness or mobility. 1 in 4 of us will experience disability at some point in our lives. We can all expect to experience moments like this. It’s just a matter of time. (And how lucky we are to grow older and more fragile, given the alternative.)

That said: don’t take your mobility for granted. Appreciate the ability to sit down at a dinner table and share a meal with your people. Appreciate the ability to curl up on the couch and drink a cup of tea. Appreciate the ability to DRIVE. Appreciate the ability to lie on your back or your yoga mat. Appreciate the ability to put on socks and shoes. Appreciate the ability to empty the dishwasher. Appreciate the ability to sit on a toilet! None of this is a given.

Our bodies are so fucking wise. My sacrum knows how to heal this shit on its own. Its natural state is wholeness. I don’t even have to go back for a follow-up x-ray in 8 weeks because the doctors assume it’ll take care of itself. (Unless some kind of unexpected pain emerges.) How cool is that? It was fascinating to experience how in those initial hours of shock post-fall, my body literally shivered and shook in an animalistic kind of effort to release the trauma and adrenaline of the injury. I have seen this happen regularly in my yoga classes and it was a marvel to witness in my own body. 

Feeding your body well will truly make all the difference. That first day, I immediately zoned into nutrition for healing to make sure I was nourishing my body with everything it could possibly need. Here was one tangible thing I could really do to speed my recovery time. Nuts and green juice and lentils and hummus and kombucha and broccoli, you name it. My mental and spiritual well-being have no doubt benefited from that, as well.

Your spiritual path is the one you’re on right now. In my post-injury googling, I discovered that term “holy bone” and knew this was my opportunity to put my yoga and meditation practices into action. Your spiritual practice doesn’t have to look like a monastery or a shala or a lush Balinese retreat. It can look like holding onto the counter for dear life as you inch your way to the kitchen in search of the next dose of Tylenol. It can look like doing neck rolls and Gomukhasana arms during ad breaks on Schitt’s Creek. It can look like not getting attached to the plan you had for your life in 2025. I’m practicing a different kind of yoga now.

Acupuncture and cupping really work. I’ve been fortunate to have two sessions since the fracture and both have helped tremendously with pain relief and swelling reduction. I’ve been a regular acupuncture patient for over 15 years now and this experience has only reaffirmed that. Cupping had helped a lingering hamstring injury in the past and I’ve been delighted to see how helpful it’s been in encouraging healing here, too.

Healthcare in the US is not healthcare in Switzerland. That first night at the ER, I spent a good five hours curled up on a stretcher in the hallway, squished between fellow overflow patients. In Basel, you’d be relaxing in a private room while the 2pm Kaffee & Kuchen carts roll by. We’re still holding our breath waiting for the insurance coverage decisions to come through. 

That said: emergency room doctors and nurses are angels. They were truly such lovely human beings. I so appreciated the empathy they’ve all clearly been trained to offer. Every single one looked me in the eyes and said “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” I overheard them saying the same thing to the pneumonia patient on my left and the flu sufferer on my right and the man with chest pain down the hall. In that scary moment, not knowing how long I’d be immobilized, or how serious the break was, their empathy was such a powerful comfort. There is so much compassion in just telling one another “This is hard, and I see that.”

Rest. Curl up next to the fireplace and nap. Follow your breath as your chest rises and falls under the sheepie blanket. Make friends with the stillness and not-doing. I’ve never been one to loll around on the sofa all day. It’s much more my style to get up and out. But giving into the rest and trusting in the savasana to do its thing has been so helpful. When our bodies are healing, they’re silently so hard at work, especially when we’re sleeping or simply resting on the couch. Even just icing and popping painkillers turned out to be important steps. It is a privilege to be able to rest.

Door Dash and Amazon Whole Foods grocery delivery will save your broken ass. We didn’t really utilize these kinds of things in Basel. For once, American capitalism wins a few begrudging points from us. When you can’t leave the house, or carry heavy things, or drive in a car, these quick delivery services really will save your life.

Breathe through your nose. Pranayama (mindful breathwork) was an essential source of comfort during that first day of excruciating pain, and during the especially acute suffering that came with lying on my back to take x-rays and CT scans. It soothed my mind and calmed my nervous system when I was waiting to find out from the orthopedic surgeon whether I’d have to have surgery or not. Nose-breathing has truly been one of my greatest tools. Can’t recommend it highly enough. (If you haven’t read James Nestor’s book Breath: The New Science of a Lost Art, especially if you’re a yoga teacher, please go read it now. You’ll never want to breathe through your mouth again.)

Mantras work, too. Yoke your mind to what is good to avoid spiraling into anxiety or what ifs. Alone in the house while my husband and son drove to his soccer match, I propped myself up with my eyes closed in the sun streaming through the back window repeating to myself “I am healing, I am healing, I am healing”, imagining that solar warmth radiating right into my sacrum. It helped.

Maybe there are hidden blessings somewhere in here. Maybe this is the writing retreat I’ve been needing for the last year? Finally a time to tackle the 47 writing projects that have been in the freezer throughout the course of our international move and the long complicated process of settling into a new home in a different country. Maybe it’s finally time to finish that book manuscript. Maybe there’s a reason for this stillness.

Don’t take yourself too seriously. Especially when you’ll be carrying around a squishy donut-shaped ass-cushion everywhere you go for the next two months. Shit happens. Suffering is a part of life. You can let it make you bitter and sour, or you can open yourself up to the cosmic humor of it all.

“There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” Leonard Cohen’s oft-repeated quote says it best. There’s a goddamned spiritual lesson or two in this motherfucking fracture. The January days are getting longer. The light is slowly returning. The sun peeks out now and then from behind the gloomy Seattle cloud cover.

And that reminds me that it’ll all be ok.

Want to help fire victims? The best way to support Los Angeles in the long and short term (Vox)

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Jason Kelce’s next gig? Yoga teacher

Last Monday, the long-awaited moment finally came: NFL legend Jason Kelce announced his retirement.

After 13 years as the iconic, beloved center for the Philadelphia Eagles, Kelce hung up his cleats. Sobbing through an emotional press conference with his Super Bowl champion brother Travis, parents Donna and Ed, and wife Kylie seated in the front row, Jason admitted: “I don’t know what’s next, but I look forward to the new challenges and lessons that await.”

Sports journalists predict the popular NFL player and podcast host will make his way into broadcasting. 

But I’ve got the perfect next chapter for Jason Kelce. And it’s not what you think.

The guy’s a total yogi — bare feet and all.

As a yoga teacher myself, it’s been literal years since I’ve paid attention to American football. My family and I moved to Switzerland back in 2018, and since then, I’ve been happy to ignore the NFL in favor of European fussball, Granit Xhaka, and the Champions League. Sobering medical reports about the brain damage caused by degenerative disorder chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) have also increasingly kept me away.

But, over the course of the last NFL season, Jason Kelce and his brother Travis have brought me back — and turned me into a fangirl.

New Heights podcast subscriber? Check.

Giggling over memes of Jason topless in below-freezing temps cheering on his brother at the Buffalo Bills game? Check.

Curled up on the sofa with his Amazon Prime documentary, Kelce? Check.

This grounded, authentic athlete is a natural yoga teacher. No sticky mat or stretchy hamstrings required.

Here’s why:

  1. He’s refreshingly genuine. This realness? It’s yoga. Buddhist psychotherapist and yoga teacher Michael Stone once wrote that “Yoga is the practice of learning to be real.” Finding ease in your body, and cultivating true integration of mind, body, and spirit; this is yoga. With the Kelce brothers, what you see is what you get, motherf**kers. Talk of body hair and Dad bods. Jason rocking flip flops and an old muscle tank at his retirement press conference. Admitting to falling asleep at the bar the night he first met Kylie. “Being unapologetically yourself. That’s my role,” he says in Kelce. And it’s so refreshing. 
  1. He’s an embodied athlete. As a professional football player, Jason Kelce is at home in his body, comfortable taking up space and moving with intensity. (I mean, did you see him leap back up into the family suite at the Bills game? He’s an athlete for sure). Athleticism is his purpose and delight (and yes, sometimes scourge), providing “that jolt” of energy when he walks onto the field. This sense of dharma (Sanskrit for true calling or duty), driven by “being the best in the world” makes it clear exactly why it’s so hard to finally step away from it all.
  1. He laughs easily. You can tell a real yogi by how quick they are to laugh. In yoga and Buddhism, wisdom is embodied by a childlike lightness, a sense of wonder and flexibility. We practice to get more light-hearted, more easygoing. This spirit shows up as what yogis call prana (or life force). And Jason’s got it. New Heights is full of good-natured joking. Between Jason’s dry sense of humor and Travis’s head-thrown-back guffaw, it’s welcome soul medicine — especially when the brothers are making fun of Jason’s eyebrows or reminiscing about 1990s video games.
  1. He has a heart for service and integrity. Karma yoga is the yoga of action or work; it’s a service-oriented offering to the world. (Insert obligatory “Karma is the guy on the Chiefs, coming straight home to me” reference here). Jason and Kylie both take pride in giving back off the football field on behalf of the Eagles Autism Foundation and via the Eagles Christmas album, which raised $3 million for about 70 nonprofit organizations in and around Philadelphia. Karma yoga aligns closely with satya, which is Sanskrit for the practice of thinking, speaking, and acting with integrity. The outpouring of gratitude from players and fans alike upon Jason’s retirement announcement overwhelmingly  highlighted his integrity as a leader.
  1. He’s all about interconnection. Interdependence rests at the heart of yoga philosophy. The idea that nothing and no one exists alone; we all unfold in and are made real by our relationships. (This concept is called dependent origination, if you want to get fancy about it, and it’s similar to the idea of the “Butterfly Effect.”) The Kelce brothers famously prioritize family. Kylie and Jason’s three toddler daughters feature centrally in their lives. Both Travis and Jason credit “Mama” Donna and “Papa” Ed Kelce in encouraging their great success. The brothers embody this strong sense of relationship, even when facing off against one another in the Super Bowl.
  1. He’s playful. In Hindu philosophy, the Sanskrit word leela connotes the idea that everything is divine play. When you think about a yoga practice — during which you might become a Tree, a Camel, a Monkey, or yes, even an Eagle — you can see how a certain playfulness and non-attachment to identity lie at yoga’s very heart. Jason doesn’t take himself too seriously. From his iconic Mummers costume at the 2018 Philly Super Bowl victory celebration to his infamous post-Super Bowl 2024 luchador mask to holding Pottery Barn tea parties with his daughters, there’s evidence of leela all around. 
  1. He’s both soft and strong. In every yoga pose, we aim to cultivate equal parts effort and ease. This concept is known as Sthira Sukham Asanam, and it’s a great guideline for moving through the world. Jason Kelce is simultaneously soft and strong: a tough-as-nails football player who’s also beloved for being emotionally intelligent. He’s a famously loving “girl dad” to Wyatt, Ellioitte, and Bennett. Both he and Travis admit to being frequently emotional — ”We’re criers” — and often tear up in public. And in his final moments as a professional football player, bombarded by cameras, Jason sobbed through his retirement press conference. Strength and softness personified. This is yoga. 

So, what do you say? Jason’s about to have a lot more time on his hands. Ready for the next chapter? 

Yoga’s great for healing football injuries. 

*

Rachel Meyer is an American writer and yoga teacher based in Switzerland. Her work has appeared in The Washington Post, On Being, Yoga Journal, Tricycle, Yoga International, HuffPost, and more. You can find her at www.rachelmeyeryoga.com or @rachelmeyeryoga.

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Building a safe(r) container

A student stopped me one day after class and told me this, seven or eight years ago at YoYoYogi in Portland. I’ve never forgotten it.

Isn’t that what we all want for our yoga students? For them to feel safe? 

Last night I taught the B. Yoga Basel TT cohort all about Yoga & Trauma Sensitivity. We covered everything from the basics of trauma theory to Bessel Van Der Kolk and Resmaa Menakem to Gabor Maté to reptilian brains to creating a culture of consent and how to offer quality hands-on assists and trauma-informed savasana options to guru power dynamics to the most burning question of all: whether yoga teachers should even be touching students in the first place. 

Whew!! It was a rich, nuanced, complicated, inspiring conversation — and it made me fall in love with teaching yoga all over again.

From San Francisco/Oakland to Portland to Boston to Basel, I feel grateful to have been a fly on the wall for some of the most thoughtful and progressive trauma-informed developments of the last decade.

Here in 2024, we are serving students more wholeheartedly and creating a safe(r) container for them at the same time. If that’s not ahimsa, I don’t know what is. 

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Heart-openers to put in your pocket

Winter has properly set in here in Basel.

Medieval chimneys puff smoke, morning temps hover around freezing, and the Christmas markets are back in full swing. It’s exactly the kind of cold that makes you want to hunch over, curl up, and hibernate.

So in class the other day, we spent a lot of time flowing through poses like this: heart-openers, shoulder openers, backbends. When you can remind your body to stay open and warm and loose, your spirit will usually follow — even when the air outside is bitter.

Raja Bhujangasana (King Cobra) is one extreme example. It really doesn’t matter if you ever touch your toes to your head or not. You can get similar antidotes to winter from poses like Cobra, Dhanurasana (Bow), Bridge, Camel, Reverse Tabletop, and variations of Reverse Namaskar (or just grabbing your elbows behind your back) in Tree or a wide-legged forward fold.

Put these heart-openers in your pocket for the days when you’d rather close off and contract. A few minutes of asana can be the perfect counter to the cold. ☃️

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You Are Your Own Best Teacher

I’ve been re-reading Tricia Hersey’s recent book Rest Is Resistance: A Manifesto, and loving her emphasis on Womanist and Black liberation theologies.

This line jumped out at me today. ✨

It’s a version of something I often say in yoga class: Remember that you are your own best teacher, and you know your body better than anyone else. So take what I say with a grain of salt, and trust your own deep knowing as you move through your practice.

Did you grow up learning this sense of embodied trust in your own faith tradition? 🥴 Reclaiming it can be super hard for those of us who didn’t. (Ahem, Christianity.)

But that’s why I love the yogic (and Black Womanist, and ecofeminist) traditions. They cultivate that sense of inherent bodily goodness; of radical wholeness; of the fact that our bodies are wise and holy and strong, just as they are.

Grateful for theologians like Hersey who are spreading this powerful wisdom on a global scale. 🪷

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Four seasons of footballer yogis

Look at those footballer-yogis! ⚽️

Last night we wrapped up my fourth season teaching yoga to the players of Basel Internationaler Fussball Club. And it has been such a delight.

Starting back in the pre-Covid days, these plucky players from age 5-14 have shown up in the rain and the mud, in echoing gym basements, sometimes wearing masks, sometimes falling on their faces, sometimes dragging their creaky parents onto the pitch to join us.

This is not your grandma’s yoga. It’s frequently silly, often chaotic, usually messy, and always a joy. ❤️

The littler players are especially creative and excited to contribute their own poses. Just last night, Lion’s Breath turned into Peek-a-boo Breath, and Happy Baby became Scary Baby. (Highly recommend.)

I am grateful to all of the outstanding BIFC parent coaches over the years, to Bartlomé Soccer Academy for providing consistently exceptional professional trainers, and to Ignacio Anglada for first planting the seed back in 2019.

I love knowing that these young players are beginning their athletic careers with these holistic well-being tools already in their pockets. Especially for boys — learning that yoga isn’t just a “girl thing,” but it’s a way for them to build strength, cultivate mental equanimity, protect against injury, and emulate their favorite pros who are already on the yoga train.

Allez, allez BIFC!! ⚫️⚪️🟡

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The history of yoga. In three hours. No big deal.

Tonight I’m teaching The History of Yoga to the teacher training cohort over at B. Yoga Basel. This is one of my favorite things to do and I’m so glad to be jumping back into this rich and often-raucous material.

Of course, it’s a total joke to think you can teach the history of yoga in three hours, but I always remind students this is just their very first introduction — and that they’ll spend the rest of their lives learning and unlearning this stuff, especially as the nature of what we know evolves, and as the people with privilege and power shift.

Because it’s all, always changing.

The sociologist in me always starts out with the heady stuff about the social construction of reality and postmodernism and context and identity. (Don’t worry, it gets easier from there.)

But then I love to use Sanjay Patel’s work (like the gorgeous Ganesha pictured here, from his children’s book Ganesha’s Sweet Tooth) as a perfect example of what happens when yoga history and philosophy meet storytelling and art and identity and the 21st century. Follow him at @gheehappy for such great stuff.

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Leave your politics out of YOGA!

Woke up to this Trump voter screaming at me over the interwebs the other day. 🤦‍♀️ Sorry, Karen. I will not.

First of all: Yoga IS political.

Any teacher who tells you otherwise doesn’t know what they’re doing.

Waaaay beyond a workout, yoga is an ethical system, a spiritual discipline, a way of being in the world grounded in compassion and non-violence and the reality of interdependence.

When you really practice this sh*t, when you realize it’s so much more than just stretching, when you let these radically-loving yogic ethics pervade your every breath, then of *course* it’s political.

And, honestly, that’s why there are so few yoga teachers who’d really vote for Donald Trump or support imperialist war or condone the recent violence against trans kids in Texas and gay folks in Florida.

Many (most?) of us vote blue. 🗳 Because those very ethics of compassion and non-violence and interdependence make it clear the Christofascist lens of the modern-day GOP is completely incompatible with a yogic way of being.

Second: girl, it’s a free yoga class. On YouTube. Where there are six million other free classes you could take instead.

So if my politics turn you off, close the window. Click away. 🤷‍♀️

Or even better, stay awhile, and see if you can learn a thing or two about the meaningful, life-changing Eastern philosophy that’s behind all this bendy stuff to begin with. ✌🏼