I'm not a die hard Instagramer. There are times where you won't see a post from me for weeks, or even months. My pictures aren't all yoga pictures, and I rarely have time to post a nice, long, inspiring message with every photo. But I am a proponent of yogis using Instagram if it serves them. In fact, I think all of the controversy over yoga selfies simply boils down to judgement and closed-mindedness. Yep, I said it.
The first time I discovered that people posted yoga selfies to Instagram, I had no clue how on earth they even did it. You can read my blog post about thishere.  Shortly after discovering the world of Instagram yoga, I discovered the world of Instagram yoga challenges. This was during a busy and somewhat stressful time in my life, and I decided to give participating in a challenge a shot. It seemed like a good way to ensure I got in even just a short practice every day, and gave me an excuse to take a break from everything else that was going on.
The challenge gave me a few things that I wasn't expecting too. For one, it opened my eyes to an entire community of yogis I had no idea existed. They gather from all over the world on Instagram and they share their thoughts, ideas, practices, small businesses and sometimes even the stories of their lives. They connect to each other from far and near and offer support to each other. Many of them are stay at home moms who are self-taught yogis with home practices looking for a community to share their journey with. They are beautiful. They ARE inspiring. And for most, the inspiration they offer has precious little to do with the fancy poses or unattainable body types I see brought up so often in criticisms of "Instagram yoga."
The other discovery I happily made was that participating in a yoga challenge helped to do more than get me on my mat everyday. It challenged me to try new poses (some of which I'd never seen). It took me out of my comfort zone and inspired me. It was about WAY more than the vanity of selfie taking it gets boiled down to so often. It did help me to grow my practice and I often found myself frankly writing about how many tries it took to get an actual picture of a posture or sharing a picture that was not a "perfect" expression of the posture. I found it a good tool for breaking through ego - not a way to serve or feed it.
At the beginning of July, feeling a bit stagnant in my practice and wanting to keep inspired, I joined another challenge. This one simply gives you a word and you choose the posture that it inspires you to share. It has been a great way for this pregnant yogi-momma to keep up with her prenatal practice. It won't be the last time I turn to this online community to enrich and inspire my practice. Accuse me of vanity all day long. I'll just be over on my IG account with people too busy walking their own yogic path to be casting judgement on what, where or how others choose to carry on with their practices.

2015 has not been the year I was expecting it to be. At the start of this year I was working hard at moving forward with my yoga and writing, making connections, planning retreats, upgrading my teaching qualifications and looking forward to all of the new opportunities and adventures that my motivation and enthusiasm were bringing my way. All of the excitement culminated in February when we realized we were pregnant. But February also brought with it a tide of strange coincidences that started to sweep away some of the excitement and replace it with worries. Some financial strain came on, followed by intense pregnancy symptoms that resulted in sapped physical and mental energy and left me with little time to devote to my work. I no sooner started to recoup my energy and found myself facing an old health issue.
I'm no stranger to dips in motivation, or struggling to persevere through difficult life circumstances. I view the times where life gets a bit more challenging as a good opportunity. They can create periods of immense growth; they can be amazingly affirming if they entail being abstinent from something - say a physical yoga practice, or our work - by helping to reaffirm our passion and desire for what we choose to pursue. More often then not, even when I want to berate myself for not finding a way to push through and do what I want to be doing, versus what my body/mind/life circumstance are dictating I can do, I can find the bright side to where I'm at, or at least acceptance of that place, and end up the better for having the chance to practice yoga off-the-mat, a much harder endeavor than anything I've worked towards in asana. But this streak of lows culminated in something I was not ready for, when I suddenly lost my dog Dakota at the beginning of the month.
Anyone who knows me at all knows about Heidi and Dakota. Undoubtedly after any amount of time in conversation with me they will come up. The reason for this is quite simple: I have never been loved by any human being -ever - as flawlessly as I have been loved by those two dogs. Don't get me wrong, I love my people. And the dark times in my life have served as opportunities for me to realize exactly how blessed I am to have, and have had, so many amazing people in my corner. But dogs are not like people. They do not stumble over things with the wrong words marring their way. Their own feelings do not muddle the support that they give, or how they give it. They do not judge, or grow tired of you, or ever - ever - stop thinking, even for a second, that you are the best thing on the planet.  And it is because of these qualities that my dogs came to be the light that pulled me out of the darkest, hardest time in my life. Because when I didn't know where to look for the light in myself, they still saw it. And their belief in me, their love for me, forced me to start believing in myself.
Losing Dakota has been a challenge.
It has been a lesson in checking in. In learning a bit more about the places in my life where I forget relying on "happiness within" and instead place it on others. Because losing him felt like losing a piece of myself. A chunk of my history and yes, some of the strength that built up in me as I bloomed out of the dark places I have faced in the past.
It has been a practice in letting go. Because I was not ready. And I did not want to. But I loved him too much to put him through anything unnecessary in order to try and keep him here just for me.
And it has been the ultimate test in looking for the light. In finding happiness in memories, and in celebrating the time that we did share, in celebrating everything that was amazing about his gentle, strong, loving, protective, intelligent and infinitely giving soul instead of getting stuck in the sorrow of not having more.

But I will not lie to you. Grief is the hardest yoga I have ever done.

As I reflected on my weekend driving south through the prairies toward the mountains, toward home, on Monday, every cell in my body twinkled with inspiration.  My head was floating with ideas and refined techniques for my classes and workshops, but I wasn't flitting around in la-la land un-rooted as often happens when our creativity takes over full force.  Instead, I was grounded firmly with a newly renewed belief in how I teach and in my ability to help people, and with a wealth of scientific and anatomical knowledge to back it up.  I was rooted and floating. If chakras are your thing, you might say mine were perfectly aligned.
When I started teaching I had an un-wavering belief in my abilities. I knew what I did worked and I believed whole heartedly that the people who came to my classes would be able to find what they needed there.  How did I know this? It's really simple.  I knew how my practice felt in my body (and it felt damn good) and I had the confidence and the humbleness to know it may not work exactly the same way for my students, so I wasn't afraid to cue my class to take a different route rather than hang on my every word and instruction. Fast forward to two years after I took my first teacher training, as I find myself beginning the journey toward my 500 hour teaching certification, and one of the first things that the teacher says to us is that we need to let go of the idea that by-the-book alignment in a pose, or overworking one muscle by hitting the same or similar poses in a sequence is of benefit, that a "harder" sequence, a stiffer practice is "better" or more beneficial (to question if it is of benefit at all even), but instead to discover what things feel like in your body and to ask our students the same thing. To use that as our roadmap.  To understand the science behind what works our muscles, what affects range of motion, what is truly beneficial and actually works to achieve balance on and off the mat. To treat each student as an individual with a unique body that may not work exactly the same as our own - or anyone else's for that matter, and to honour that individuality in ourselves and in our students. To respect ourselves and other teachers enough to teach as individuals, not carbon copies of a text book or someone else, because we aren't all the same and that, that is important and should be honoured. It was my teaching philosophy, being taught to me.  And make no mistake, I'm sure the universe put me there to re-learn it, and just to make sure I was listening,  to learn it from a very experienced yoga teacher swimming in anatomical certifications and with an amazing and enviable practice and ability to intelligently teach that practice, the strong aspects and the soft, to others.
There were a few things I had to process on my drive home. One was how had I let someone else's idea of what I should be teaching affect me so much? Enough that even after removing myself from the reach of the person's negative influence I was questioning myself in my classes - despite the universe sending me numerous opportunities and voices of support to remind me that her actions had to do with her insecurities, not with me.  This was hard for me to look at.  Somewhere along the way I had lost touch with that sure, confident part of me and had started letting outside situations and actions affect me. 
The other realization that struck me was that I was still doing it.  I had left the unhealthy environment, I had kept moving forward and continued to teach and be inspired by the world around me, but I hadn't found my footing on my own, I needed to hear someone else teach my theory on teaching yoga to me in order to feel validated, in order for me to get "back to myself" in my teaching and my confidence level as a teacher. I had needed external validation to offset the external criticism. I wasn't home yet. 

But I was on my way.

If you need pointing in the right direction be sure to check out my guest blog post on The Unique Gifter! https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10100966333083361&id=81001774

I just spent an amazing weekend at an acro and slackline yoga workshop. My body is (predictably) incredibly sore but I am so content and relaxed it's amazing! While both acro yoga and slackline yoga have intrigued me, and I thoroughly enjoyed the small taste of acro I've experienced in the past, I admit to finding myself surprised by the calmness both practices left me feeling. More pictures to come, but wanted to get a post up to share! <3

I've been floating along lately giving a lot of attention to day-to-day but not working on my writing or much else.  It's not that I don't want to be, it's just that sometimes in life situations arise that keep us from certain activities.  It's fine, I've been happy to take some time to slow down and do what I need to do.  It isn't like I don't know that I'll be able to make my writing and website a priority in due time, life has a way of evening out like that, which is pretty sweet, but what's really cool is how when you have to step away from something for a bit, the universe sometimes puts it back in your path to keep you from letting it slip too far away.  Which is why today was so amazing for me.  I woke up to not one, but two writing related emails.  One was about a poem I submitted to a magazine several months ago.  I had assumed that they weren't interested but was delighted to find out that the poem is currently under consideration for publication in a future issue.  The second email was about an exciting opportunity to help George Washington University spread the word about how yoga can play a role in healthcare.   If you are a blogger and you'd like to help them out by participating or spreading the word on social media, check out the info here: http://publichealthonline.gwu.edu/yoga-matters-invitation/ You can help raise awareness of yoga as a complimentary health care practice and you could end up with $500 in the process. I've already started my draft post to contribute.  I can't let all of these good vibrations float by and not push my limits a bit to honour them~

The black dust from the road floats up in plumes behind the car as Em coos "goin' to get huckles, Mom" from the backseat.  It's a hot July day and even though I've driven Coal Creek road a thousand times before I'm struck again by the relentless heat of the sun shining on the road, when only a few feet to either side the lush and thick forest rests.  The forest here is always at least a few degrees cooler than the temperature on the road, which carves through the forest floor like a long winding black scar amidst the vibrant shades of green.  Magic is the word I use most often to describe Coal Creek.  Call it a throw over from a childhood spent marveling at the knowledge that a town used to thrive here, where now only a few scraps of cabins and remnants of old mine shafts sprinkle the forest, invisible, save only  to those actively on the lookout for them, but I doubt you could spend a few hours fishing the creek, with its moss covered slabs of rock and trickling waterfalls, or hiking the impossibly green, thickly treed mountains that rise to either side of the coal dust road, like sentries sat guarding a treasure, and not agree with me.  From the giant ammonite hidden nestled in a drainage, to the rusty coffee tins and shards of plates that the creek drudges up to the surface each year after spring run-off, perhaps part of what makes this area so special is its secrets.  They whisper of a past here that we can only imagine now. 
We pull over to park and I get us set up, gathering the bucket and backpack together and fishing Em's hat out of the back seat.  He's picking raspberries from a bush next to the car, in awe at their presence, bright like shining red rubies amongst the leaves, and his luck at getting to eat them.  "Come on, lets get over to the huckleberries now" I prod, and he reluctantly joins me in crossing the road and climbing the bank. The last mine in Coal Creek closed down in 1958, but remnants of the community that existed here remain.  Every year the graduates from Fernie Secondary hold a grad party in the old football field.  The foundations from old bridges still lay to either side of the creek. Locals hike up to the old sealed mine entrances on a trail marked with collapsed mining shacks.
When I was young I would sit in rapture, eating baked goodies off of a fancy plate and sipping sweat tea while my Grandma Grace told stories about growing up in Coal Creek:  attending community football games, hanging out at the swimming hole, going in to "town" (Fernie) for a movie.  As a child the stories fascinated me because it was hard for me to imagine that the wilderness I had caught my first fish in once held an entire town, but as I've gotten older I've realized that all of her stories about Coal Creek held a common theme.  They all were woven together with an  undercurrent of community ties running through them, and when she told them, it was as though, even with the decades that had passed between, that community was still alive and strong. She passed a few years ago, but her stories and that sense of community they build are still alive and strong, I gleefully discovered, as I listened to a few of them through headphones, a picture of a young Grandma Grace from long before I was born next to the headphone wire, at the Fernie Museum in June.
It was the week after the Feel Good Fernie and community was definitely on my mind.  I was sad to see the festival end because throughout it I was wonderfully overwhelmed by the sense of community that had formed between the yogis from both far and near.  And so I found myself, as I squatted on the mossy forest floor filling my bucket, my toddler next to me gleefully munching on huckleberries and naming members of his family that he wished were there with us enjoying this moment too, thinking about Grandma Grace and her stories, thinking about huckleberry picking with my Dad and other family members when I was a little girl, and thinking of ways to capture and keep that essence of community the festival created.  A story seemed like a good place to start.

After a weekend spent teaching to, and learning from, a beautiful group of yoginis at EYS's latest teacher training, I taught a yin class this morning from the perspective of a full and happy yogini who just enjoyed a transformative weekend.  And it was during this class, while feeling so full and recharged, that I felt my heart pouring out to a student.  Sometimes the universe fills us up and if we are wise, and honour our true nature, we share that goodness with others rather than trying to keep it all for ourselves. 
I had never taught her before and she was friendly and chatty before class when I introduced myself to her, but as we journeyed into our practice, I began to notice an un-easiness to her that deepened as the minutes ticked by.  I kept my voice calm, talked a bit more than I usually do during yin, and tried to pour out good, calming energy to guide her into a peaceful acceptance of the now.  As the class prepared for savasana,  hoped with my entirety that she would find a few moments of rest from the anxiety that had swirled around her like a shroud during class.  But watching over the class as they relaxed into their savasana I would see her slip into rest for a moment or two and then shudder and twitch back to consciousness. 
Having suffered through PTSD and anxiety disorder, I wished that, even just for a moment, I could let her know without singling her out that it could be okay.  That it would be okay.  That if she continues to try and find her way, it will happen.  That the feelings of anxiety aren't permanent.  That they didn't define her.  That I knew with my whole being she could overcome them.  But that wasn't my place.  I was a teacher, in a morning yoga class, who knew nothing at all about her.  It would have been awkward and unprofessional for me to do so. 
As I sat in sukhasana, my students in savasana, my heart spoke to me and I accepted that I couldn`t confront her, and that even if I could, it may be unwelcomed interference.  It wasn`t my place.  So I let some of the wealth of beautiful energy that had built up within me over the weekend seep out and led the  class into a final meditation meant to evoke feelings of calm and invited them to take that  into their day.  As we sat in meditation, I let my whole heart shine in the genuine hope that, even if it was only for a second, she felt calm and centered and unworried.  And then I let it go.  It isn`t for me to meddle in another`s journey, or project my feelings on to someone else`s situation.  We each walk our own paths and the best support we  can give each other is open acceptance and un-conditional love.  It`s the best support we can give ourselves too.
Namaste

Teaching a yin and yang flow class this morning I was struck by how much I enjoy teaching that particular style of class.  Yin and yang has such balance that it can be hard to beat for an all around, feel good, yoga class and I more often than not find myself giving words on the importance of striving for balance and encouraging students to try and find it in their day-to-day lives as class ends. But as I left the studio today my thoughts on the beauty of balance slipped away.  I had, and have had, so much on my plate with the Feel Good Fernie festival coming up, that I've not been practicing balance in my own life.  From making time for family, to taking care of my out of class yoga responsibilities (this blog included) to making some me time, I've let it all slide. 
On my to-do list for the day was securing meeting venues for the upcoming volunteer meetings this week.  I was leaving the director of the Fernie library's office when she said to me "I really enjoy your blog.  Well, I was . You haven't posted much lately." As the excuses came forth, matched in measure by my own disappointment in my lack of finding the time to blog, I felt a memory stirring in the back of my mind from yoga teacher training.  We all have excuses and stories we serve up to ourselves and to others, but at the end of the day, what we do, or don't do has everything to do with us.  Couldn't I be taking the time for the other aspects of my life too? Has the universe withheld chances for me to look after myself, my yoga business, or spending time with my family? No.  Plain and simple.  I've chosen to put the festival first.  To take on more responsibility for it.  To handle spreadsheets, emails and requests for sponsorship  before giving myself a chance to blog, update the website, write an article or post to my followers on Facebook. 
So this afternoon, as my little one naps, I find myself here.  And you know what? The way my spirit feels, having made the choice to write instead of putting something else first, resembles the way I feel after teaching or taking a beautifully balanced yin and yang class.  Balance.  It's a beautiful space to reside in.