It’s All Tadasana

A woman of color confronts privilege in the Los Angeles yoga scene, and comes away with lessons on how to maintain integrity in times of turmoil.

“It’s all tadasana,” said my first yoga teacher, referring to the starting position for all standing poses.

The phrase still echoes in my head, reminding me that every asana (pose or posture) in yoga aims for total integrity. We stand and transition with dignity, our breath and movement serving one intention: to go inward and examine the depths of our character. She would say, “The way you are on your mat is the way you are in the world.” As I have moved through my life and grown in my yoga practice, I have found this to be absolutely true.

I’m a woman of color raised in a low-income neighborhood in western New York, and I bring to my mat the habits that reflect that environment. Growing up, I was taught to prioritize survival. To make myself small in the hope I would become invisible to danger. I grew up where the crime rate was high, and gunshots were so common I thought my neighbors must be fireworks enthusiasts. I have witnessed more SWAT teams busting up drug houses through the windows of my childhood home than most people watch on television. So when I first stepped on a mat, I was observant and precise. Careful not to step out of line for fear that any offense would be met with violence.

After I moved away from my hometown, I traveled from city to city, eventually landing in a gentrified, well-manicured neighborhood in Los Angeles. It was there that I continued my journey inward through yoga, which I’d begun in graduate school in Chicago with my first teacher, Mary Schmich.

Practicing with Mary, I found myself wrestling to overcome the residual effects of my childhood. I compared myself to others and felt my inherent disadvantages. I’d overcompensate to hide my insecurities, committing to what I knew I could do well, and only half-heartedly attempt poses that felt out of reach. I mistakenly believed I could only attain a certain level before all my progress would be snatched away from me. Though miles away and years older, I was still trapped in the reality of my youth.

What are you really practicing?

It’s a cliché to live in Los Angeles and practice yoga. The “peace and love” culture of yesteryear has morphed into the holistic, vegan, witchy lifestyle of today. You can’t swing a sage bush in this town without hitting a yoga studio or crystal healing shop. But the yoga practiced here is often in contrast to the principles I was taught by Mary. Mary challenged us to look at our practice holistically, appreciating the philosophy of yoga as much as we did the asanas. Her lessons required us to explore, discuss, and apply the yamas, niyamas, and Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. She invited us to observe the attitudes we carried onto our mats, to question them, and be open to redefining ourselves. In this way of exploring of yoga, I gravitated towards three of the principles and set an intention to incorporate them into my life:

· Satya (truthfulness)

· Svadhyaya (self-study)

· Ahimsa (non-harming)

In my neighborhood in Los Angeles, everyone goes to yoga, but not many people actually practice these core principles. They show up to class and move through the asanas all the while breaking yogic principles — on and off the mat.

Truthfulness and entitlement

At my current studio, where I work at the front desk in exchange for yoga classes, it surprises me how many people feel entitled to steal yoga classes rather than pay or work for them. They do this by lying, violating the principle of satya (truthfulness). They might change the spelling of their name from “Ashleigh” to “Ashley” to create a new account and take advantage of our new student discounts. Seeing this, I wonder if they are capable of truly practicing yoga if they are lying and stealing in the process. To me, stealing and dishonesty suggests a deep-seated sense of entitlement. Entitlement that lets them see their actions as no big deal, blissfully unconcerned with the impact on instructors and the studio.

As a person, you either practice telling the truth or you don’t. But to practice yoga, you might want to embrace the former. If you’re deceitful to the front desk, then you’re probably also deceitful on your mat. Do you find yourself forcing your body into postures that you’re not properly warmed up for? Do you make excuses to mask your insecurity around poses that don’t come easily to you? If this is the case, maybe it’s time to honestly ask yourself, “What are you really practicing?” To answer that question, you’ll have to develop a practice of svadhyaya, self-reflection.

Self-reflection and curiosity

Yoga is a mirror. Are we competitive, impatient, judgmental? Do we recognize every moment as an invitation to have a novel experience? Or are we entitled, believing everything should come to us without much effort?

For practitioners who steal classes, I’m curious what kind of lives led them to that choice. Just as I have at times felt trapped in my past, are they trapped in theirs? Perhaps their class, race, and/or gender shielded them from being suspected of theft and they never faced the pressures I felt growing up. Where I grew up, you kept your hands and items where they could be seen at all times, lest you arouse suspicion. I still fear that suspicion even now. When I walk into a store, I’m careful to put unpurchased items in the shopping basket, not my reusable shopping bag — unlike my roommate, who’s white and grew up in a neighborhood where people could afford to trust each other blindly.

Practicing svadhyaya allows me to contemplate the fears and conditioning I’ve carried since childhood and mature into a better version of myself. I’ve learned that our ability to grow is directly linked to our ability to forgive. And for that, we are required to practice ahimsa, compassion for ourselves, others, and our environment.

Judgment-free forgiveness

Ahimsa generally translates as non-harming or non-injury. In Mary’s class, as we discussed how to apply these principles to our daily lives, we talked about the micro ways we inflict harm on ourselves, each other, and the world at large. At the time, my biggest offense was criticizing anyone who was not living in accordance with my values. Through continued practice, I’ve come to understand and accept that we are meant to be different. Our differences mean we serve specific functions as part of the whole, like different parts of the body.

Now when I encounter people who I might be inclined to wag my finger at in judgement, I stop to consider that their role in this life might not be the same as mine. No matter how unfair their privilege may seem, I try to practice patience and compassion. If I am the product of my environment, they, too, must be the product of theirs.

Applying these lessons in a pandemic

In times of sudden hardship and strife, self-awareness is one of the first casualties. We tend to revert to deeply rooted fears and coping mechanisms. If you’ve stepped foot in a grocery store during the COVID-19 pandemic, you know what I’m talking about. The “all for me, none for you” attitude has shown itself in adults who might otherwise be quite generous.

Last month, standing in line waiting for my local Trader Joe’s to open, I found myself feeling panicked that there wouldn’t be enough food in the store. Just the week before, I’d walked into the store to find empty shelves and people with carts piled high. As I stood there with my basket in hand, staring at this sea of overflowing carts, I felt the ceiling of disadvantage crashing down on me. It was like I was back on my yoga mat for the first time, looking at everyone around me, believing they had an advantage I wasn’t allowed to have. Standing in that line outside the grocery store a week later, feeling this panic all over again, I stopped to take a breath and check in with reality.

The reality was my local Trader Joe’s had been restocking their shelves regularly and weren’t experiencing shortages like other grocery stores in the area. And my partner and friends were sharing pantry staples, frozen foods, and produce to keep me well stocked through the first weeks of the quarantine.

Now that some of the initial panic has died down, and we are all cooped up, there’s an opportunity for contemplation. I invite you to use this time to practice satya, svadhyaya, and ahimsa.

Start by asking yourself these questions (and be honest):

1. Did I succumb to greed and entitlement at the onset of the pandemic?
2. What emotions have I been experiencing since the shelter-in-place orders began?
3. How can I be mindful of my actions and inflict less harm on myself and my neighbors?

Whether you’re preparing to step onto your mat or standing in a line outside your grocery store, remember that you can meet this moment with dignity. Ground your feet, pull your shoulders back, and keep your eyes on the horizon. “It’s all tadasana,” as Mary would say.