Hey Reader,

It’s been a minute. Well, actually 201,600 minutes* since I last shared a newsletter. I also haven’t practised yoga consistently in months. Some yoga teacher.

I made some life decisions and let them reprioritize things. And I haven’t written a newsletter because I’ve been procrastinating saying the words, documenting the changes, perhaps deciding to let go of something in order to allow something else to live. Lessons that I’ve tried to live and teach on and off the mat, and yet, somehow I’ve been incredibly stubborn in accepting those lessons these last months.

I got a dog. A golden retriever puppy. It was part spontaneous, part an action long considered. Although the consequences of that action were not entirely visible to me until I’d stepped off the ledge and suddenly found myself donning long underwear before bed to make the middle of the night dressing for potty breaks in frigid February easier.

Surely I’ve mentioned to you that less than eight hours of sleep is my kryptonite. Suffice it to say that within a few days of puppy parenting, and bathroom breaks every two to three hours, I knew that I could not teach a yoga class in the evening. I could barely string together coherent sentences, let alone summon the energy to demonstrate and clearly articulate a yoga sequence. Not to mention that there would be a puppy thundering about upstairs from the “studio” and requiring all hands on deck.

I also got a day job (pre-puppy). You might not find this surprising, but teaching yoga is not a ticket to wealth. It’s a long game that others have been playing for years, building followings and studios and online platforms that are tough competition. For every successful, full-time yoga teacher you see in a pretzel on Instagram there are many more who teach in their spare time. I thought I’d continue to teach on the side in an effort to build my yoga business in a more protracted timeline than my patience usually allows. And yet.

To pay the bills, so to speak, I took on a number of freelance writing and editing assignments. Some of that writing reignited in me a passion and pride in my work that I’d not felt in some time. More writing, please. I accepted a communications contract allowing me to give back by helping launch a mental health service in Western Ontario.

So, I cancelled my yoga classes and decided to focus on the necessities: the day job, and the survival of my puppy, my relationship and myself.

Survival felt like an ambitious goal. Those first two months with Leo I questioned more often than I’d like to admit whether I could give him back. I mean, I’d walked away from enough relationships over the years, compartmentalizing the wounds and rationalizing that I didn’t need so and so, pushing it out of mind and into a box that I would tuck in the farthest reaches of my least visited closet. Surely I could manage the same if I gave back this helpless, sweet-as-pie puppy, who nibbles at me like I’m his mom, trusting enough to fall asleep belly up and vulnerable on my lap. His whines when I climbed the stairs to the toilet and left him alone behind a baby gate stirred something different. His obvious happiness, the thwapping of his tail against the floor upon my return and I knew I’d never forgive myself. I must commit in a way I never have before.

My mood was a rollercoaster rising to anxious highs then falling to depressing lows. I felt constantly foggy, like I was trying to regain my equilibrium after riding the loop-de-loop. I did not turn to my yoga mat or meditation cushion for support. I didn’t have it in me. I told myself that I couldn’t leave the dog alone. I couldn’t take to my mat with him near because he would try to eat my head thinking that downward dog was a full contact sport. I didn’t have the energy to try any of it.

Leo is just over six months old now and I’ve successfully closed the door to the basement with him upstairs alone while I take to the mat. It felt good. I considered reviving weekly online classes, but my heart isn’t in it. I feel a fraud, having let my own practice slip for so long. "Marketing" feels like a slog to drum up students and compete with the well-established teachers and platforms that I myself turn to for a well-balanced yoga class and for inspiration. What more could I offer?

So, I’ve been procrastinating writing because what would I say? I don’t think I want to teach yoga right now (see how I couch my decisions in maybes?!?!).

Of course, I regularly question whether it’s just my lack of discipline, my inability to see beyond the next few minutes, let alone months or years, that’s leading me to change directions. But I suspect that’s something I will always wrestle with. Why not do that here, out loud?

I do want to write. What I want is to morph this newsletter into a way for me to share some stories rather than write yoga tips for you and pretend that I don’t need to integrate them in my life as much as the next person.

I share all this because I see that it’s the stories we tell that make life’s messes OK. It’s the stories we tell that help us learn, inspire us to try new things, and connect us with others who may be experiencing similar challenges.

Will the newsletter still be about yoga and creativity and life? Well, yes, in as much as that is my life and the lens through which I view my landscape. I guess this is a way for me to be accountable for writing regularly because that’s what I’ve missed most during these past few months and that’s what I always envision my life centring around.

Will I never teach yoga again? I’m not willing to commit to never. 😉

Anyhoo, if you’re up for this new experiment then thank you for sticking around to see where it leads. There's more to be determined regarding newsletter frequency, format, flavour. If you want to protect your inbox, this is not your jam, or you think ‘not another newsletter!’ then your way out is through the unsubscribe link below.

Thanks for reading.
Be well.
Lisa
xo

*The assumption used was that May 24 was 20 weeks since I sent my last newsletter. I did math for this!