Breathing fast and slow

I often joke with friends that in my next life I am going to be a dancer. I have a dancer's build and a good sense of balance, and I have always held a soft spot for ballerinas, gymnasts, acrobats, and the lithe bodies of street performers and mimes. While I am not necessarily good at following direction backward in a mirror, I have a decent sense of rhythm and spent a fair number of nights as a young adult on a dance floor where I escaped alcohol and drugs by getting lost in movement. I have gravitated toward sports and activities that promote graceful lines, powerful energy and a feeling of expansiveness. One of the many things I love about rock climbing is that I often feel like a dancer moving across stone. The height, the airy terrain, the play of the wind in my hair all add to the allure and keep me returning for more. Yoga is a natural fit for someone who likes to dance. And the discipline of ashtanga appeals to the inner gymnast in me that never had a shot at the balance

I am reading Dani Shapiro's most recent book Still Writing . It's a strange feeling, discovering a piece of myself on every page. In her adept, practiced hands, Shapiro is laying bare every insecurity I have ever felt as someone who takes up a pen to write. I thank her for giving voice to those idiosyncrasies I have not yet found the words for, but which plague me nonetheless when I sit down to write. Mostly, though, I thank her for making me feel less alone, less like a freak or an impostor, in the habits and quirks that persist when I approach a blank page. Writing is like any endeavor we devote ourselves to, it becomes better with practice. Shapiro says, in fact, that "the practice is the art." Guruji, of course, said the same thing when he repeatedly spoke the mantra that endures as his legacy to all ashtangis: "Practice and all is coming." I know this; I have even experienced this. How, then, to hold on to this? To trust in this the next time I am pl

This semester I am reading the novel A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest J. Gaines with  my students. As I do every semester before we begin to read together, I devote a class session or two to a discussion of the selected title and, sometimes, I also distribute a supplemental article, essay or poem that provides essential background. These discussions serve as a way to generate interest in the chosen book and to engage my students in a bit of inquiry before we actually begin the process of reading. Pedagogically speaking, I am preparing my students to read. In other words, I am working hard to help my students find a way to make a connection to a book that they have been told they have to read to pass my class. Simple right? After all, this is a college class. The sad truth is, every semester I have to work that much harder to sell my students on the title. By the end of the semester, I know that a handful of students will have completed the book in its entirety. Another handful will hav