Self-Bribery and Entrepreneurship : The Soul Pizza Blog

This article is fueled by wheat.

This is not so good because I'm kinda gluten intolerant. And by "kinda" I mean "explosively." So actually, it's bad. Just bad.

Confession : Every blog article I've posted so far has started with pizza followed by a bowl of Raisin Bran with almond milk. Yes, including this one. I'm not kidding.

It's like I need to trick myself into sitting down to write. It's hard to just do it. I'll get enthusiastically creative with my avoidance tactics. My excuses and procrastination look so plausible! The laundry must be done now because this place is a pigsty. (It's not.) And the grocery shopping has to happen immediately because we have no food and we will starve (We won't.) unless I put off this writing thing, which I will totally selflessly put off because I'm an adult with Important Things to get done.

Like, more important than pressing forward with my whole life's purpose.

I'm writing about answering my soul calling, making a life I love with my own two hands, creating my own beautiful vision of the world one day at a time, which is the very essence of entrepreneurship. Which is why it's hard to write. Which is why I "need" pizza. Soul pizza. I'm sure you know what I mean.

Entrepreneurship is the highest spiritual calling.

Difficult things are difficult. Some of them are very straightforward, even simple, which I often mischaracterize as "easy." Or worse, the "should-be" kind of easy.

Writing about yoga? Should be easy.

Speaking up for what I believe in? Should be easy.

Arranging my whole life around happiness and fulfillment? Should be easy.

But it's not. Very not.

Despite the should-ing all over myself, I know in my bones that the path I've chosen is less traveled not because it is less beautiful, but because it is challenging and confronting as fuck.

Unknown success is scarier than certain failure.

Marianne Williamson writes in this vein: "Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."

Recognizing my power, owning it, and learning to wield it with grace is the hardest thing I've ever done, but I know I don't earn bravery points for doing things that don't actually scare me. Plan for the worst? No problem. The other thing? Well... yikes. 

To come into my power, I quit the security of my full-time job. I knew I had to bank on myself, like, literally. Double yikes.

I was so scared I cried for days, overwhelmed with guilt and grief and fear. So many people need a job, and I threw mine away. I'm so selfish. The past three years, down the tubes. I asked for this, so if I fail it's all my fault, and I'll be run up as the most foolish, prideful person to ever walk the earth. And so on.

So sometimes it takes some self-bribery to get going. My suitcase full of cash is a bowlful of bran. I tell myself I've been working hard. (I have been.) I give in to my pizza+cereal craving. I experience an endorphin rush from doing something transgressive, and I channel that pep into starting the work I'd been putting off. That strong (albeit gluten-fueled) start is enough to trigger another wave of pep that lasts until the work is well under way, at which time I can follow the momentum through the end of the project. And then I take a wheat-related nap.

I'm not advocating for weird diet choices (or vices of any kind) to force yourself to do something odious. However, I am making a case for doing what you have to do to get the good wheels turning, whether they represent best-case circumstances or not. This shit is hard to do, and beating yourself up for needing a jumpstart just makes things even harder.

Entrepreneurship is the highest spiritual calling. It is putting your lifestyle on the line for what you believe in.

You've got values? Great. Would you bet your next month's rent on them? I wouldn't dream of it before. And now, I DO. Every. Single. Month.

Three years ago, I'd turn in 40-hour weeks, collect my salary, and legitimately bemoan the lack of time and energy to make lifestyle changes. I had stress-related headaches, I slept terribly, I ate meals at my desk, and I practiced yoga as a stopgap. I was also teaching yoga, as an outlet for what I really believed in, and to connect to a community that I really cared about.

"Make time for yourself," I'd tell my yoga students, and I felt like a hypocrite. Shit, I was a hypocrite.

Now, when I teach yoga, when I speak at trainings and workshops, when I write right here, I am living my message of wellness through self-care, self-acceptance, self-love. I am making a stand for my values, whether my students and readers realize it or not. I am putting my money where my mouth is, which is incidentally also where my pizza is.

My teaching is imbued with firsthand stories from my own life in the mainstream workforce. I speak from experience. I know how to make it work, and I know how it can suck.

I know you don't have to accept money to make your contribution real. You don't have to make it your full-time job. You are not your paycheck. Your values, your choices, your everyday mundane actions — this is what defines a spiritual entrepreneur. Your heart, your time, your sweat make a sacred space for your kind of magic.

15-hour workdays.

Staying up all night to push a project through.

Regularly questioning if you've really got what it takes.

Growing apart from friends — the ones that don't understand your path.

Gear-shifting between five-year executive decisions and filing last week's receipts.

And the weird dinners of... well, you know.

All you entrepreneurs out there, you strong, brilliant half-crazy souls that dare answer that calling, I raise a bowl of Raisin Bran to you. You self-improve and soul-search like it's your job because it is your job. Cheers. May the road ahead be paved with whatever you want to pave it with.

Thank you for reading. Really.

Alignment Points for Getyourasstoclassasana

Today, we're breaking down the most challenging yoga pose of all. Many attempt it; a strong few succeed. I've fallen down on this one myself. It's unlike any other posture, but every yogāsana depends on the success of this one.

Get-your-ass-to-class-asana

Although it can be a difficult practice, Getyourasstoclassāsana is almost impossible to do wrong. In fact, the only potential for failure lies in not doing it at all. Here are my tips for getting into it, gracefully or not.

Before class:

• Leave yourself a voice memo, a realtime message in your own happy vibration. Be specific and concrete in your feelings and needs. Make a clear request. Sign off with affection. Here's a message I left myself last week: "Dear Stephanie, when you practice yoga, you feel relaxed and strong and cared for. You have a deep need for healthy movement. Please go to that 9:00 yoga class by getting your butt out the door by 8:20. Love, your body-mind-spirit, especially your tight hips"

• Clear the runway the night before. Put the yoga pants next to the wallet and car keys. For a home practice, shove some clutter aside and roll out the yoga mat in the living room. Have the breakfast smoothie pack prepped and waiting in the fridge. Bonus: Taking action to prime your environment gives you a running start toward your desired outcome.

• Do it in the morning. Willpower can be exhausted by a full day's work making decisions. This is why most workplace extramarital affairs begin after long workdays, and why most diets are broken late at night. Making good decisions — and resisting bad ones — is much harder when you're tired.

• Write out a plan for each contingency. Miss the bus? Hit the 10:30 class instead of the 9:00. Kids late to school? Check out the new studio down the block. Morning routine is a total shitshow? Have a change of clothes stashed at your workplace and hustle to the gym for a quickie class on your lunch break. Bonus: Have a backup plan for your backup plan. Put that yoga DVD right where you'll see it before all hope is lost. It will not be ideal, but you know how to make the most of any class. Ask your yoga teacher how late you can possibly arrive without messing up the experience. Sure, punctuality is preferred, but as a yoga teacher, I say missing the first 10 minutes is way better than missing class altogether. If you've already got a plan in place, all you have to do is execute it. No decisions; just DO.

• Don't put it on your calendar. Do you put brushing your teeth on your calendar? Is every meal you plan to eat for the week on your calendar? Of course not.* Making these seemingly hardline commitments and then flexing them due to inevitably changing schedules is a sure way to feel like a failure before you've even really failed at anything. "I missed my 9:00 class. I FAIL AT YOGA." No, you don't. You just missed part of your routine. I've walked out of my house with fuzzy teeth before. That's why I have a toothbrush in my purse — I planned for that contingency. Say no to schedule guilt.

*Unless you're doing a Paleo Challenge or Sugar Impact Diet or some such nutrition program. If so, calendarized meals are totally a thing — I've done it; I get it.

After class:

• Buddy up. Communities are created from the basic human need to be socially supported. You don't have to become yoga besties or even Facebook friends. You do have to realize that if you don't show, you'll be missed.

• Log it. I know, I know, yoga isn't a thing to be measured. Measure it anyway. Ten words for each practice is enough, e.g. "I. Hate. Triange. My hamstrings are steel cables of pain." Writing down the experience makes it more significant, more memorable, and ultimately more valuable. By leaving even the thinnest trail of breadcrumbs, you can trace your way back through weeks and months of practice, e.g. "Triange pose no longer sucks. I kinda like the stretch."

• Take photos. No one else ever has to see them. Never mind how you look. Focus on the breath, the alignment, and maximum integrity in the body. Choose one pose or many. Photograph yourself again at month intervals.

• Send yourself a postcard from the other side. This technique is similar to leaving that encouraging voice memo, juiced up with a little more breathless enthusiasm. This is the text of the postcard that sits on my desk, which is where I'm usually sitting when I waffle over getting my butt to yoga: "You just got back from yoga class! You feel amazing. You're a shiny, happy Stephanie, bursting with endorphin-fueled inspiration and ready-to-go-ness. You feel powerful, loved, and superstrong. YOU WIN."

Ultimately, it's not the end of the world if you miss a class.

It doesn't make you a bad person, and it doesn't make you a yoga failure. Missing a practice now and again puts you squarely with the majority of yogīs and really, with the majority of all humans that have ever tried creating a new habit.

The important learning aspect of missing a yoga practice is the opportunity we have to start again. And again. And again. Here's to many beautiful beginnings.

Now, get your ass to class.

My Daily Practice

I'm one week back from India, emerging from immersion in the heart of sound. Our group spent over 100 hours studying and practicing mantra, nada yoga, Tantric philosophy, asana, Hindustani classical music, and more, each day soaked in sacred vibration.

Am I a more spiritual being?

I feel more awake, more alive, more aware, but how can I be "more spiritual," especially when I admit to my cravings of the past weeks?

• I want to take a warm shower and wash my hair.
• I want to wear a sports bra – as a top – with no regard for modesty.
• I want a pedicure for my dirty, tired feet.
• I want to drive my car.
• I want bacon and eggs.

Every day during this course, our group rose before dawn to meet on the ghat – the wide steps that lead right down into the holy river Ganga – for silent japa meditation. I held my mala. I watched the lightening sky reflected in the water. Sometimes I felt peace; sometimes I felt restless. Twice I cried: once out of pure joy and once because I felt overwhelmed. Not sad, not frustrated exactly, but overwhelmed with the enormity of this journey, both physical and subtle.

Some days I felt a ringing freedom, a rush of exhilaration that lasted the entire time I sat on the chilly concrete steps. It was like flying a kite in an open field on a perfectly breezy day – effortless, soaring, giddy magic. On other days it felt like trying to fly a kite on a crowded street with no wind at all. I just couldn't seem to get going, and things kept getting in the way.

Aum Namah Sivaya. Hey, cool bird. Aum Namah Sivaya. I'm hungry. Aum Namah Sivaya. My butt is cold. Aum Namah Sivaya. What is that smell? I wonder what's for breakfast. Aum...

Like I couldn't get up enough momentum to leave the ground much less soar, hampered by my busy thoughts. My mind threw up obstacle after obstacle, and I didn't feel any flow. I'd check my mala for progress... and groan inside.

But still, I was out there, morning after morning, seated in meditation... or whatever. Doing the thing, or at least trying to do the thing as best I could.

This was and is my morning sadhana, my daily practice. It is not a singular great effort; rather, it is a thousand thousands of tiny drops that eventually fill the bucket to overflowing. Which drop matters more? The perfect, easy flowing drops? Or the hard-squeezed, reluctant drops?

Every drop counts.

I think of my sadhana as brushing my spiritual teeth. Not glamorous. Not cover photo worthy, although there are loads of magazines dedicated to "the right meditation for you," "finding your perfect practice," "top tips for beginning meditators," et cetera.

Here are my tips: 

• It will suck sometimes. Do it anyway.
• It will be awesome sometimes. Enjoy.
• Your mind wandering is a sign that you are indeed a human being with a functioning brain. Keep going.
• Keep going.
• Keep going.

It's called a practice, not a perfect. Keep going.

This is tapasya, the burning of spiritual fire. Fire burns. Fire destroys. This is a good thing, because ultimately, fire cleanses. You will be uncomfortable. You will sweat and protest. Do it anyway. You will make excuses. You will want to give up. Keep going, because sometimes you will have a really, really good time.

Tiny stitches, one by one, create a beautiful tapestry. Follow the thread. Pick it up when you drop it. (And you will drop it. It's okay. Really.)

Know in your bones that success is inevitable when you dedicate your whole heart to yourself. And just. Keep. Going.

I am not "more spiritual" now than I was before – I cannot be – because I have always been wholly spiritual, as have you. 

Through regular practice, I am discovering my own kind of everyday divinity: a little more connected each day to the deep, quiet spirituality inherent in all beings.

I invite you to join me. Let's practice together. I'll write here, and I hope you'll write back when you feel so moved. Put your email in the box below for sweet updates so we can keep the fire going.