julia lee yoga

cultivating community.

For the longest time, I never felt like I was part of a yoga community. I started practicing in my late teens, and while yoga made me feel better about myself, it didn’t make me feel much better about what other people might think of me. I would often rush out as soon as class ended, and I doubt that many of the teachers at that studio even knew my name.

During my teacher training, I was probably the youngest person in the class, and I allowed this to be a distancing factor between myself and my fellow trainees. I would slip silently in and out of the room, never giving myself a voice because I somehow didn’t think that it would carry any weight amidst the older, more experienced students. I would watch from the sidelines as people would come and go from the studio, sharing hugs and exchanging smiles, and wonder what it was about me that didn’t quite fit in. I eventually became a yoga transient, wandering from drop-in class to drop-in class and workshop after workshop at studio after studio, never putting down any roots or building any relationships.

Despite yoga being all about “union” and “connectivity”, I continued to feel very much alone in my practice and in my teaching. Even though my physical practice developed and my teaching began to flourish, it always felt like something was missing. I witnessed hypocrisy in many yoga studios, hearing teachers talking badly about students and fellow teachers. I struggled through challenging poses on my own, trying to figure out what I was doing wrong or what I could be doing better. My motivation to practice dwindled, and my passion for yoga began to diminish. 

Eventually I ended up moving to a much bigger city where I quickly discovered that to make it as a yoga teacher, it’s not necessarily about what you know, but who you know. I struggled to introduce myself to studio owners and get on sub lists, feeling completely disenchanted with the dog-eat-dog world of yoga in the modern world. 

Finally, I’ve landed at a studio where I feel like I have come home. I’ve become a student again, attending classes regularly, and love the experience of practicing alongside others. I say hello to familiar faces. I play witness to the amazing arc of growth in people’s practices. I’ve discovered that there’s a power that arises when you surround yourself with like-minded individuals and you come together to serve in the best way you know how. Community reminds us that we are all part of something bigger, a global consciousness that swells and grows stronger with positive intention. 

Through all this, what I have learned is that cultivating community takes effort. It requires a willingness to be vulnerable, to break down boundaries, to dare to offer a smile or greeting to the stranger on the mat beside you. At the end of the day, we all need to feel like we belong and that we matter. After many years of struggling with solitude, this is what yoga has taught me: we gain more when we let more in. 

The practice of yoga isn’t just about performing poses. We practice to be better, to evolve, to grow, to serve. The fact that people coming from a diverse range of socio-economic, spiritual, racial, sexual and physical backgrounds can unite in a room and move and breathe together is an incredible thing. Indeed, to participate in this cultivation of global community is a special gift. I am honoured to have found my place and to witness myself unfolding fully there. 

walking the line of anger.

I recently had a conversation with someone that made me really, really mad. And not the fleeting kind of anger that arises briefly when someone cuts you off in traffic, or when the barista is rude to you at the coffee shop for no good reason at all. No, this was the kind of anger wrapped with judgment and intertwined with messy, unresolved feelings of injustice that made my blood boil, angry tears spill over, and my chest tighten with rage.

I stewed about this situation for days. I replayed the conversation over and over again in my mind, thinking of better and better retorts and comebacks trying to convey my point of view. I went to vigorous yoga classes trying to sweat the anger out of my system. I took deep breaths and tried to meditate. I wrote it down. I talked it out. I lay in bed and cried. Nothing seemed to help — I just couldn’t seem to let the anger go, which then led to a feeling of guilt and shame around the fact that I should be able to forgive.

Finally I realized that sometimes it’s not so much about letting go of anger than it is about stepping more fully into compassion. Even if we can’t release something completely, we always have the option and the choice to begin to replace the negative with something more positive. Instead of feeling so angry, I wanted to feel more compassionate and in alignment with my values and how I want to show up in the world. 

So I walked the line of anger and compassion. I felt into the physical sensation of anger gripping my insides, the shortness of breath, the clenching of my heart — and then I took a step forward, and I felt the freedom and spaciousness that compassion offers. Quite simply, I realized that compassion feels so much better than anger does, and that while holding on to anger had been serving some purpose for me, that didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. Even if the situation hadn’t necessarily been resolved, I discovered that I didn’t have to feel so bad about it.

Maybe it’s not always possible to let go, or to forgive, or to move on. But it is always possible to carve out space. To feel into compassion, into peace, into love. The practice of tuning in to our internal landscapes is such a powerful tool to shaping our external environment. 

full participation required.

When I was in school as a kid, I always brought home great grades on my report cards. Mostly A’s, maybe an occasional B here or there. I was almost a model student. But there were always these little boxes where your teacher graded you on certain non-academic elements — for instance, works well with others, completes homework, takes iniative — and beside the box labelled “Participates in class”, I almost always received an “N”. Needs improvement.

For a long time, I never understood the emphasis that teachers placed on participation. As long as you did well on tests and assignments, what did it matter if you spoke up during class? I hated putting my hand up because I felt like I had nothing valuable to contribute. I especially couldn’t bear the idea of being wrong and looking like a fool, so I avoided participating whenever I could. I would sit silently at my desk, listening to those whose hands shot up in the air at every opportunity, and think that I was missing out on nothing but the “E” for excellent in the “Participation” column of my report card.

I remember one math class I had when my teacher didn’t allow participation to be an option. She would assign us homework questions every night, and during class the next day, would randomly call on any innocent victim to offer up their solution, regardless of whether they had put their hand up or not. I worked really hard that semester to ensure that I had my homework done every night so I could be fully confident in my answers should I be involuntarily called up to the front to scrape my numbers on the blackboard in dusty chalk.

I received the highest mark in my class, but somehow still walked away from that experience without having learned much but the quadratic formula. 

Even though I’m older now and no longer receive report cards, I’m still a student — of yoga, of life coaching, of reiki, of humanity. I’m always learning how to be a better person, how to be of service to the world, how to live from the heart. I have now realized that participation doesn’t just mean loudly voicing your opinions to whoever will listen. Participation isn’t about getting the elusive “E” on your report card or working extra hard to make sure you have all the right answers. In fact, full participation in life demands of us a willingness to be wrong. To take risks. To be OKAY with not knowing all the answers.

Participation is important because it’s about taking part in something bigger than you. It’s about sharing, and being fully engaged. Creating a community of people who are willing to cultivate open and honest communication. We must participate fully in our lives in order to truly be at our best.

Maybe I’m not at an “E” yet. There are still moments when I feel afraid of being wrong, or that others will judge me for what I have to say. But I’m trying. I’m putting myself out there. I’ll give myself a “G” for good, for now.

saying sorry.

Is it just me, or is there some unwritten rule that of all the people in the world you are somehow allowed to be mean to (including your boyfriend/girlfriend, sisters/brothers, pet dog, etc.), your mom is at the top of the list? I know that my mama will love me no matter what. No matter how many times I scream at her, no matter how much time passes between my phone calls home, no matter what else happens, I know that my mama will always be there for me — unconditionally.

Today I called my mom, already in a bad mood. At one point she didn’t quite catch something I said, the conversation took a wrong turn, and in my frustration, I raised my voice to a tone and level that was, quite honestly, uncalled for. We hung up the phone rather abruptly after that, and I sat and stewed in my own uneasy guilt and anger for several minutes. 

Generally my response to this type of situation is to let a few days pass, after which the situation blows over and all is forgotten. *Ignoring* is bliss (but not really). There’s a certain shame associated with apologizing after being awful, because then we actually have to own up to the fact that we behaved inappropriately. But being tired, stressed out, hungry, or just plain grumpy are no longer justifications I’m willing to use to treat other people with anything less than the basic kindness and respect they deserve.  

So today was different. I picked up the phone, called my mama, and said sorry. Guess what? She forgave me. Burden lifted. Heaviness gone. Unease dissipated.

Seeking forgiveness from someone you’ve treated poorly is a super humbling and necessary experience. To be able to say “I’m sorry” right after your darkest self has reared its face is the best way to reconnect with your light again. We don’t have to be perfect all the time — but when we stumble, we have to be able to find our way back. Sometimes it starts by saying sorry. 

the word - tony hoagland

Down near the bottom
of the crossed-out list
of things you have to do today,

between “green thread”
and “broccoli” you find
that you have penciled “sunlight.”

Resting on the page, the word
is as beautiful, it touches you
as if you had a friend

and sunlight were a present
he had sent you from some place distant
as this morning — to cheer you up,

and to remind you that,
among your duties, pleasure
is a thing,

that also needs accomplishing
Do you remember?
that time and light are kinds

of love, and love
is no less practical
than a coffee grinder

or a safe spare tire?
Tomorrow you may be utterly
without a clue

but today you get a telegram,
from the heart in exile
proclaiming that the kingdom

still exists,
the king and queen alive,
still speaking to their children,

– to anyone among them
who can find the time,
to sit out in the sun and listen.