Life reboot, yoga teacher training in India

Again and again, I have turned to yoga in times of struggle and times of loss.Yoga has taught me many things over the years, but most of all, to appreciate the moment and to accept myself and others without judgment. Currently in the midst of an exciting and frightening career change, I once again look to yoga to offer tools for and acceptance of personal transformation. However, this time, I want to take it one step further. In addition to deepening my own practice, I want to train to teach yoga here in Colorado. So, I'm asking for your help to accomplish these goals of sharing and teaching the many lessons yoga has to offer while re-energizing my life along the way. 

Always an anthropologist and a wanderer at heart, I want to do my teacher training in India, the birthplace of yoga. I plan to attend a 5 week teacher training at an ashram in Rishikesh, India. This course will not only be personally transformative, but will cover yoga philosophy, anatomy, asanas (poses), chants and prayers, and cultural aspects of Indian festivals. In other words, it will also prepare me to teach yoga, write about yoga, and guide people in living by the principles of yoga.

If interested, this is also a chance to follow someone through the teacher training process and experience of ashram living as I will (if permitted) blog throughout the journey or keep a journal to share upon my return. You can follow me now and later atanthropologyofthefamiliar.blogspot.com.

I am asking for your help to cover the following anticipated expenses. Any amount helps and all donations are appreciated!

Course/living expenses paid to the ashram - $1,000
Airfare - $1,500
Vaccinations - $1,000

TOTAL - $3,500

Thank you so much for your support! Even if you can't make a donation, please consider sharing.

http://www.gofundme.com/8abltg

When life is edgework...maybe too many edges?

Lately, in the hopes of expanding my research identity beyond "the girl who studies meth use," I've been learning a lot about edgework theory and constructions of risk, especially in sport, and I can't help but think about how it applies to my own life. A very simplistic explanation of edgework theory is that it situates voluntary risk taking within the structures of the capitalist economy, conceptualizing it as embodiment of, escape from, or resistance to one's position in it. Lyng's edgework, at its core, is about the skillful navigation of the wiggly and fuzzy boundary that ostensibly separates chaos from control. According to Lyng and other edgework theorists, this navigation of risk (physical, emotional, and psychological) arises as a means of achieving fulfillment. In this sense, many behaviors can be conceptualized as edgework, from so-called lifestyle or extreme sports (skydiving, mountaineering, and rock climbing for example) to high stakes careers, from the pro-ana subculture to participation in S&M. The argument goes that people seek out voluntary risk taking to find the fulfillment that is otherwise lacking in our current political-economic structure. In some forms of edgework, they resist this structure; in others (most of those that have been the center of researchers' attention) they embody it.

While I've never thought of myself as a risk taker or an edgeworker, if I use the above definition, I really always have been. I've spent the vast majority of my life riding horses, an activity that is often treated as a non-sport and low-risk although its risk and injury profile closely resembles motorcycle riding - when we do get hurt, it's often bad, and statistics put it up there as one of the more "dangerous" sports there is. Even as a kid, I rarely rode the quiet horses; most of my mounts were young with little training and/or came off the racetrack at some point. I jumped big jumps and competed in high-pressure situations, and for the most part, I loved it. I thrived on the thrill and, more importantly, on the challenge of walking that edge, of having to control my own nerves, of pushing myself to perform even when frightened or overwhelmed.

As an adult, I continued riding, though mostly this meant catching whatever free rides I could find - read: rescues, horses straight off the auction block, horses about whom little was known. I also spent much of my young adult life looking for something fulfilling and relished in the insecurity of traveling often and moving perhaps more often. In my 20s I met my now-husband who happens to be a rock climber and, despite my fear of heights, I learned to climb. In 2012, I completed a PhD and embarked upon what I hoped would be a fulfilling and exciting "soft money" career. At the time, I had a tough and athletic mare straight off the track. She was challenging emotionally and physically and, for someone like me (not the most assertive out there), she was borderline dangerous. But throughout the final years of my PhD, when I was adjuncting at least 2 classes a semester, commuting many hours each week, and writing writing writing, she filled a void and challenged me in important ways. I even thanked her in my dissertation. During this same time, I really started to push myself at lead climbing, and finally began learning to effectively manage my fear of heights and of falling. I was truly navigating multiple edges, and I was loving it!

Then something happened. I got scared. Really scared. I was scared of my tough horse and now, sometimes, I'm still scared of my much kinder horse. For a while I've been blaming my age, blaming an injury, blaming my schedule. But I can't quite buy it. I fluctuate too much. My confidence returns only to be shot down instantly. And I noticed the other day that when things look good at work, fear wanes in other areas.

That said...edgework theory has given me a new lens that I think is worth exploring. I graduated. I started working on a small NIH grant. My research was still exciting and comfortable, but about a year in, I began to feel the insecurity of soft money. My grant was going to run out and I hadn't yet found more funding. Suddenly, the edges that had been fulfilling were nothing but stressful. Suddenly, it was as though work had become edgework, too, as I sought to strategize ways to secure funding, as I sought to learn as many new subfields and bodies of literature as possible to cast a wide net of proposals, and as I struggled with the fear and insecurity that accompanies the constant threat of losing not only one's income, but one's identity. As the rejections continued, and the (unpaid) work hours lengthened, my job began to feel like the "high stakes" careers edgework researchers always talk about. I am constantly on multiple deadlines, deadlines that if I miss cost me a potential salary. And it's all wrapped up in my identity, or my identity is wrapped up in it. After all, I don't just do social science or anthropological research. I am an anthropologist. What happens if my funding just ends, what happens if I'm not anymore?

As the nature of my work shifted, so did my relationship to my favorite athletic endeavors. Suddenly, the horse's every threat became the potential for death and I couldn't manage my own fear any longer. Suddenly, I lost the progress I'd made lead climbing, and the prospect of even a tiny fall at the gym also became unmanageable. In recreation, I no longer see a boundary between chaos and control, or a way to manage fear. And this has a snowball effect. The more confidence I lose, the more challenging it is, and the less rewarding, to grapple with edges. In the past year, I've come to really want my recreation to feel safe...could it be because, right now, my job doesn't?

So, armed with this theory of edgework, I've begun to ask myself: is it possible to have "too many edges"? I'm so curious to know whether people's relation to edgework activities shifts such that they can only handle a few at a time, or if it only works if it feels truly voluntary, or if we all need varying amounts of it. Is voluntary risk-taking more appealing when most aspects of life are safe and secure?

That girl vs. this girl . . . from Hillary

Inspired by my friend and colleague's recent blog post and a visit from a long-time friend, I want to revisit the concept of the changing or evolving "self"both personally and, of course, anthropologically. First, let's take a quick glance at the personal, using the same template Hillary used - "That girl vs. this girl" a ten-item comparison of myself ten years ago to myself today.

That girl . . . 
1) Lived and worked on a horse farm in beautiful rural central Virginia.
2) Was undeniably restless and set to embark on 6+ more years of vagabondish wandering adventures, both stateside and abroad. She didn't ever want to live anywhere for more than a year.
3) Rolled her own cigarettes, wore Carhartt insulated overalls daily, and didn't bat an eye at spending a week's salary on a pair of shoes.
4) Had a BA in Anthropology but wasn't sure what kind of career path she wanted to follow.
5) Wrote poetry while walking, mucking out stalls, or riding through pastures; then performed the poems at open mic nights.
6) Hated the holidays and always asked to work during them so she wouldn't have to deal; she was often called a "grinch" for this.
7) Had no interest in children but buckets of affection and maternal instinct toward dogs, horses, snakes and other non-human creatures.
8) Got tattoos to mark changes in life and self.
9) Still thought she could save the world, or at least other people.
10) Surrounded herself with brilliant, creative, thoughtful people who challenged her to grow and experience new things.

This girl . . .
1) Has been living in the same town for almost 6 years (the longest she's lived anywhere since she was 9 years old!) and just bought a house with her husband.
2) Hasn't smoked a cigarette in at least 4 years and doesn't miss it at all.
3) Gets tattoos because they are beautiful.
4) Is happily directing that maternal instinct toward the funniest, sweetest dog ever.
5) Dropped out of nursing school and abandoned a funded PhD in medical anthropology, but wound up with a master's, a PhD, and career that she loves.
6) Still has a ton to learn about everything, and is grateful to be surrounded by people and critters who are wonderful teachers.
7) Is generally not all that restless. But when she gets "itchy feet" she annoys her partner by endlessly shopping for airline tickets and reading about possible adventure destinations.
8) Climbs rocks (this could never have been predicted), rides her badass horse, and knits in her spare time or to relieve stress.
9) Is still not really a big fan of holidays...or her birthday...except Tour de Fat. Tour de Fat is the greatest!
10) Has lived in 9 states and 3 non-US countries, and has finally figured out that, for her, home isn't a place, it's a person.

An anthropology of change

This little blog was a fun enough exercise in personal reflection, which seems appropriate this time of year and given some major milestones I've experienced in the last year. But it also makes me think about the concept of change in American culture, a concept that I vividly remember writing about on my MA exam back in 2007 (I think it was 2007 anyway). 

In American culture, we are certainly fixated on the individual. We are obsessed with individual rights (both in good and bad ways), we have great admiration for individual creativity and can appreciate out of the box thinking, and we view the self as something that changes over time, that we can expand and grow and improve. Reflections such as "that girl vs this girl" are fun, for sure, but they are also culturally meaningful. This isn't a reflection on experiences, but an examination of who I "was" versus who I "am". And, as an American, I embrace this fully. I think it's good to think about the ways I have changed - both for the better and, although maybe less fun to think about, for the worse. People always say we become more rigid, less willing to change as we get older. I think this exercise in reflection may be a great way to check in ten years down the road. But I wonder, what, really is "self"?

There are some scholars out there who have talked extensively about the concept of "self" and how this self may or may not be seen as maleable in different cultures. The concept of a maleable or changeable self has actually been suggested to put a person at risk for eating disorders or make plastic surgery more culturally acceptable. On the other side of this, cultures that see the self as core, unchanging, a given, may actually be protective against some of these things. What part of the "self" must be malleable to make a particular individual (and all those who share a culture with her) vulnerable to an eating disorder? Some have talked about a linking of the socioeconomic self (one's status) to the physical self. Some have talked about cultural ideas about normal or abnormal behaviors and how, once new norms are internalized, one's sense of self has changed. But I have rarely seen an anthropologist explicitly define this word that we throw around so often.

And when I turn the lens upon my own above reflection, and examine my own changing "self", I am forced to ask, who am I really? For example, as a young person, I had ideas about myself and engaged in certain behaviors that felt core, central to who I "truly" was. Wanderlust was an enormous part of this self. I moved often, I adored the excitement of learning a new neighborhood, culture, language, and making new friends who were perhaps nothing like and possibly wouldn't even like my friends from past lives/adventures. But, as my little reflection shows, wandering is no longer a part of my life. The desire to wander still comes in waves, but it is controllable, "wanderlust" is not necessarily inherently linked to "wandering". So is my true "self" the desire? Or is it behavior? In my research, active methamphetamine users are constantly fighting to avoid the many labels ascribed to them: tweaker, addict, meth head, etc. They may say, "I'm addicted" but most don't view their drug use as a core part of their selves. 12-step programs sort of do though. They view "addict" as an unchangeable part of the self and "drug use" as the changeable part. So again, it seems that in any consideration of the concept of self, or of behavior, or of change, it is worthwhile to explore what we mean by self, and which parts are malleable or not. 

The anthropologist who didn't want to change

When I act as an anthropologist, that is, when I do my job, I go into the field as a child. Even though my research participants are mostly American-born and living in America, I must be willing to ask what may feel like stupid questions to clarify things I don't understand. This means I spend a lot of time watching so I can learn the rules before interacting. It means I may make lots of mistakes and it means I am seeking to experience and understand a different way of living, a different way of experiencing the ever-elusive "normal".

Interestingly, in research, this outsider status (however precarious as a researcher in my own "back yard") gives me the latitude to make mistakes without offending and to ask questions without ego. This leniency toward the ignorant outsider has been confirmed for me in casual travels abroad, where if I made a mistake, it was often chalked up as harmless and the rule I had violated was clearly explained. In our work, anthropologists are excellent at being quiet observers and inquisitive children. We are by necessity chameleons and must be willing to operate frequently outside our comfort zones. This perspective of being an outsider trying to experience the world as an insider is what gives our research its richness. But I wonder if am I the only one who struggles with this in real life.

In recent years, I have dealt very very personally with walking this line. I have sought to maintain my own personal space and identity and to live according to the cultural rules that have defined much of my life. However, when I (ad)ventured into a situation in which personal cultures clashed, cultural relativism was suddenly worthless. It didn't matter that, after a while, I could map the differences between respective backgrounds (and subsequent expectations) or that I had been able to turn a reflexive eye upon my own culture, had come to think critically about my own rules. I found myself not wanting to change; at times, in fact, I was aggressively resistant to it.

I hesitate (perhaps because of ego?) to say this was quite ethnocentric. I didn't, and still don't, think my way is better, but it became a symbol of me, a scrap that I felt I could hold on to in the face of a life that was swirling around me, often feeling out of my own control. Ironically, central to this very identity - that of an anthropologist - is a view of myself as adaptable and open minded.

All of this has made me wonder: Is this a struggle faced by all anthropologists? As anthropologists, is it fair to expect ourselves to be as accepting and as flexible in reality as we are in work? In fact, do we spend so much time changing, adapting, accepting, in our professional lives that change becomes overwhelming in our personal ones? Do we spend so much time distancing ourselves from judging the differences between cultures that we fail to truly empathize with, or even understand, people's personal connections to their cultural "truths"?

Curaçao 1: Growing Into My Grown-Up Travel Shoes

My recent, very very short trip to a little island in the southern Caribbean (Curaçao), inspired a number of personal and anthropological thoughts that I will try to cover over my next few blog posts. First, and the one that hit me hardest toward the end of my 5-day (2 of which were spent travelling) excursion, is the idea of growing into a new identity as an "adult" traveler and thinking about what this means for travel and cultural experience in general.

When I was a kid, I had the fortune of riding my parents' coattails when it came to travel. I took my first steps on a boat off the island of Capri, was kicked unceremoniously out of London's pubs while still in a stroller, and lived in Strasbourg, France for a year as a toddler. In the years that followed, thanks to my father's francophilia and my mother's love for movement, I travelled repeatedly to Europe as well as travelling and eventually living all over the United States. When I hit my early twenties, I began to cultivate my own preferred style of travel. It involved working, sort of saving money, quitting my job and impulsively "moving" somewhere (to another state, another country, whatever made most sense at the time) for anywhere from 3-15 months but never more. In this vein, between the ages of 21 and 27 years (when I moved to Colorado), I lived in six states within the US, three countries outside it, and on three continents in total:

* New York City
* Charlottesville, VA
* Fes & Essaouira, Morocco
* Tempe, AZ
* Streitdorf, Austria
* Montreal, QC, Canada
* Rawlins, WY
* Cleveland, OH
* and finally, Fort Collins, CO.

While this movement was eventually exhausting, it was also exciting and enabled me to really get to know places and their people. It was my recreational release for my inner-anthropologist. I used travel as an occasion to get to know a culture on some level.

Since coming to Colorado, I have lived in one city. I have now been here for longer than I remember living anywhere in my entire life, and for personal reasons, I suspect I will live here for at least the next twenty or thirty years. But my feet still get itchy, as in, I still get intense urges to "get out of here". Which is where this trip to Curaçao came in - I needed to celebrate my successful dissertation defense and I needed to do it away. 

Unfortunately, in the past five years of rootedness, I've learned that I don't particularly enjoy this type of travel that many of us participate in for vacation and relaxation. After three days on this beautiful little island, I felt like I was just starting to hit my stride and get a sense of the island's own personality and pace. I felt that I knew more about what the tourist agencies wanted me to know and nearly nothing about what real life looked like. A couple of years ago, I visited Costa Rica with a good friend and had a similar experience. It was a great trip and the scenery was mindblowingly beautiful, but it was impossible to get into the rhythm of the country - which is the main reason I love public transit! - and still see what we wanted to see. We just didn't have enough time for both, a problem that was in part due to the fact that we only visited for a week but that was exacerbated by the fact that I am a poor planner and a horrible rusher. Apparently, I prefer to just move somewhere, hang out for three months, and call that my vacation. But as an adult, in my current life, that kind of travel doesn't seem realistic. So, I am searching the landscape of less lengthy travel patterns to find something I like, that perhaps I can learn from if not emulate. But I'm struggling as most of what I've seen simply does not fit with what I want to get out of a "vacation".

I remember being shocked while visiting a dear friend in Egypt. When we went to one of many of the amazing historical/tourist sites, a bus full of Italian tourists had stopped as well. Many of the women wore only short-shorts, flip flops and bikini/bra tops. None of this was culturally appropriate, but more importantly, it was explicitly disrespectful. There is certainly room for critiquing cultural relativism when over-simplified and over-applied, but it seems to me that if you have the choice to visit a country on vacation, you should select a country whose culture you are capable of respecting, at least outwardly. After all, you are funneling your money into their economy so it may as well be something you support on some level or at a minimum can live with. Many people I know travel exclusively for the very reason I went to Curaçao - relaxation & escape - and so they plant themselves at (all-inclusive) resorts or get with a professional tour company that arranges everything and whisks them from site to site providing carefully selected historical and cultural "context" (I'll talk more about this in a later blog). And, while it's not particularly my preferred way to travel and I am sure there are myriad culture and economic issues associated with traveling this way, it may not be all bad either. At least the people on tours are attempting to learn about their context even if it's typically done in a highly sanitized, voyeuristic way. And those who are going to all-inclusive resorts or refusing to leave the tourist zone are being honest with themselves and what their travel intentions are and may have set themselves in an environment where they won't offend local sensibilities. 

But the lurking question persists: Are we doing ourselves, our home cultures, and those we visit a diservice when we insist on traveling at the constant rushed pace of an American or with the cultural ideals regarding modesty of a "Westerner" (whatever that means)?   

I know that what I love about travel is slowly learning the rhythms of a new place, whether it's in the US or further afield. I find that it fosters the kind of experience that is life-changing even if it's not always as photogenic or as impressive on facebook. Unfortunately, my current life doesn't facilitate this kind of travel. In order to sit peacefully in one place for the next thirty years of my life, I had to settle down. I have a partner, a dog, a horse, all of whom make it difficult (emotionally, as in I would miss them all terribly,  more than logistically) to just pick up and leave for months on end. I have a job that is flexible, but, at least at this point, perhaps not that flexible. So I resign myself to movement-packed travel that often feels like it is more about the principle than about the experience, and I have not yet figured out how to mix my need for cultural immersion with my reality. What I fear is that this new way of travel is simply my new normal, and that a tender part of my soul will just have to wait until I'm retired.