It’s All About the Questions: How to Balance Work and Practice – Willamarie Moore

IT’S ALL ABOUT THE QUESTIONS: HOW TO BALANCE WORK AND PRACTICE

By Willamarie Moore

Where (And How) I Work I work full time at an art museum. I run the school and teacher programs out of the Education Department at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. We host 55,000 school group visitors annually, bringing the visual arts into the lives and minds of kids when they’re at their most impressionable. We do so with a crew of 120 docents—dedicated, passionate, smart, and engaged volunteers who lead our guided tours for school groups every weekday morning during the school year. They are able to do so because of the in-depth training and ongoing professional development sessions that my small staff and I provide. All of us work together with a shared commitment to and love of engaging people with art. We do so largely by asking questions.

Photo by Jake Clennell The foundation of our approach to teaching with art is a method called the Visual Thinking Strategies (VTS) (Learn more at www.vtshome.org). A VTS discussion is structured around three basic questions that a facilitator poses to a group about a carefully selected artwork:

What’s going on in this picture? What do you see that makes you say that? What more can we find?

When people respond to the first question, the facilitator paraphrases their observations in a neutral, accepting manner. When appropriate, she asks the second question, probing for visual evidence to back up the observation. In between respondents, the facilitator asks the third question, as a reminder that there’s always more that can be found within a great work of art. After all, our interpretations are largely based on what we bring to the artwork—how we personally engage with what we are seeing in front of us. There are no wrong answers, but there are multiple “right” answers. Together, we build a shared body of knowledge.

There is a beautiful parallel between the VTS method and the Iyengar method: actively do or observe, question, go deeper, then let go. When people truly resonate with a work of art, they can be transformed, experience a higher state of consciousness—perhaps something akin to Isvara pranidhana?

In the practice of VTS, I see a manifestation of kriya yoga, as defined by Patanjali in Sutra II.1: Tapah svadhyaya Isvarapranidhanani kriyayogah. “Burning zeal in practice, selfstudy and study of scriptures, and surrender to God are the acts of yoga” (B.K.S. Iyengar’s translation). In his commentary, Mr. Iyengar reminds us that for Patanjali, “The practice of yoga is the ‘yoga of action’”—in other words, we practice yoga as we live our lives engaged with this world, not by going off to a remote cave in the mountains. From his Inside the Yoga Sutras, I find Reverend Jaganath Carrera’s definition of the three components—tapas, svadhyaya, and Isvara pranidhana— particularly accessible and applicable to our lives today:

Tapas: “the acceptance of challenges as a help for purification” Svadhyaya: “refinement of the intellect through introspection and the acquisition of knowledge (study)” Isvara pranidhana: “leading a life dedicated to God (selfsurrender)”

As a VTS facilitator, to accurately paraphrase people’s observations, I have to listen actively and restate the essence of the comment in a way that validates. Through acceptance of all observations equally, I strive to cultivate a supportive environment in which people feel comfortable sharing. Simultaneously, I am pointing to the specific area of the artwork they’re talking about and linking their comments to others already mentioned in the discussion. Though the process may seem simple, it’s deceptively so.

in this way, I engage in self-reflection. How did the process go? What amazing observations did people make and share, prompted by this work of art? Was I accurately able to paraphrase, link, bring the group’s understanding to a higher level, based solely on their contributions (i.e., without the imposition of art history)? What can I improve upon for next time? This is svadhyaya.

Ultimately, the meaningful engagement of people with a great work of art brings them—all of us in the discussion—to a deeper understanding of our shared humanity; it engenders an appreciation for the visual arts as an essential form of human expression throughout history and in our world today. When people truly resonate with a work of art, they can be transformed, experience a higher state of consciousness—perhaps something akin to Isvara pranidhana? Needless to say, doing VTS is my favorite aspect of my job.

When people hear where I work, they automatically say, “Oh, how glamorous! It must be so beautiful to work at the art museum!” Which is always a good reminder that, indeed, it is a privilege to spend my weekdays in one of the top art museums in the world, something that I often take for granted and forget to appreciate amidst the flurry of the everyday. Yes, it’s wonderful to walk past masterpieces on my way to meetings with colleagues in other departments. A favorite is Paul Gauguin’s Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going? (1897–98), pictured at the top of page 19. And it’s a real boon to have a place like the immersive Japanese Buddhist Temple Room to be able to retreat to briefly—to sit directly in front of a 12th-century seated Amida Buddha (pictured above) and calm myself down at 3 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon after a particularly stressful meeting. And it can be quite grounding to lead a VTS discussion about a particularly compelling contemporary art piece, like Josiah McElheny’s Endlessly Repeating Twentieth-Century Modernism (2007, pictured on page 21), and contemplate the infinite— realms way beyond our petty daily worries.

But the reality is that work is still work; unfortunately, I can’t spend all day every day just doing VTS. Meetings with challenging colleagues and presentations to the Trustees or potential new partners are still draining for an introvert like me; budgets are still confounding to my more artistically inclined rather than mathematical mind; emails are still endlessly demanding of immediate (“Urgent!”) attention; and my office, which I have to share, is in an almost-windowless basement—there are whole days when I never get upstairs into the galleries even once. In short, it’s not all glamour and beauty.

And particularly for someone like me, whose tendency is toward overachievement, perfectionism, and—dare I say—work-a-holism, work can become all-consuming. It was, for years and years. Until yoga entered my life.

Where (And How) I Practice I practice yoga under the tutelage of Patricia Walden. Ever since my second-ever asana class, about 10 years ago now, when I was walking home openly weeping (after something—I had no idea what— cracked open in me during Sarvangasana), I have been taking classes in the Iyengar method weekly. That has evolved and has expanded to also assisting Patricia and teaching my own classes. I practice every day.

I practice asana before work in the morning (usually a dynamic sequence to energize me for the day ahead) and at night before bed (inversions, restoratives, and pranayama) to decompress after the day’s activities. I dedicate a significant chunk of my weekend to practicing a longer and/or a more focused sequence of poses and pranayama (and preparing for assessment). I also count as part of my weekly practice chanting of the Yoga Sutras and reading yoga philosophy, both of which I love.

Of course, the best (highest quality) practices are those where I am able to go deep with inquiry. I find myself asking the same VTS questions of myself as I’m in asana practice:

1.

What’s going on here (with my inner heel, with my thoracic spine, with the skin of my temples)?

2.

What do I see or feel that makes me say that?

Even if I have only 30 minutes, to integrate in this way ultimately yields a high-quality, meaningful, nourishing practice, serving to balance life on and off the mat.

What more can I find? Especially if I adjust this way or try that variation?

Indeed, the Iyengar method is built on this same “scientific method” of observing, asking questions, hypothesizing, experimenting, observing again. The questions—and the potential insights—are endless, as I go deeper and deeper.

For three years now, I’ve been teaching yoga. Though teaching is definitely distinct from the type of practice one achieves while alone on the mat, drawing the mind inward, I do regard teaching yoga as another form of practice. According to Ericsson and Charness in their article on practice, “Expert Performance: Its Structure and Acquisition” (as quoted in Stephen Cope, The Great Work of Your Life, pp. 117–118), the combination and sustaining of certain factors result in “expertise.” Among the seven key factors, the accumulation of hours within the so-called “domain of the task” is one. Thus, I also count teaching yoga asana, including planning sequences and reflecting after class, as a certain dimension of practice. In the yoga studio, I certainly teach with the same kind of inquirybased approach I use in the museum, asking my students to bring their mind to a certain area of the body and find out what’s going on there; what more can they find by trying different variations and comparing; and how can they ultimately find repose in the pose (Sutra II.47).

I feel blessed to have asana and pranayama practice in my life, multiple CDs of the yoga sutras and other Sanskrit chants to listen to, and piles of books related to yoga philosophy, which I can easily consult. Of course, I wish I had more time to spend with all of this.

Where (And How) I Integrate Work and Practice

HOW CAN WORK INTERFERE WITH PRACTICE?

I’m sure we can all come up with myriad ways in which our work life interferes with our yoga practice. Probably, for most of us, the issue of time (or lack thereof) is what comes to mind first and foremost. If we have to work a minimum of eight hours per day, plus commute to and from the office, that’s over one-third of our 24-hour day taken up with work alone. If we have to sleep a minimum of 6–8 hours per day to function healthily in both body and mind, that’s another one-third of the day. Which leaves us with the final one-third of the day, a maximum of 8 hours, to be consumed by everything else: from preparing and eating meals to personal hygiene like bathing (and who has time to floss every day?) to cultivating and maintaining relationships with family members and friends, both in-person and now via all manner of technologies—by phone, email, Skype, etc. Not to mention all the other stuff of daily life—everything from cleaning out the kitty litter to helping the kids with their homework to reading the newspaper to stay an informed citizen of society …

Where does the practice of asana and pranayama (much less sutra study and chanting) fit within all of this? I have finally come to understand that the solution may not be about trying to find more hours in an already jam-packed day or figuring out ways to clone myself. They key is in learning to make the most of what I have—integrating work and practice by asking the right questions.

HOW CAN PRACTICE BE INTEGRATED WITH WORK? IT’S ALL ABOUT THE QUESTIONS.

During my Iyengar Yoga teacher training program several years ago, for an assignment related to the klesas, I came up with the idea of keeping a “Klesas Daily Journal.” I developed a set of questions based on Sutras II.3 and II.4 and reflected on them almost every day:

1.

What is the strongest klesa that came up for me today? • What did I struggle with in my life today—either in relation to other people, within myself, or with samskaras (memories) that surfaced, etc.?

Is it a manifestation of avidya (spiritual ignorance), asmita (ego), raga (attachment to pleasure), dvesa (aversion to pain), or abhinivesa (fear)?

What form is it taking?

• prasupta (dormant), tanu (attenuated), vicchina (interrupted), udaranam (fully blown)?

What is its root?

• Is this a samskara that goes way back? Is it a pattern?

Does it relate to avidya? abhinivesa? (In my experience, I found that almost everything relates back to either of these.)

How might I try to attenuate it?

• Tapas? Svadhyaya? Isvara pranidhana?

At the end of a long workday, I find it quite illuminating to ask these questions of myself. For example, if I’m feeling guilty about procrastinating (again!) writing up my quarterly budget variance report, what is that about? Dvesa: I hate budgets. What is the remedy? Tapas: the discipline to just sit down and do it. Or if I’m agitated by a colleague who unfairly put me on the spot in a meeting, what is the root of my agitation—and why does it stick with me even after I’ve left the office? In going through the above inquiry, I see that this is asmita, my ego blowing up and causing me pain, not the person herself; she only triggered this klesa to move from prasupta (dormant) to udaranam (fully blown). I realize that at the root of this is perhaps a form of abhinivesa, in this case fear of self-perceived failure. I ask myself if it’s possible to let go (Isvara pranidhana) and bring the concepts of Sutra I.33—maitri (friendliness), karuna (compassion), mudita (joy), and upeksha (equanimity)—to my next interaction with this colleague. That would be one way to practice at work.

Then at home, I would get right onto my mat. After the kind of day where I didn’t get that budget stuff done, I ask myself: Can I practice tapas on the mat then, through a sequence of strong standing poses or backbends? And thus, I try to meet the challenge. After the kind of day where I struggled with interpersonal relationships, I gently ask myself: Shall I practice inversions to calm my mind, regain perspective, and apply the concepts of Sutra I.33—toward the self, first and foremost? Even if I have only 30 minutes, to integrate in this way ultimately yields a high-quality, meaningful, nourishing practice, serving to balance life on and off the mat.

And when I wake up in the morning, I’m ready to start all over again.

Willamarie Moore is working toward her Introductory II certification (scheduled for fall 2014). She teaches yoga in the Boston area.