I had another great time at yoga teacher training last night. Well, I guess I did. This training is definitely bringing up a lot of stuff for me. As I mentioned in a previous post, the class contains entirely women -- 18 students and 3 instructors. I think this is really good for me. Within the past decade or so, the number of women in my life has diminished significantly. Well, maybe that's not entirely correct. I had women friends in college, but upon leaving college, I didn't really retain friendships with them, except for a few. Then, when I entered the writing workshop at Temple, I developed a pretty sizeable network of women friends. But then that group eventually dispersed and I'm only in contact with one of them at this point. Nearly all of my friends are men now.

In any case, I have never been totally at ease in my friendships with women, and I've never been sure exactly why that is. When I got home, I floated a theory by Tim, but I'm not even sure if it's right. This is what I said:

I pride myself in my ability for insight, receptivity, and compassion. I think I added a different adjective to that mix last night, but now I can't remember. Anyway, the point is, I pride myself in certain qualities that might be considered "feminine". I also pride myself in my intelligence, and my ability to express the impressions I receive from engaging those feminine qualities. And so, in my friendships with my men, I can bring those qualities to our relationship (the male/female friendship), and it creates an interesting dynamic. Men appreciate my ability to examine life in that way, since for whatever cultural or genetic reasons, they are less predisposed to do so. So they appreciate it that I can draw those sides out of them in a way that makes them feel comfortable, relaxed, and interested.

However, it appears that most women pride themselves in the same way as I do. Most women are sensitive and emotional. And from what I can tell, my fellow women teacher trainees have quite a bit of depth and awareness, beyond the degree of the average woman. (What else would you expect from seekers of Yoga?)

So where am I going with this? I guess I notice that when I observe those traits in other women, a sense of competitiveness rises within me. I suppose I think that I can tolerate all of my other "weaknesses", such as: my inherent flexibility issues that will limit how far I can take my asana practice; the stagnation of my career; the lack of certain types of "wealth" in my life; etc. In the face of these shortcomings, I can tell myself, "So what if I don't have everything society thinks I ought to have -- I have my wisdom!" It is a defense mechanism, absolutely. So if others exhibit those traits, I feel like the whole house of cards could come tumbling down.

But I also feel a bit of impatience when I listen to other women's introspections. It seems I find them a bit boring. But why?

I know there's something deeper behind it all. There's a part of me that not only prides my abilities of introspection, there's a part of me that also hates it. It feels self-indulgent and pointless. Meaning, if I were to stay there too long, I would be mired in the muck of it -- I would remain trapped in patterns of thinking and feeling, and there would be no doing.

So I feel like my abilities of introspection are my most powerful tool yet my most dangerous weapon.

I'm not sure what else to say about it at this point. Last night Corina asked if any learning can be had from "resistance". I said that for me, resistance is like a fire -- a tapas -- and that even though it is painful to experience, and even though I might spin in circles for much longer than I should, eventually I arrive at a deeper place, a point of wisdom. I've finally come to trust this process in myself. I'm not sure I've come to a place where I can go through it without hurting myself -- perhaps that's where I'm stuck, perhaps that's what I need to move beyond somehow.

It's funny; the more I write, the more I discover "places where I'm stuck". I guess that's a good thing.