It's taken me a long time to come around to the idea of working with veterans. Maybe that sounds weird or selfish - me, as a veteran, segregating myself from my own peer community. Especially as I've provided veterans' yoga for a handful of years now. I can tell you it hasn't entirely sat well with me, this refusal to give help where I know it's needed. To truly engage with this demographic.
But my own road to recovery had to come first. I had to figure out who I was, post-combat. Get clear on my own priorities. Forgive myself for some things. Stop looking for comfort or contentment in anything I can consume. Practice being a good husband and father. Find a stable group of friends to provide encouragement and support.
At one time, my yoga instruction came as a forced practice because I thought I should be helping veterans, even as I held my students at arm's length emotionally. Only recently, within the last couple of years, I've noticed a shift in my internal desires to reach ex-military yogis. And, in my experience, opportunities tend to come along when your internal soil is tilled and ready.
So I was intrigued and excited to get an email last month from a veterans' non-profit coordinator named Josh looking for a yoga instructor. The organization, PB Abbate, was new to me. But I liked Josh's straightforward approach and professional manner. Plus, he was willing to bet on me as an instructor who hadn't served at a retreat before.
Apparently, their previous yogi hadn't been a great fit for the participants. I get it. Veterans can be feisty and hard-mannered. Josh and his crew were really hoping I'd be able to take the heat. Having taught veterans every Monday for several years now, I had no qualms about making conversation. My biggest challenge was developing a class to suit all abilities without knowing this information in advance.
The feedback I get from students is that my classes are quite challenging. I've always taken this as a compliment. I come to yoga to sweat. I expect that my participants do, too. For this retreat, though, I needed to tailor my approach to a range of ages from 16 to 60 while still holding people's attention. This time, I opted for a deep stretching series that engaged everyone without the need for excessive modifications.
In the end, I crossed a big goal off of my list - being involved with a retreat - and also made some new friends. PB Abbate did a phenomenal job of fulfilling their mission to create "a place for those who served" - and that means anyone, regardless of MOS or disability rating.
Founded on the legacy of Sergeant Matthew Abbate, a born leader and all-around badass who gave his life in service, the organization celebrated their first weekend at a new location in Thompson Falls. The grounds and surrounding wilderness were incredible - the ideal setting for a peaceful "return to base" experience.
For me, this was a foray into something new and different: both teaching at a retreat and partnering with a veterans' non-profit. I'm relieved to say that I loved it, and I'm looking forward to grabbing hold of more opportunities like these.
Of course, the weekend wasn't without it's challenges. Anytime you choose to grow into something new, it's uncomfortable and scary. You have to leave what you know and foray into new territory. You don't know if you have what it takes. Your mind wants to quit and make excuses before you have time to step forward. (Or maybe it's just me?)
If you focus on the fear, you lose. Instead, you have to replace it with a different mantra or image, something your brain can grab onto so it doesn't have room for the noisy shit. For me, it was a memory from my earliest yoga days...
My instructor and yoga mentor, Mark, led my class in placing a rock at the base of a tree. The small white stone represented our goals and visions for our career trajectories. (Interestingly, PB Abbate practices a similar ritual, filling sandbags and stacking them around the community fire ring). My vision involved becoming a regular teacher at my local hot studio (which I now am) and serving on retreats that afforded me opportunities to travel to exotic places, meet new and interesting people.
This trip to Thompson Falls wasn't Brazil or Costa Rica, but I still saw it as a meaningful step toward my dream. It was a chance to use my skills in a helpful capacity; meet new and interesting people. It was a chance to say "yes" and see where the road might lead, because you just never know the destination that lies ahead.
Cocked, locked, and ready to rock - let's go.
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