Less show. More soul.
Oh the ways we love to hide...
2002. Mexican riviera.
I’m sweating, almost violently…
Barefoot in the middle of a tiled, thatched-roof palapa feet from the rolling surf. I’m there with a yoga wunderkind, an equally-acclaimed kirtan singer, and 100 sweaty humans training to become yoga teachers.
We practice. We teach. We move. We twist. We grind. We stretch. We shake. Until we can no longer move.
My head is pounding. Fruit is abundant. But all I want is caffeine. And a fan.
On the last day, something’s different.
Our leader begins to call postures. Minutes in, his number two takes over the call. Updog. Down dog. Fingers wide. Palms kiss the mat. He tags number three, who takes us through the next Sun Salutation.
I see the pattern and know what’s coming. Three others on his team take the teaching baton as we flow, a hundred sweaty bodies, pose-by-pose through the soupy morning air.
Nearly two hours remain. Who will lead next?
I stand in Namaskar. Mountain Pose, erect at the mat’s edge.
Hands in prayer. Waiting and breathing.
My eyes find our teacher’s.
I surprise myself.
I want to go first.
In part, because I’m shaking and want to get it over with.
But, also, because, I think I’m better than I am.
He smiles. Nods.
I step off my mat and begin to stalk the room.
Inhale, I bellow, as my inner introvert goes full carny.
The next few minutes are surreal. A blur of breath and flow.
I’ve never led a group this size through anything quite like this.
It’s showtime. I’m overwhelmed. But, surprisingly at peace. Ish.
I own my own studio back home. Damned if I’m not already good.
Better than most. Or so I’ve deluded myself into believing.
I finish the sequence with attitude, and step back to my mat.
The teacher is waiting. He sees through me.
Leaning in to save my ego, he whispers.
“Less show, more soul.”
Then calls the next sacrifice.
I’m pissed. They were moving, grooving, laughing.
Who in the yoga demi-god fuck does he think he is?
It would take years to understand what happened.
To learn that, at least for me, in that moment.
Show had become soul’s shield.
So much bravado, posturing.
All to distract from the simple fact.
I had no idea who I was. Or what I was doing. And the last thing I wanted was for others to know. To see me in the full catastrophe of my profound imperfection.
So, I stepped into a persona. Put on a show. At least if they didn’t like it, it would’ve been the character I was playing they rejected, not me.
There’s a place for that, of course. It’s fine if you want to hide behind a character. Or invite people into a fantasy. If they know what you’re delivering, and what they’re responding to isn’t you. It’s a role you’re playing. It’s the bargain you’ve all agreed to. Hollywood is built upon this social contract.
But, often, that’s not the case. It wasn’t for me.
The character they thought was me was really just an arm’s length placeholder. A living, breathing shield keeping their open hearts from my armored soul. It’s not that it was fake, but rather filtered. Okay, so maybe part of it was fake.
I repeated this pattern so many times, over so many years, it became my default. Hiding in plain view became a way of being.
Depending on the circumstance, still is.
Eventually, all that hiding, living behind a shield, takes it’s toll.
You find yourself surrounded not by friends, lovers, and community, but by an audience. And, you learn, with sobering repetition…
An audience stays as long as you perform. A friend or love stays as long as you unfold. And a community stays as long as you serve.
I’m still working on unwinding this. Likely will be for years.
Always asking, when I find myself guarded, hiding, or showing up in some veiled way, to what end? Trying to distinguish between healthy, necessary boundaries, and fear of being seen…and outed, or rejected.
Sometimes I’m good with the answer. Other times, not. But at least I’ve gotten more into the habit of asking the question.
What need is the show serving?
What work, if any, is it keeping me from?
Who or what am I trying to protect myself from?
And, what if I let more of myself be seen?
With a whole lotta love & gratitude,
Jonathan
Wake-Up Call #57
What about you?
Do you sometimes find yourself defaulting to show as a way to protect your soul, your essential self, from being seen and, potentially, judged? Is it the about wise boundaries, or fear of being seen?
What’s your “go to” way to hide in public view?
For me, it’s often putting on a facade or defaulting to sarcasm or humor. Which is not always a bad thing, it’s all about the intent behind it.
What if, in the right room, with the right people, in the right moment, you risked being you?
Think on it. Feel into it. Walk with it. And, if you’re inclined, share your thoughts and experiences, and read others’ in the comments now.
For me it is the balance between using my “voice and choice” instead of going with what others decide for me. Learning this was crucial to continuing with my own inner work and I feel like in the last 5-6 years I’ve just been in a much better space !
Whoa. This really struck me. You were writing about me. I felt I could never show my true self, so always put on a persona when working or speaking in front of a large group. Always made jokes. I felt that nobody would want to see or hear from the authentic me. That was then. Then I turned 50 and didn't give a flying "f", then I turned 60 and REALLY didn't give a flying "f" of what anybody thought. Thank gawd for aging. ;-)