Yoga: More Than Pants, Less Than A Shrink
When I lost my job, the first thing I thought about - well, maybe not the first thing, which was probably more along the lines of "thosemotherfuckerspassthevodka" - was yoga. It is the indulgence that I couldn't fathom giving up because of lack of dollars. I was fine buying drugstore hair goo and scaling back on eating out and I already drink box wine so how much lower could I go from there ... but I was in tears at the thought of giving up my yoga class. Obviously not because of some deep spiritual connection to the practice, otherwise I would have Ommmmmmed my way to okayness. I am so not there yet. But what I need in my life - and needed even more in that crappy moment of it - was my yoga people.
They would probably be shocked to know this. I'm the woman who comes in, finds the corner, does the thing, then leaves. I rarely talk to anyone, not because I'm a jerk but because I just want to bathe in the light of these amazing women - and also not ruin it all by being awkward and making fart noises with my mouth. Also not with my butthole, but these things happen in yoga.
Little do these ladies know that by absorbing me into their group I have found my church. From the day I injected myself into their community - and many of them seem to know one another IRL, seem to have been already practicing yoga together for some time, seem to move in the same circles socially - I was comfortable and that is some kind of feat. I've never felt comfortable in my own skin, much less in situations in which chit-chat is necessary. I walked in the first day in ratty yoga pants that had never seen a lick of yoga but lots of sofa time and a dumb T-shirt and was horrified when I realized I had to remove my socks because I truly have hideous dogs. I wanted to sneak out when everybody bowed their heads to chant the invocation (NO ONE TOLD ME THERE'D BE SINGING-- IN SANSKRIT NO LESS -- GAHHH!!). But I didn't. I needed to be there. After having both hips replaced, I'd been too tentative and too lazy to do anything physical and I finally decided yoga was the way to ease into exercise. Nobody threw up when they saw my feet and I didn't dislocate a hip so I felt pretty good about things.
From my Facebook timeline when I started yoga.
Leah was incredibly encouraging and attuned to my needs and limitations without my ever feeling like I was being called out or holding up the rest of the class. I started out in the "gentle pace" class, and usually Leah would end the practice with a reading during savasana. The day I lay there in the dark with tears rolling down my face as she read something about loving ourselves I felt what I guess can be likened to when people say they've found their lordandsaviorjesuschrist - I felt full and light and happy about the prospect that I just might be on the way to being OK with me.
More Facebook proof
After three years I've made progress, and have moved among classes as necessary to accommodate work schedules. It was something for me to attend the 8 a.m. class on Wednesdays after working until midnight the night before. It is a class full of women, WOMEN! of all shapes and sizes and professions and stages of womanhood and at different stops, as Leah says, in our yoga journeys. This has been my favorite class.
I was going to practice twice a week before I got laid off. Jim was adamant that I not give it up altogether - we weren't destitute - but I said I'd go to one class a week then practice more at home. I went more often to the Saturday class, which is a bit more challenging, but then I got a job YAY! and as we settled into a new routine I finally was able to go back to the Wednesday morning class.
There are about a dozen regulars, and I mostly only know them by their first names. Honestly, I figured nobody really noticed whether or not I was there. But then Ann greeted me with the most genuine "welcome back" I thought I might cry. And when Katie came in, kinda did a double-take and said "Holly! It's so good to see you back!" I think I did cry a little. A few people asked about work. A few commented on my weight loss. I probably talked more in 4 minutes after that class that I had in three years. My chit-chat skills still really suck, and I probably made some farting noises with my mouth. But when you feel at home, not one bit of that really matters. My yoga people, whether they know it or not, have done just that, have made me feel at home, and I thank them for the gift of their lovely, warm light. Namaste, y'all. <insertfartnoise>
