What I Like About Yoga, A Personal Essay; or, I Did Not Make ThatSmell, It Was That Guy in the Back There.

i do it with my eyes closed and the same things that feel the greatest also hurt the worst. but i’m sort of a sucker for working through pain. feels worthwhile. and i like that it’s hard but that i’m in total control of how far i push it. and only accountable to me.
i genuinely don’t care how well the people around me are doing other than to cheat off them to figure out where the fuck my left arm is supposed to be in this pose. (there?? how is that possible? that is not possible. child’s pose it is). my shoulders and jaw relaxes like they never otherwise do and my mind sort of wakes up but also quiets down- like  the normal buzzing garbage just sits down for once and the cool shadow creatures come out to show me what they’ve been up to. the new hat they bought.
that’s terribly poetic. or just terribly terrible, isn’t it? <– that self editing doesn’t happen during yoga. during yoga i let my mind wander to all the extents of my ideas. i don’t clamp down on imaginationing like i do in real life. everything seems brilliant and possible. i don’t worry that all the thoughts have been thought and thought BETTER and thought first. i don’t worry that i couldn’t possibly be as clever or funny or unique or thoughtful or wise as….whomever. i’m just happy with the shadow people inside my head.
also, even though my yoga studio is full of THE WORST WHITE PEOPLE (ie: my tribe) talking about their disgust at water bottles and this amahzing new vegan energy bar they just tried (no, i mean, seriously. these are EXACTLY my people. and if i get there more than 2 minutes before class starts, i wait in my car so i don’t have to hear them talk in the lobby. because they are just terrible. side note to my aside- i was listening to a podcast that i love (Another Round-http://www.buzzfeed.com/anotherround), hosted by two hilarious and genius women of color, and they were talking about how annoying it is to hear white people make fun of white people stuff because really there’s no teeth to it and it all rolls back into a self-satisfied pseudo compliment on how cozy and preferred we are….and i get that. but for real, these yoga douchebags are just terrible). where was i? yes. i really love this place.
it’s on the main street of my town and it’s above a coney island restaurant. you have to climb up the metal fire escape stairs to get there, which makes me feel so urban and cool. like i live on Avenue Q or something. and you must know what a coney island is…it’s hot dogs covered in lumpless chili and french fries BUT ALSO pancakes and delicious terrible hot chocolate and pie and greek salad.
so there’s this big neon CONEY ISLAND sign immediately outside the windows of the yoga studio. it blinks in a rhythm that i think is just slightly out of step, in a specific arrythmia. so inside the studio, the fake candles are burning and the music is Enya-ing in this sacred womb of a room and outside, a blinking reminder of french fries. it works for me. it keeps things more earthy or something. plus i like the teachers and the variety and blahblahblah.
yoga is one of my ways of finding some happy alone time with no one needing me. doing something healthy and stimulating and relaxing. i have this dream of a costa rican yoga retreat some day where the surf sounds are real and not on a white noise CD. but i want a few years of practice. and also before i go i’m gonna need some tribal tattoos and a few more friends named Taylor.

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