This is how I know I’ve become a yoga nerd.
I was at a lovely dinner at a friend’s house and I don’t even know how, but the subject of yoga came up–and, before you think me too sophisticated, we also definitely talked about farts as a part of the subject. Anyway, before I knew it I was talking about how tough it was to break my pinky toe because I had just started getting good at articulating my individual toes. I’m sipping cocktails after a gourmet-style feast, sitting on a leather Italian designer chair under installation art and I’m proudly describing how I have actively worked toward moving my toes one at a time up and down.
This is most definitely a final confirmation that I am about 97% of all things described on Stuff White People Like. My gun-toting Republican relatives have forever lost me to all the liberal hippie jib-jab nonsense that comes with living in the Pacific NW. Except being a carnivore. I will never give up my bacon, even if I do prefer to know who farmed it.
Back to yoga. I first started it in college when I figured it’s what rich white ladies do, and so in my aspirations to be said rich white lady, I tried it out. I liked it. I did it off and on for a few years and every time I told myself “why’d I stop doing this? I need to do yoga all the time.” It was a great stress reliever and always made me stop to realize just exactly how tightly wound I was.
Now I’ve been doing yoga at least three times a week for the past year and since I’ve had the flexibility to fit it into my lifestyle I am addicted, precisely because I am about as connected to my body as E.T. phoning home. I know it’s out there, but I just can’t seem to get it to communicate. Or more appropriately, I am teaching myself what it feels like to listen to it.
It has told me my hips and right wrist are fucked up and I’m about as flexible as a concrete wall. My blossoming lotus is more like a venus fly trap. And as my body tells me these things, I am supposed to be kind and accepting of “wherever my body decides to be today.” This is the exact opposite of my nature.
And that is exactly why I am hooked. Almost everything about yoga is the opposite of my default mode; slow breathing, singular focus, acceptance, balance, heightened awareness, connection with my physical self. I am doing this on the mat, after driving to yoga while eating fast food in my front seat, checking email on my phone mostly at red lights and throwing food to the caged animals I call my children in the back seat.
I am really on a path to enlightenment. Except if you fart in class, then I am seriously laughing at you on the inside.