Now that I’ve committed to Yoga (at least once per week for the next couple of months, anyway), I’m trying hard to do my best at it. I mean, even though the class I signed up for is fairly inexpensive as far as most yoga classes go, I still want to get my Poor Kyle’s money’s worth. Money is money, right?
So I’ve been going every week, and trying to do the poses all professional-like, but the thing is…
…I’m too suspicious for yoga.
See, every week at the end of the hour-long class, we do a series of extended relaxation-stretches. Gradually, one pose at a time, we work our bodies down into sitting cross-legged, and then stretching our legs straight out, and ultimately lying on our backs with our eyes closed and arms to the sides. We’re supposed to really sink into the pose, trying to let the mat just swallow our bodies whole, like quicksand.
It’s all very relaxing.
Or so I’m told.
Unfortunately for me, I grew up in a big city during the late ’90s when gang violence was at its peak, and as a consequence, I don’t trust anything. Ever. So lying there on my back with my eyes closed in a room full of women who are supposedly doing the exact same thing?
That doesn’t work for me.
I get all twitchy—I can’t keep my eyes fully closed because I keep expecting someone to come up and kick me. It’s like that feeling when your eyes are closed and you know the person next to you has just plucked a hair from her own head and is, at that very moment, preparing to gently brush it across your nose and tickle you—it’s most unsettling. Every week when I’m supposed to be relaxing, I am a bundle of nerves wondering if anyone is sneaking laxatives into my water bottle or trying to steal my iPod™ from my purse. (It would be an ideal time, if you think about it. All those health-conscious women dressed in Lululemon™ gear surely don’t go far without their iPods™ in tow. I know I don’t. I would steal my iPod™ if I were me.)
It’s so ridiculous, too, because if there were ever a town where my iPod™ would be safe from thieving yogis, Mayberry is it. But I can’t stop thinking that THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT ME TO THINK. Shame on the Mayberrians, lulling me into a false sense of yoga security just so you can steal my iPod™.
So you see, I’m pretty much hopeless.
The sad thing is that I think I could be good at yoga, if only my mind wasn’t thwarting me like this.
Mind over matter, Camille. Mind over matter.
(Famous last words.)