I’m a self-proclaimed yoga hater. Okay, maybe hater is a bit harsh, so let’s just say that yoga is no longer my jam. I mean I don’t hate you for doing and loving yoga, as many of my dearest friends are instructors and extraordinary women who live and die by the yoga sword. In fact 13 years ago I started towards my yoga instructor certification and took a trip to India which inspired me to continue with my training. I was one of them – the yoga people. I practiced yoga in a studio at least four times per week, a few times per week at home, and I even…wait for it…meditated. Hell I was mindful before mindful was in. Now when I hear the word mindful I want to shove some kale up someone’s ass and ask them if they are experiencing mindfulness right at that moment. In fact my rage is surfacing as I type that word on my page. Like it’s the biggest judging word of our generation. Like if you aren’t being mindful, than you’re just an asshole. I want to invent a new nomenclature for those of us who feel we are mindful without having to tell everyone that we are being mindful. Because it’s not like we are the mindful-less. We are just so damn zen that we don’t have to even explain how fucking okay we are. And that we can enjoy eating a carrot just because we like carrots and do not need to think about how we are mindfully eating the damn carrot. Like if I eat it while standing at my kitchen counter I am enjoying it less than I would be sitting lotus in my living room eating the same damn carrot. Bugs Bunny doesn’t give a crap about this. Bug Bunny ate carrots while standing up, was never mindful, and he has lived a very long life.
Maybe if I had continued doing yoga – my zen-ness would be more enlightened and lighter if you will. Maybe I wouldn’t have rage. Maybe I would eat more carrots. Maybe I could shove my legs into lotus. Maybe I would eat allthecarrots. Maybe I wouldn’t be thinking about shoving kale up your mindful ass.
I still remember walking out of my last yoga class in Holland. I was eight months pregnant, moving home to the US, and moving onto a new life as a mother. In the three years that followed I tried a few local yoga classes, but nothing stuck. I felt awkward and self-conscious at each place and nothing felt like home to me. Yet I assume yoga must still be part of my soul because I think about it nearly every single day. I visit websites and look at schedules, touch mats as I pass them by in a store, and watch with envy as people exit a yoga class. I listen to friends tell me about the latest classes they are taking. I stalk people on Facebook as they become instructors. And I follow way too many people on instagram who do yoga. Unless they start using the word “mindful.” I unfollow those mindful people quickly and feel more zen than a good yoga sculpt class could ever make me feel.
I know I’m feeling the draw towards yoga again because I have this new thing called “time” on my hands now that all of the little children are at school all day. And sure, I could fill it with more work, or more volunteering at school, or more binge watching on Netflix. But yoga(non-mindful) yoga is calling my name. But I stress – will I buy the wrong mat, will I buy the wrong clothes, will my body not bend and hold like it used to, will people make fun of my wrinkly knees, will I pass gas. Maybe more than once? Because a mother can and will make everything stressful – including the thought of starting yoga again. Sometimes I have this vision of me entering my first class in so many years and being all like “Okay, Motherfuckers, let’s get mindful and shit!” And then the uptight mindful ones hate me forever, but my true blue new friends give me high-fives and martinis after class. But I know myself, and I know I’ll be the one hiding in the back of the class just hoping that I don’t pass gas and pausing with envy at the people with the nice mats and better clothes.
If I ever actually make it to a yoga class. Because right now I’m just checking online schedules while I eat chocolate and watch season six of the Gilmore Girls.
We shall see what 2015 brings.
I will report back. But I’m telling you right now that I am walking out the first time that someone says “mindful.” I’d like instead to make that into a drinking game. I would have to stay off the internet though as I’d always be too drunk to leave my house. Good excuse to skip yoga I guess.