The Anti-Zen of Yoga
I often struggle to achieve a zen-like attitude at yoga. My mind’s natural state is a whirlwind of thoughts jumping from one subject to the next: What am I going to make for supper? Is my red sweater at the cleaners? Is Guzzy overdue for a dentist appointment? Do we really need to put up a real Christmas tree AGAIN this year–even though we have a perfectly good fake one? and so on.
Today I was particularly distracted by the new yoga instructor’s voice. Most yoga instructors develop a soothing, gentle tone to help create a sense of quiet relaxation. However, tonight’s instructor had a harsh nasal Minnesotan accent combined with a lisp. It was a blend of Sgt. Margie from the movie Fargo with Sid the Sloth from the Ice Age movies. I was cringing with the thought of all the spit hitting the mats as she guided us through a series of Sssun Sssalutations. ( I realize that is unkind — yet another example of my inherent state of anti-zenness.)
There is another instructor who is extraordinarily graceful, has a strong German accent, and is very emphatic in her instructions. She doesn’t just tell us to breathe… she tells us to IIINNNN-hale and EEEXXXX-hale; and in certain poses she tells us to SKVEEEEEZE our gluts. If Guzzy is in class with me, we crack up completely at about the fourth SKVEEEZE!!
Of course, focusing on the instructor’s voices distracts me from the ache in my arms, legs, and general glut area during class. Tonight I tried to comfort myself with the thought that I was much older than the rest of the class. That myth dissipated as we were leaving and several of us had a discussion about what we prefer that our grandchildren call us. FYI – Many prefer ‘nana’ to grandma–whereas I’m just fine being regular old grandma.
If you have any zen to spare; please send it to me. In the meantime, I might try a glass of wine before the next yoga class.