Less than two hours before Tuesday night’s yoga class, I decided to pull up the class info to check on the location. It was then that I discovered that the class is called Yoga For A Happy Life.
I was fully prepared for the Yoga part, but I suppose I had overlooked For A Happy Life when I signed up.
1. Dear God, please don’t let the yoga teacher put us in a circle and talk about what makes us happy. I know without a doubt that I will mutter something ridiculous about the perfect bean burrito with a hefty serving of guacamole and then the next person will wipe a tiny tear and say, “I’m so happy I was able to hold my precious Aunt Edith’s hand and tell her that I love her as her soul traveled from her body to Heaven with grace this morning.” and I’ll stare at my feet and feel embarrassed about my burrito for the next few years because that’s what I do.
2. Dear God, please don’t make the class be one of those things where we have to hold hands and pass a secret squeeze to our neighbors. I have never liked that because the secret squeeze always makes me think of touching raw hamburger and not today. Not today.
My friend (let’s call her Kim) and I arrived at the class a little too early and class began a little too late. We down dogged. We did a little Nadi Shodhana, which is one of my very favorite anxiety/headache/relaxation exercises. We held a plank for three seconds. (I know.) We did a few forward folds.
Instructor: Let’s get on our hands and knees. That’s right. Very nice. Now pretend someone has just punched you in the stomach. Shape yourself as if you’ve just received the punch and are saying, “Oomph.” Very good. Now release. Inhale. As you exhale, once again, pretend that you’ve been punched in the stomach.
Me (to myself, obviously): Sucker punch. And ANOTHER sucker punch. Yoga for a happy life.
The class was a little too crowded for me, but I absolutely loved it until it was time for Shavasana and meditation. The lights went down. Everyone went flat to the floor. We took deep breaths. In. And out.
The instructor told us that she was going to play a guided meditation CD. Suddenly we were greeted by the (slightly too loud) voice of a lovely British woman who told us to find our happy place.
Bang! I went to the top of Mount Rendezvous in Jackson, Wyoming. It’s cold. Lots of snow. I’m drinking a beer. I’m eating a hot waffle. It looked a little something like this:
Lovely British Woman: YOU ARE IN A RAINFOREST! LISTEN TO THE INSECTS CHIRPING!
Me (to myself): No. I’m still on my mountain and I’m wearing a silk scarf and appropriate shoes and the sky goes on forever and there are little fluffy clouds and they move down and they are long and clear…
Lovely British Woman: YOU ARE NOW NEAR A POOL. SWIM OR DIP YOUR FINGERS IN. WHATEVER MAKES YOU COMFORTABLE.
If you know me at all, you know that my happy place is never near a pool. (It’s a long story. I’ll keep it.)
Me (to myself): Damnit! Where’s my mountain? Um, let no sadness come to this heart, let no trouble come to these arms, let no conflict come to these eyes, et cetera, damnit to hell.
The class ran about thirty minutes over. We had a little trouble finding the car afterwards. I woke up yesterday morning feeling stretched and clear. I can’t wait to go back.