I hate yoga. I also teach it and take it. I’m diligently committed to both, but at times I’d rather just be committed.
I listened to a yoga student go on and on the other day about how her life has changed dramatically since she started practising yoga.
She told me that yoga instilled in her enough courage to finally dump her abusive boyfriend, stand up to her domineering boss, get a new job,
eat healthier, drink less, become more charitable, less selfish, and just an all-around better human being. In essence, she felt that yoga had saved
her life, making her come alive to what was important and giving her the courage to initiate change.
I was thrilled for her, but I was also a little bored. I hear these life-changing testimonials all the time and they are beginning to form the legs
of a walking cliché, even though, in all honesty, yoga essentially saved my life too.
I had a chronic back problem that would not go away. It was an intense pain in my lower back that showed as nothing on a CT scan and an MRI. Nothing.
Just a deep pain that felt like someone was hammering a nail into my back every five seconds.
Yoga, along with he help of a holistic energy healer, took that away, and for that I am forever grateful. But it also took away my numbness, and therein
lies the rub.
I’m not sure that I like being as present as I am since making yoga such an integral part of my life. I feel like that guy in The Matrix (not the
pseudo-evolved Keanu character, the other guy) who loves tasting steak and living a numb, unevolved life so much that he chooses it over transcendence.
Please don’t get me wrong. I am a long way from being Ghandi-enlightened. Just ask the vodka martini sitting next to me … or the one before it. I can
stretch out a vice a lot easier and longer than a yoga posture.
Being present and full of clarity has its high points, but the jury’s out on how much fun it is. How many of us, for example, have stared with envy at
the dumb, giddy blond girl without a care in the world or a thought in her head, wishing for a taste of that ignorant bliss? Nothing brilliant going on
there, but nothing painful, either. Responsibility be damned!
I resent having to do all this work to live a “better life.” And somewhere along the way, I started making other people’s lives better too. I’m
surrounded by “better lives,” carving out “better paths,” making “better choices.”
So much conscientiousness and accountability are attached to all of this. At times, I actually care about the well-being of others more than I care
about myself. It’s fleeting, but it’s there.
It never used to be. I spent 20 years as an actor and being selfish and presentational was more a part of my landscape than any sun salutation.
I was good too. I thought I was anyway. How would I have known? That was all before yoga.
Now, I know everything. At least some of my students believe I do. I’m Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, and Dr. Phil all rolled into one 90-minute yoga
class.
Most days, I feel like a fraud, not because of my expectations, but because of theirs. Obviously, I’ve been looking to lower mine and return to that
blissful state of being delightfully vacuous, but alas, my truer path has been shown to me and there is no going back. Not even a third martini
will take me to that place again.
