22 June 2013 § 3 Comments
In Nashville, I had the best yoga teacher. I loved her and she loved me, and with my soul sister, Dro, I enjoyed her class every Sunday morning. We shared her class with people we loved, including Hubs and a manfriend of Dro’s that sometime later on became an ex.
People have different ideas about territory after a break up. I tend to be more on the conservative side. For instance, if you initiate a break up with my soul sister (and why the hell you’d do THAT is a whole ‘nother issue), then you lose the privilege of going to the yoga class she introduced you to. Even if it’s the best yoga class you’ve ever been to, it’s respectful to not go there anymore.
But this fella just kept showing up to the yoga class. And I got SO mad about it, mad that he hurt my soul sister and mad that he had the gall to keep showing up to my sacred place (though probably it wasn’t gall, probably it was just non-awareness, which was really his main problem). I was more mad than Dro ever was because she is brave and strong and forgiving. Plus, she didn’t need to be that mad because I was pissed enough for everyone involved (and even some not involved people).
I was so mad that I wished to never see him again, actually thought it determinedly on multiple occasions. Then one day in December our teacher said that she was going to stop teaching the class after the new year. And I had wished SO HARD never to see this guy again that I felt as though the class ending was something that I made happen with all my angry wishing. I was gutted.
I finished up my class series in other teachers’ classes, but I didn’t feel connected to my yoga practice the way I had. After I ran out of classes March 1, I just stopped going. Did some exercise videos here and there, but basically wasn’t active.
Fast forward to now. I’m alone in Chicago for a science writing internship (!) and craving the familiar, I find a yoga studio and pick out a Sunday morning class. It starts at the same time as my old class. I walk into the studio and immediately feel connected to the exposed brick wall on one side of the studio – my Nashville studio has one of those, too. The class is challenging, but it feels so good to hear familiar words and my muscles haven’t forgotten everything.
As we settle into savasana, the teacher puts on this song. Tears well up and spill over; my Nashville teacher played this song for us in savasana all the time. I let go of my lingering anger at that silly man, and of my even bigger anger at myself, that I let my anger at him drive me away from my yoga practice.
It’s MY yoga practice to grow and nurture, and it’s back.