To Yoga or Not to Yoga

            Every day as I’m driving home from school, there’s a point on the highway when I have to decide either to go the right (to my house) or the left (to the gym.)  Today, I was heading home.  After all, I’ve got a blog to write and a dog to walk.  But somehow I ended up at yoga anyway.

            What I like most about yoga is that since I started it a few years ago, I’ve actually gotten better. So now at 60 minus 31 days, there are poses I can do that I couldn’t when I was say a mere child of 58. That’s not true of a lot of other activities, especially  not physical ones.  In fact, I can’t think of a single one.

            Yoga instructors are always saying “focus on your own practice,” like we’re all doctors who’ve signed a non-compete clause. But I always end up glancing around the room anyway, looking for people who are really good at yoga and not the least bit young.

            Just think, I tell myself, in a couple more years, you can be as good as they are.

            But I don’t think that’s going to happen today.

             It’s been a long day, and a few minutes into the class, I’m already looking at the clock, counting the minutes to the end. Each move feels like a struggle, and instead of feeling focused and energized, I’m feeling tired. And I’m regretting the turn I took. My poor little dog is probably getting impatient for his afternoon walk, and I still have a blog to write.

            Definitely, the wrong turn.

            Suddenly, it dawns on me that I can leave right now before the class is over. The instructor won’t like it, but he’s not going to stop me. I really can get up and go. But I don’t. It’s funny the rules we make for ourselves, the ones we really don’t have to follow.

            Finally, finally, it’s time to lie down on the mats and relax. The instructor switches to his mellow waterfall music. I let everything wash over me, and I melt into my mat. And then it hits me … I don’t have to write this blog either.  The rules we make.