Agitated beyond need.
They tell me to be kind, forgiving, compassionate to myself. That sounds nice. Pretty words. But tonight’s yoga practice has left me agitated, unwilling to stop feeling embarrassed for not getting it, for not understanding, for not having any sense of what to do with my body. I have just enough awareness that the first half of the class is okay, but the advanced asanas are beyond my comprehension. I am a 5’8″ thumb, and I’m feeling pretty dumb about myself.
I want to keep trying. I want to succeed, to see what I’m doing, to know what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ll get better, they’ll say. I’ll get better, I’ll say. Practice makes perfect, we all say. But I’m a thumb.
I shouldn’t sit at the front of the studio. The class is looking at my back. I don’t think they’re watching me, judging. No. I feel it, but c’mon, I’m not that stupid. It’s just when the class zigs and I zag, I want to know it, I want to not be that guy. I need a frame of reference that’s not the perfect body and form of the teacher, or the wall behind her. I need to know my place, not fear my place.
I could ask her for help, and she may genuinely care about my involvement, but she cannot invest any care or attention unless I make a business arrangement for private sessions. I have nothing to say in the public class that’s not personal, not embarrassing, not an admission of being substandard. I mean, dammit, I know that’s what class is for, but the tough front, y’know?
Shouldn’t be leaving yoga more agitated, embarrassed, and negative than I arrived. Just shouldn’t.