un-namaste

I glared at the guest yoga teacher today. Bad, bad yogi - very un-namaste of me. What's even worse is that I got caught, although it's bad and disrespectful either way. Let me back up a sec...

Upon arriving at class just a teensy bit late (seriously, like three minutes, tops) and encountering a locked front door, I proceeded to head for the back door where I saw my friend, Whitney, making her entrance.

"Ooh! ooh! Hold the door, Whitney!" I yelled quietly in her direction. My pleas fell on deaf ears as the heavy door and my lunging, tired body failed to connect. I rapped three times on the door, possibly a little bit louder than I'd originally intended or hoped for. A startled Whitney, no doubt reeling from a triple loud door rap echoing in her right ear, opens the door to my shamed face, while I take in the scene of the yoga studio...a scene that includes a teacher who is not Dana standing at the head of the class and watching what is now feeling like an amateur Three Stooges sketch.

I utter what is likely an unintelligible, yet sincere, apology for my tardiness and disruption. Now here is where I back up yet again. I have mentioned to Dana before that if I arrive late, I choose to turn around and walk home rather than going to the back and knocking on the door. She was astonished to hear this and asked why I would do such a thing. I explained to her (briefly, of course) that it just feels far too disruptive and disrespectful to her, as well as to the other students, if I enter class in this manner. And that then I feel badly about taking up more than my fair share of space. Dana was most sympathetic and understanding as she asked that I please feel welcome to proceed into the class if I arrive late and to rest assured that there would be no hard feelings. She even put her hands in anjali mudra while saying please - a gesture of extreme respect and gratitude in the yoga community. How could I say no to that?

As it turned out, Dana was participating in the class, as if she were a student, and I planted myself three mats down from her. She smiled at me, but I was not yet ready for her warmth, as I was far too busy fighting the regrets that were emerging in my mind. I was debating as to whether I should've slept in and come to the 9am class instead. I was wondering who this guy was at the head of our class and I was not in a headspace to let him in. Admittedly, I don't do so well with change and I especially appreciate being forewarned of change for maximum ability to cope on my behalf.

But what if this fellow didn't have the same warm and understanding approach to late students as did Dana? What if he is now angry at me? Does he think I'm disrespectful? Is he wishing I weren't there? Does he even care?

I attempted to gauge the answers to all of these questions and so much more while I conducted the warm-up gestures, already feeling confined by my shrunken space all the way at the end of the row (this is what I deserve for arriving late, I told myself) and next to a confident and skilled yogi who seemed to require some of my socially-determined personal space. I slunk back and chose not to compete spatially with the woman with the perky ponytail. But then I found that I could not see the teacher as perky ponytail was now occupying my visual space as well.

I was thoroughly convinced that this was the universe's way of informing me that I did not belong in that class today. So I am in my already-cramped space on the end, now in the corner, and craning my neck to see past perky ponytail. The teacher observes that I am inconvenienced and instructs me to step forward into what is now perky ponytail's space (despite that it rests above my mat).

And that is when it happened. I actually glared at him. And he saw me do it. Bad, bad, so very very bad. At this point I'm a tad cross, as I know that I will not be able to successfully execute his think-outside-of-the-box (yoga mat=box) gestures and not collide (yes, literally) with perky ponytail. So I step forward to observe his instruction, perma-glare stuck on my cross face, and then take a defiant step backward into my corner where at least what space I do have is my own. As he guides us through the next series of gestures, he says,"blahblahblah your left side blahblahblah place your hands blahblahblah," and then came the words of one who is genuinely warm and understanding, "or if you don't want to, you don't have to."

After class, Whitney said to me that this slightly different approach to yoga caused her to realize how inflexible she was.

"Me, too," I told her.

"Oh my god, you are so not inflexible. You could totally do those gestures," she asserted.

"Not inflexible in the body," I declared, "up here," I said, pointer finger tapping gently above the tip of my ear.