Racing to the Yoga Studio

“Millions of people are suffering; they want to be loved but they don’t know how to love. And love cannot exist as a monologue; it is a dialogue, a very harmonious dialogue.”
-Osho

Racing to the yoga studio, I’ve gotten a speeding ticket. Racing to the yoga studio, I’ve cursed (they slipped). Racing to the yoga studio, I’ve cut my mom off mid-sentence while on the phone (sorry mom). Speeding and cursing and cutting people off…all while racing to get to the yoga studio. So much for the calming and relaxing benefits of the practice; so much for attaining equanimity of the mind; so much for practicing “off the mat!” I know, I know…I could leave from wherever I’m coming from 5 minutes earlier and get to the studio on time. I could simply ease into the moment and trust that whenever I arrive is when I’ll be there. Or…I could practice at home. I have the mat, I know a lot of the poses and I have a hard surface on which to practice but that just doesn’t do it for me. I am a confirmed studio junkie with road rage. There…I said it!

Jumping out of my car, I grab my mat, bolt to the studio’s door and head up the stairs. With each step, a deeper inhale fills my lungs and I begin to notice an immediate shift in my demeanor. The flurry of the day’s activities drifts away, the heaviness of the day-to-day worries that I drag around floats off with each exhale and within moments, the road rage is long forgotten. At the top of the steps, I see the reason that I race to get to the studio: fellow yogi’s and yogini’s shuffling in and out of the studio in bare feet and ponytails gathering their yogi toes and towels. Smiles and conversations simmer along the studio’s edge and the warm realization that I am welcome here is a welcome relief. Whether we know each other or not, we connect. Whether we know each other or not, we understand. Whether we know each other or not, we recognize that we are all walking along the same path. Different stories? Yes. But the path and the desire and the commitment, we share. And in this, we create community.

In Indian philosophy, assembling together with like-minded persons is called satsang (sat = truth, sanga = company). There are many other cultural philosophies, religions and customs that practice similar satsang-type gatherings…some call it church, others call them meetings and even others might call it a club. But whatever the name of the place or reason for the gathering, we gather, well, to gather. We collect and share, and feel safe in our like-minded hopes and dreams and beliefs and even our differences. We convene, we congregate, we connect.

We all showed up at the yoga studio for the first time no doubt with very different intentions. For some, yoga piqued the interest of those fitness-focused individuals who wanted to see what this latest craze was all about; they wanted a hot yoga body with ropey arms and 6-pack abs. Some noticed friends who had been practicing had a certain glow and ease about them and wanted to glow, too. For others, their friend or their spouse or their enemy dragged them reluctantly to their first class. But for many of us, we showed up broken, burned-out, empty and suffocating all at the same time.

My brother brought me to my first yoga class nearly 13 years ago and while we had a fun experience, afterwards I only occasionally went to a class here and there, inconsistent at best. Six years later, I really showed up at the studio and I was a coiled mess. Broken. Burned. Crispy cool. I spent years practicing in the back corner of the studio near the door. During my practice I remember feeling as if I couldn’t get enough air and that I needed to be by the door just in case. I didn’t chat with anyone; I didn’t exchange smiles or friendly small talk. I slipped in and I slipped out keeping my coiled mess to myself. After several years of a destructive relationship, I just wanted to be alone. Safe.

My protective little shield was always on guard, especially at the studio. It was much harder to feel safe in nothing but yoga clothes while doing awkward and difficult poses that seemed impossible. But there I was, unknowingly beginning to breathe again after years of holding my breath, biting my tongue, grinding my teeth and waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was breathing deep, long, luxurious sighs of relief and slowly, my little armadillo shell began to soften. And slowly, I began to notice the kindness that surrounded me in the yogis and yoginis shuffling around in bare feet and ponytails. And slowly, I began to remember the kindness and the warmth that I had long forgotten in me. Opening up to the warmth in those around me began to thaw my icy shield and the love that I once felt safe to share had resurfaced again. Dorothy Day wrote: “We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community.”

My yoga practice and the community with which I am grateful to gather have grown in ways I couldn’t have possibly imagined 6 years ago. But here I am, racing to get to the yoga studio over and over and over, again.

Whatever your reason for racing to the yoga studio, just get there. But be safe…there are studio junkies with road rage out there on the streets!