Some days I don't want to teach yoga. I don't want to do yoga. I want to just sit in my yoga pants, with the elastic waistband and eat Big Macs and drink milkshakes and shove Oreo's in my mouth like I am in a food competition.
|Milkshake + Yoga Clothes = Dysfunction|
Let me set it up for you: It started the night before. It was one of those toss-turn-toss-curse-pee 85 times kind of nights. I could not sleep. I did not want to sleep, but I did not want to be awake either.
I was in the midst of one of my random panic attacks about Lily's brain tumor--the kind of panic that I never tell Mike about (because I know he has them too and does not need to share in mine). It is the kind of panic that sometimes sends me right to the internet to Google, "ependymoma," like a maniac. The kind of panic that has my heart racing, my breath escaping me and my mind--my terribly cluttered brain--trying to use logic to fend off any possibility of a reoccurrance.
At some point, Lily wandered in, following a bad dream. She climbed into bed and I had to watch her sleep for 2 hours, just to make sure she was breathing.
And you should know, that Lily is doing great--better than great--she is healthy. And beautiful and smart and a royal-pain-in-the-fanny, just like every other 5-year-old. I am just crazy.
However I had to sleep. I had to get up early and drive to Pennsylvania to meet with contractors and electricians and flooring guys who were all giving me quotes on the renovations to my parent's house. I had a full day of painting ahead of me. My parents were depending on me. My Dad, my elderly, slightly senile, beloved Dad and my Mom--oh my Mom--they needed me.
But, there I was, listing all the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad things that could happen, instead of resting. There I was stressing about the unknown--the future--how terribly unyogic.
My bad night's sleep became a bad attitude--snide remarks to my parents, intolerance with electricians and angry painting.
So today, the day I teach my favorite adult class, I did not want to go. At all. I was tired. I was cranky and I was covered in paint. Then I thought of Paulette--one of my students and happily, a new friend. I thought of her favorite pose (Half-Frog) and I knew, I had to put the Big Mac down and get on the mat.
The truth is I need my students more than my students need me. When my days are bad and I show up at class, I know I have a job to do. It is my responsibility--my solemn oath to teach yoga and teach it the best I can. I have to check all the crap at the door and be Trish, yoga teacher.
And by sharing good thoughts and gentle words and laughter and my truth, I forget that girl who was up all night making nonsense out of nonsense. I forget the worrier. I forget the snotty lady. I somehow, become more myself and for a couple moments, I believe everything I say--that yes, in this moment, this very moment, everything is perfect.
And yes, yoga pants are elastic--for stretching; not eating.
we definitely have to have a talk. Wish I lived closer.ReplyDelete