40 Days of Yoga

It means I'm not going to Happy Hour. A simple post on elephantjournal.com confirms what I already know. I'm not the only one struggling to breathe life back into a practice that's laying limp in the dirt. I've been beating myself up about it for months, forcing myself to practice (ahimsa, anyone?), struggling with an athletic body riddled with seemingly pointless injuries, grinding that limp, yogic will deeper into the dirt with every higher expectation. There was a terrifying moment where I thought I hated yoga, but it was worse than that. I was starting to hate myself. I was missing my job and back in school. I was slouching...and I like slouching- in the worst possible way. Caffeine re-entered my life like One Froggy Evenings' rousing, ragtime-singing bullfrog: loud, green, and talented as hell. I let teaching numb the discomfort for a while, and distract me a little from my homework, but the real hope for sustaining my practice was about something else.

Have you ever been to one of those studios that devours everything in it's path? Well, that's where I practice. It's power yoga. There's triathletes and new Lululemon outfits, and lots and lots of pitches for the workshops, TT's, lifestyle programs,... and everyone's cleansing. The music is loud and pulsing, and the instructors all have their advanced practices captured forever in glossy photos splattered all over the Walls of Facebook. Cringe. No wonder I'm exhausted. Burnt to a crisp. Maybe it's just jealousy. Maybe it's something worse. Maybe it's Lack.

I broke up with my studio. We were together for three years. My studio doesn't know it yet, but I've made a side-step. Oh, how I will miss my favorite DJ/yoga instructors and compass-to-headstand-to-flying crow-to-dragonfly. But I played with matches, and...you guessed it.

So, I'm starting fresh. Letting it go. Going on a journey to find my yoga...even if it takes 40 days ;)