So this resolution did not go the way I had planned. Oh it got done—don’t fret about that. “Getting it done” is the only guarantee in this blog. Each of these resolutions will be completed…
…just maybe not in the way I imagine or map out in my head. And that is something I’m quickly learning—these entries are not just about fulfilling my resolutions; they are moments of self-discovery in the most unexpected ways.
I’ve taken Yoga many times before. And though I have always enjoyed it—the stretching and breathing and moments of zen—yoga never affected me the way it seems to touch others. Which is why I was so excited about the Candlelight Flow. It was Yoga—but more me. This is the kind of yoga that will influence me the way it influences my friends, I thought. I was absurdly excited about it. But it had to wait until the end of the month before I could take the class.
There are only a few places in LA that offer it—one on Wednesday nights, the other on Fridays. I work nights—every weeknight, except one Friday each month. And so Candlelight Flow had to wait until the end of February.
The plan: go to class with Jen (henceforth known as RPC—Resolutions’ Partner in Crime as she seems to be involved in each of the resolutions so far) and then dinner afterwards (I mean—what’s the point in 90 minutes of stretching and sweating if you can’t double the intake of calories you’ve just burned off? Jeesh. Where’s the fun in that?)
I drove the thirty minutes to Sherman Oaks, climbed up the steps to the studio to meet Jen and sign up for the class. Just walking into the place made you feel more relaxed. The ground was made of hardwood flooring, the wall was stacked with mats against the wall, the drinks and snacks were organized on a table, soothing music whispered in the background, and a very friendly “welcomer” sat behind the desk.
He smiled. I smiled. And then I waited, wondering if he was going to show me the way—what I was supposed to do, where I was supposed to go for my hour and a half of tranquility. He just kept grinning, and so I glanced around. This was the right place, right? I mean, the music, the mats, the zen floor—but the friendly welcomer just stared at me, his brown curls spiked up around his head, and I stared back. Then finally…
“So, is this where I sign up? I asked. He stared. “For—yo—ga?”
“Well, I certainly hope so,” he replied as he motioned to a clipboard on the counter in front of him.
Ok then. I signed my name and then looked at him. He smiled.
“Should I pay now, or…?” I started. It was like pulling teeth to get this guy to give me some direction.
“Well I certainly hope so,” he answered. He sure does a lot of hoping, I thought. “Cash or Credit?”
“Cash,” I said as Jen walked through the door. Thank God, I thought, a face I recognize. I was beginning to feel weird around Curly.
And as she paid for her entrance to the class, a man beside me grabbed a key dangling off a long wooden handle on the wall next to me and opened the door beside the key. Ah, the bathroom key, I thought. Good to know. We need a key to use the bathroom.
Then, like waddling penguins, we followed the mass of people into the only open room in the studio, laid out our mats, and waited for class to start. The instructor lowered the lights, mounted her I-Pod to a surround-sound stereo, closed the door and settled down before us.
I looked around the studio. Where are the candles? I glanced up at the chandeliers. Is that what they consider candlelight flow? A dimly lit room? I tried to reread the class description in my head. Did it actually say there would be candles? Or is it just symbolic of a darkened room?
Jen didn’t seem to notice anything peculiar, and so I decided I must have read it wrong. I shrugged. Maybe this wouldn’t be the type of Yoga I had anticipated, but it was Yoga nonetheless.
And so the stretching began. This ain’t so bad, I thought as we entered into our first stretch (legs apart, torso down, hands wrapped around one foot). I can reach my feet, no problem.
“This is the first in our series of long stretches,” the instructor said. “So take it easy. Don’t push yourselves yet.”
I loosened my grip. What does she mean, “long stretch”? How many minutes are we talking here? I refocused. Think about your breathing—in and out, in and out. But after five minutes of breathing, I was getting tired and my hamstrings were begging for mercy. And this was a stretch I could handle. What else did she have in store for us?
We switched legs and then entered into different positions—not so bad, but not so easy either. And then came the One-Legged King Pigeon Pose—a stretch I would come to know as my nemesis.
Oh-my-god. This was the most uncomfortable position any person could be in. Why in the world would anyone choose to do this voluntarily? And from the sound of the grunts and groans around me, I knew I wasn’t the only one declaring war against this pose. It can’t get worse than this, I thought.
And then the instructor said, “This is the second long stretch of the night.”
I was wrong. It had just become worse. Judging by the first long stretch of the night, I’d be looking like a one-legged pigeon for a while. My hips burned, my right leg (bent beneath my torso) didn’t feel like it belonged to me anymore, and my left leg (stretched out behind me) was beginning to feel numb. Focus on your breathing—in and out, in and out. Just focus, I kept repeating in my head.
“Take your final breath,” the instructor said. “And release.” Oh sweet God, kinder words had never been spoken. I creaked out of the position I was stuck in, feeling like a ninety year old man getting out his chair after watching TV for too long.
And then she said, “Now switch legs.”
I quickly realized that my left leg was not as willing to bend beneath me as the right one had been. This was by far the most unpleasant shape my body had been forced into. And it was a long stretch.
When we were finally released, I wasn’t sure I could unfold my body back to normal. It genuinely took effort. But my legs and hips felt so loose afterwards. Loose and relaxed.
By the time the class had ended, my entire body felt less tense, my breathing felt more regular, and my mind was clearer.
We got into the prayer pose and held it for some time, breaths moving in and out.
“Namaste,” the instructor said. Literal meaning, I bow to you. My favorite figurative translation, the best in me greets the best in you.
“Namaste,” the class repeated.
Then as we all broke out of our meditative state, stretched our bodies and continued to breath deeply, Jen turned to me and said, “So where were all of the candles?”
Ah-hah! So I wasn’t the only one wondering about the candles!
We gathered our belongings, walked out of the room, and decided to ask someone. The only person there? Yup, Curly.
“So, is there a candlelight class too?” I asked, as nonchalantly as possible.
Curly smiled. And then slowly nodded. Of course he wouldn’t make it easy. The teeth pulling resumed.
“Did it already start?” I asked.
He nodded. And then pointed to the door beside the key that had been dangling on the wall. I arched my eyebrow. The candlelight class was held in the bathroom? That was the immediate thought that flittered through my head. Then reality struck. The key was not for the bathroom, it was to open the second studio where Candlelight Flow was held.
Jen and I looked at one another, and then giggled. We had totally gone to the wrong class.
We walked out of the building and down the steps to our cars.
“I’m kinda annoyed,” I said. “I can’t believe we missed the class.”
Jen laughed and then told me about the Happiness Project (http://www.happiness-project.com/). It was a book and blog that I had heard about, but not read.
“The writer has a moment where she realizes that she gets frustrated when things don’t happen the way she plans. And then she ultimately realizes that she needs to learn how to laugh at herself," Jen said. Then she leaned toward me. “You need to laugh at yourself more.”
And she was right.
What I learned from this resolution: the left side of my body is way tighter than my right; I really do enjoy Yoga, even if it feels like torture, and I will probably continue to take classes—especially the Candlelight Flow; that there’s nothing wrong with asking questions, even to people like Curly who are difficult to get information out of; that I shouldn’t assume that a key dangling from a wooden handle is for the bathroom; that things will rarely work out the exact way I plan; and that I need to learn to laugh at myself.
And so as I greet the best in you with the best in me, I laugh.
Because at the end of the day, it's the laughs that I will remember the most.
Namaste.
