I Wish I Were a Better Yogini

Sure, on the surface, I look like a great student of yoga. I've been to three classes in as many days. Two of them Anusara. I even registered for another weekend intensive with Deb. So, yeah, I look like a great yogini. 'Cept I'm not.

During aforemention Wilfordpalooza, they served pizza. It's been a long time since I had pizza. I ate three pieces. While this may not seem overly outrageous, I was the only woman in the room who went back for thirds. So the guilt was a flowin. Thus, when it came time to yoga class, I was not holding back. Give me heat, give me an extra vinyasa, give me holding a pose one, two, three more breaths. I practically worked myself into the ground.

Today, I was pretty damn sore. Not to mention, emotionally I had a rough day. I arrived early to class and tried - really tried - to center myself. And I was doing a fairly good job. But then we did frog pose, which is a GINORMOUS hip opener. And my hips opened. And, as we all know, our hips hold LOTS of memories. And all I wanted to do was assume balasana and cry like a baby. But everyone else in class was moving on, progressing. I should keep up. Must. Do. Asana.

I'm getting used to a new job, moving into a new home in a new town, trying to write a novel in a month, and getting used to an entirely new schedule. This is probably the best time in the world for me to practice compassion with myself.

Instead, I'm pushing myself to the limit and probably not doing myself any favors (except for staying in the same weight class).

If I were truly a "good" yogini, I would be gentle with myself. Express gratitude with myself. For finding some time - any time - to practice and not stressing about it.

Hopefully - just maybe? - coming to this realization is one step closer to actually embodying it.