This originally was published on Ultimish as Your Daily Pretzel, Heavy on the Salt.
Yogi, Yogini, Yoga Teacher, Yoga Instructor, Mat Whore – whatever you wanna call it, that’s me. I’ve been doing yoga for 15 years through thick, thin, and all things in between. Hell, I even rocked a pretty amazing Eka Pada Rajakapotasana when I was 9 months pregnant. I love everything about it. It’s a part of me, this yoga. It’s who I am. I twist and bend and breathe and move and meditate and stretch and search my soul every day. Patanjali and his Sutras are my constant companions. I believe in the Yamas and Niyamas, the 8 limbs of Ashtanga, the Buddhist 8 fold path. I practice, I teach, I live my yoga. But I also live in the real world.
And the real world can be a total bitch.
I often feel as though I am expected to be this vision of euphoria, this Zen sage of peace, the ultimate living breathing definition of serenity. The the truth of the matter is that yes, I do have moments of that, but I just as often have moments of thinking, “OM, Motherfucker, I said OM!”
It’s yoga, people, not a tab of ecstasy.
While it’s true that yoga has healed long festering emotional wounds and it has slowed my roll more than a little bit, I’m still human under these roll-top pants and racerback tanks. I get upset, I get angry, I get frustrated, and I get downright snarky from time to time. I don’t always use common sense, I don’t always count to ten, and I don’t always see the beauty in the Universe trying to teach me tolerance by sticking me behind someone driving 45 mph on the FREAKING INTERSTATE, thankyouverymuch. I digress…
The good news is that those moments of unbalance *cough*have I entered the asshat dimension?*cough*, yes, unbalance are brief now and I don’t make an asana out of myself as often as I once did. I am much more centered, I do feel alive and aware. I do feel connected to all the energy that has come before me and feel certain that my energy will be felt years after I have left this body. I am certain that I am still married and still maintain custody of my children and haven’t landed in jail for some inane thing because of my mat. I work my shit out there. Actually, it’s more like I work my body and my mind works out my shit while I try not to fall. Life on and off the mat … it’s all about the balance.
So while I may not leave lotus petals in my footsteps, I’m also not leaving landmines, either.
And that is some tasty yoga.