Recently, I was on a business trip in Minneapolis and actually missing the misery that comes with my latest addiction—hot yoga. I decided to find a yoga studio near my hotel in order to indulge my new love/hate relationship with yoga and yogis. Arriving just in time for the after work crowd, I set myself up in the back of a beautiful yoga room and watched one gorgeous young person after another walk into the room, set up their mat, and proceed to flex their perfect bodies as they warmed up for hot yoga. I was tired already, so I sat on my mat staring inappropriately at the yogi posing show.
The instructor walked in and I’d really like to describe his physique in detail, but that feels both slightly sexist and inappropriate in that I’m sure he’s the same age as my oldest child. Let me just say this…he was perfection. He begins the class and I’m immediately sweating and making tiny grunting noises as the goddess next to me twists her glistening sweaty self into portrait worthy poses. My next mat over yogi neighbor is so gorgeous that I actually wish I was both thirty years younger and a lesbian. I’m neither, so I continue on with my effortful yoga practice.
Suddenly, Mr. Gorgeous Young Yoga Instructor takes an interest in me. He stands right next to me and leans over and whispers in my ear, “Are you new here?” I’m blushing in that it’s obvious he’s flirting with me, so I whisper back, “Yes, how could you tell?” He says, “Because you are doing the poses wrong.”
Okay, maybe that isn’t exactly what he said, but it felt like it because he proceeded to give me tips on every single pose. Every. Single. Pose. I kept trying to bat my eyelashes at him until I looked in the mirror and realized that I was batting my non-waterproof mascara all over my face. I’ll give him credit for not correcting my make-up situation, but rather just my yoga poses.
Can I add a quick note here? If you are young, gorgeous, and flexible and are looking for a good yoga class, just follow me around for a day or two and I will land in one. (See previous posts for examples.) I’m happy to help you find your people.
Anyway, back to my yoga drama. I have now found myself in the beautiful people’s class and I am being frequently corrected by Mr. Gorgeous Young Yoga Instructor at every turn. A few thoughts are flying through my strained yoga brain: 1) Why is this young guy not flirting with me anymore and instead humiliating me in front of the whole class? 2) Why do I so frequently end up in yoga classes with people half my age and half my weight? 3) How is it actually possible that I never land in the middle-aged, overweight women’s yoga class? 4) Why is yoga so hard? 5) Why did I forget to take my eye make-up off prior to coming to hot yoga, because now I look like a sweaty raccoon?
In that moment, I realize I have a choice. I can think Mr. Yoga Instructor is picking on me and trying to humiliate me in front of my new pretend friends, or he is actually a very caring yoga instructor who wants to help me. Honestly, this was not an easy choice for me. I was feeling fragile, humiliated, and more than a bit insecure. It would have been so much easier to roll up my mat, flip my sweaty stringy hair and flounce out of that studio like the near drowned raccoon that I resembled. Yet I knew in my heart that the instructor was trying to help me. He didn’t want me to get hurt (I’m sure that’s because he had a big secret crush on me.), so he wanted me to learn the poses properly. I got to choose if I was humiliated by his attention or not. I chose to accept his help and put my ego out of that studio.
#Insecurity & #humiliation are feelings we choose to experience or avoid, so why not choose the latter? #aging Click To TweetSo what if those young, beautiful yogis were actually internally laughing at me? So what if they went home and told their equally gorgeous roommates about the old, chunky lady in their yoga class who needed to be babysat by the instructor? So what if Mr. Gorgeous Young Yoga Instructor thought I was an out of shape fool in his hot yoga class? So what? Why do I have to worry about what others think of me? Insecurity and humiliation are feelings we either choose to experience or choose to avoid, so why wouldn’t we choose the latter?
I finished that yoga class like the sweaty champ that I am. I wiped off the sweat and the black eye make-up surrounding my eyes, rolled up my yoga mat and thanked my instructor for all of his help. He even asked if I’d be back soon. I did my best hair flip as I left saying, “Nope I’m taking my talents back to Chicago.” I hope he wasn’t too disappointed.
Love,
Lisa Kaplin Psy. D. PCC