Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Last night I finally went to a yoga class that my friend, Sunny, has been trying to drag me to for weeks. It’s not that I didn’t want to go before, but we just couldn’t get our schedules coordinated, or the class was cancelled. Not to mention, in all honestly, that I’ve been a bit stingy with my during-the-week after-work time, since I’m now retired from derby and no longer HAVE to be anywhere after work. I’ve been getting kind of squirrely when I do make plans to do something after work, and I find myself feeling rebellious and pissy when I have to follow a set time schedule. It’s childish and selfish, and worst of all it’s not like I’m doing anything else with my time. I retired because I want to write, but I just can’t seem to make writing happen either organically (“Oooh, it’s nice outside – I should sit on the porch and write!”) or when I schedule it (it’s in my calendar to dedicate 2 hours to writing each Sunday, and I’ve yet to do it). It’s pathetic. So because I wasn’t doing anything else last night, I had no excuse not to go to yoga.
When I picked up Sunny and asked her where we were going, I was intrigued: a warehouse where soap is made. I couldn’t help but laugh and ask, “So, it’s like Fight Club, but with yoga instead of fighting?” “Kinda,” she said, although not seeming convinced by her own answer. After a short walk through a confusing maze of plywood hallways we arrived at the class, which was being held in a small free space inside a warehouse that two sisters use to make soap. I was instantly hit with the intense smell of bergamot. As my all-time favorite yoga instructor (my lucky day!) guided us through the night’s poses, I couldn’t help but feel that I was in this perfect place that I just didn’t want to leave. The place itself was an unexpected yoga studio, with the loud booming industrial fans making it hard at times to hear the instructions we were being given, but it was a completely functional space, nonetheless. It was better than a yoga studio.
I left the class happy, calm, and relaxed, and as an added bonus, instead of smelling like a dirty gym sock I smelled glorious – the strong clean smell of bergamot had been infused into my clothes and hair. The whole evening was wonderful, yet I couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for myself. Here I was, loving that I had been surrounded by creative people who work for themselves and simultaneously hating the fact that my ass is so lazy and I cannot seem to get my shit together.
In recent years I’ve found myself rather jealous of people who have jobs unlike mine and especially jealous of people who do what they want and work for themselves. Sometimes I look around at my nine-to-five environment and think to myself "How the fuck did I get here? And how do I get out?!" Don't get me wrong, I'm "living the dream" in that I've successfully climbed the corporate ladder, and I'm getting to do awesome things, but they're for someone else, and that doesn’t motivate me. I feel like a caged bird, and the only song I’m singing is the “get me the fuck out of here” song. I need to be doing awesome things for myself. And why shouldn’t I? Look at the sisters whose warehouse we used last night, look at our yoga instructor, and look at my friend Sunny who’s about to start working full time with her sister’s new enterprise (@Curbside_Cafe) – a burrito truck that’s already well known around town and isn’t even 6-months old. Luckily, I find it difficult to be jealous of my friends and people I know – I’m happy for them, actually, and I want to be just like them, so what’s stopping me?
When I played derby, if I was having a problem or struggling with something as a player, I had a handful of coaches I could go to and ask for help, and I had 50-some women (and a handful of men) encouraging me and pushing me to be better. Now it’s hard to find the motivation. Sure all the rewards will be mine if I can start and actually do something, but I can’t seem to get past myself as my own worst enemy. I have no one to turn to and ask for help, and worse yet I have no one to answer to but myself, and unfortunately I’m rather lenient… I know what you’re thinking: If she really wants this as bad as she says she does, then why isn’t she doing anything? I’ve been thinking the same thing, so today on my way in I decided that I would do one thing that would bring me closer to my goal today. And tomorrow I’ll do something else that brings me one step closer.
It sure took me long enough to attend that amazing yoga class last night, but I’m glad I finally made it. And having attended already really makes me want to go back next week, which I might not have done if I hadn’t gone this week. Funny how that works.
As for writing again and getting more material published, I’m not quite sure what I’m so afraid of. Maybe I’m afraid writing full time will be different than I envision it to be – equally as unfulfilling as what I’m doing now. Then again, maybe it will be different, but maybe it will be better than I expected – like yoga on the floor of a soap factory. Time to take that step.