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Here are the silly reasons I don’t do yoga every day:
1. My current mat is too slippery.
It slides around on the tile floor, which is dangerous when I walk around and step on it. And my hands and feet can’t find their grip when I’m using it for its actual purpose—also dangerous.
2. I’d rather sleep in.
And I feel better when I do yoga first thing in the morning rather than later in the day.
3. I’d like to do yoga outdoors.
But I always get distracted when I move my body into a pose with the natural world around me. On my deck there’s the rustling of the palm fronds (delightful!), the crash of each ocean wave (oh, I will never tire of you, sweet ocean), the innocence of birdsong (so piercing, so uplifting, so unexpected), and of course the bugs—don’t forget about the bugs.
Oh, and the ants crawling too close to my ears in window stretch, and the mosquitos attacking every piece of flesh they can find. There are also the unknown beetles getting precariously close. Too. Many. Bugs.
4. I just had a snack.
Can’t do asana with a full stomach, that’s for sure.
5. I’ll be in my heart center more.
I wouldn’t want to verbally spar about each and every topic imaginable with anyone within listening distance. I wouldn’t come up with endless “what-ifs” about the world’s state and what’s going on in it; I wouldn’t conjecture about why a thing is the way it is. Everything would simply be. That judging, analytical, measuring voice inside my head would be quieted, shushed by my precious heart’s deep hum.
6. I’ll want to sit and meditate for too long afterward.
Monday morning Zoom meeting with my boss? Forget it. Going for my regular quick morning dip at the beach? Out of the question. I’d just want to sit in the peace and feel it flow through my body until my mind absorbed the sensations. Or is it that the body absorbs the sensations of the mind? What is that unexplainable feeling? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t want to get up and get going with my day. I wouldn’t want to leave it behind.
7. I just had another snack.
8. I’d get too practiced at breathing into uncomfortable feelings.
I wouldn’t want to run away from situations. I’d get back into the habit of being able to hold space for all the ramifications of being human.
I’d accept all parts of me: the shame at random memories from my past, the embarrassment about why I made a joke about pouring that glass of water that one time, or how I said that incredibly rude thing to that woman who told me she was on a diet when I was 17.
I’d let these feelings into my consciousness. They’d mingle with my breath as they’d crash down like a wave onto the surf. The sand would tumble up and around, creating a cloud where the sun couldn’t penetrate the turquoise waters. And then it would clear—the sand would settle to the bottom.
The feelings of inadequacy would slide off of my identity. I wouldn’t hold on too tight to them. I’m just a human, after all. I have the emotional maturity to hold conflicting experiences and thoughts. I’d know I am safe; I am enough.
9. I wouldn’t be able to interact with my partner while stretching.
What if he had a funny anecdote to share? What if he had a great idea about what to eat for dinner? What if he needed to tell me this instant that he’s going for a walk and will be back in a bit? I would be sequestered in my own world, unable to receive the messages.
If I’m devoting time to myself and my development, turning inward to that sacred place where only I can go inside of me, what if I’m missing out on a splendidly rewarding exchange with my partner? What if the chance to share the moment or thought or kiss with him never comes again?
We only spend almost every single waking and sleeping moment together. Can I really sacrifice that tiny chance for my own feelings of peace and rest and nourishment?
10. I might feel called to end this fun game I play.
You know, the one where I try endless combinations of pillows and sleeping positions so that I wake up in the mornings with my neck and back in pain. The tension I hold therein might dissolve like honey in my morning rooibos, and I’d be able to rest my body at night in a comfortable position—no awkward contortions required. I’d increase feelings of relaxation.
Am I really ready to give up that game?
11. It’s already 8:45.
I’m too tired; it’s almost time for bed.
12. But not before I have another snack…