Yoga is something that has been part of my life for as far back as I can remember. My whole life, I’ve seen people practice yoga, talk about yoga, and all around be nauseating about yoga. And to top that off, I was strongly encouraged, if not required, to practice myself. Ever since I could go to school, I was enrolled in group classes, private classes, retreats, workshops, asana practice, history lessons; if it was out there, I was in it. It was drilled into me that yoga was the greatest thing since sliced naan. And I have to admit, I did love the beauty of it. Watching the grace of it, as if people are dancing and standing still at the same time. Cliché as it sounds, I thought of gliding swans and elegant gazelles. And I wanted to be one of them so badly. I wanted to do yoga to be exactly what yoga is not about: being externally perfect.
It also didn’t help that I loved the rich history that yoga comes from. I couldn’t stop being amazed by the fact that I was practicing something that has been practiced since the Indus Valley. The Indus Valley! But, that also made me feel pressured. Like, I had something to live up to, or someone to not let down. There was so much that came before me, so much at stake, it seemed. How could I ever measure up to something that has been practiced since the beginning of time? Talk about self-imposed expectations. In my mind, I created this larger than life idea of yoga and completely psyched myself out.
The fact that I loved the idea of yoga, feeling so whole and so alive, didn’t erase the fact that I couldn’t stand the actual classes. They always felt like an hour of constant, mind-numbing stretching for an unattainable, esoteric goal. I couldn’t bring myself to continue practicing, whether alone or in groups. Neither did all my memories of seeming to always end up next to the guy who could fold himself up into a pretzel and still maintain and still practice diaphragmatic breathing. Man, that guy still irks me.
But despite all my hesitancies, something about it kept reeling me back in, and somewhere along the line, I decided to commit to a personal practice. And I’ll admit it – I’m not the most physically fit person out there. So I was legitimately concerned about the physical strength needed for practicing yoga. In hindsight, I’d say I stressed about what I thought I needed to be able to do. I had a number of uncoordinated experiences where I couldn’t do a pose correctly, due to a lack of strength or flexibility. The entire thing felt like an initiation rite into a club I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be in. It was frustrating and overall discouraging.
After a long search and with the help of a good teacher, I realized I had bought into the hype of yoga. All the marketing of it had led me to create a very definitive end goal, and so I envisioned perfection without any journey. But despite that, I welcomed the opportunity to find what I was really after: true yoga. And the fact that there are concrete ways to increase the efficacy of the craft of yoga, it remains that the art of yoga is the process of finding a way to practice those concrete ways every day. Even when your mat does end up next to the guy who folds into a pretzel and still has enough air leftover to chant Ommmm……