Last month I declared (as we so often do in the south) that I was going to find ways to hoard some cash. We really want to be able to afford to participate in all of the 2014 marriages (including our own) AND pay the Vet to help keep the current cats off the mantle.
One of my miserly strategies was to switch from a monthly yoga class card to an 8-class card. This deal meant that I would save some money by only attend yoga class twice a week (vs. the normal 4-5 times per week) and then practice at home on the other days. So much for that stinginess plan. Within days of this decision, I promptly shelled out the saved coinage to Ms. Stephanie, one of my yoga teachers, for a workshop she was offering called Uniting the Sacred and Mundane. At least I returned home from the workshop to unite my sacred yoga practice with the mundane task of cleaning out the junk room. In less than a day, I turned that space into my home yoga shala.
While I’m proud of myself for maintaining my home practice for a full month, it just wasn’t the same. The whirring of a 15-year old electric heater combined with the cats meowing and scratching on the door to try to join me just aren’t the same as the sounds you hear in yoga class. I prefer the hum of the Ashtanga Atlanta furnace blended with inhales and exhales, Mr. Todd saying his “no, no, no’s” interspersed with an occasional “good”, the possibility of a double teacher adjustment in supta kurmasana, and people sharing a laugh because they can relate to what someone else just said. Example from today:
Mr. Todd (teacher): how come you’re not doing back bends?
Doc. B.: I’m not feeling 100% today
Mr. Todd: back bends are the cure all
Doc. B.: I have a really good excuse but it would be TMI for everyone in here.
Class: laughter, chuckles and smiles.
So last week I went back to purchasing my usual monthly class card. Oh, and I’ll be forking over more cash for Ms. Stephanie’s next workshop. Care to join me?