I just wanna stay in the sun where I find
I know it’s hard sometimes
Pieces of peace in the sun’s peace of mind
I know it’s hard sometimes
Yeah, I think about the end just way too much
But it’s fun to fantasize
All my enemies who wouldn’t wish who I was
But it’s fun to fantasize
I’m falling so I’m taking my time on my ride
Oh, I’m falling so I’m taking my time on my ride
Taking my time on my ride
– Twenty One Pilots
I write to you from the rooftop of my apartment.
There’s not much I can’t see from up here.
The sun is setting behind me on the city – on the Pacific, on the sailboats, and the harbor. Directly in my line of vision I see palm trees, mountaintops, church steeples, and condos galore. Planes fly overhead. Buildings glisten around me. A steady stream of Coronado Bridge traffic hums in the distance. Or is it the 5?
I’d like to think the noise filling my ears is caused by those on the bridge. Maybe they are headed to Orange for dinner, or the beach for sunset, or the Del for drinks. Maybe they are headed home to their families or to the marina for an evening sail. But the 5 is closer. The 5 is bigger, and longer, and less glamorous. It stretches from Canada to Mexico. Its many patrons often frustrated and anxious.
It’s a perfect 72 degrees right now. Perfect as in: scattered Dr. Seuss clouds and a light breeze. Perfect for shorts but just comfortable enough for jeans too. No humidity. No, “I wish it was just a bit more [fill in the blank here].” No nothing. Just perfect.
I took a yoga class today at lunch.
It was nice. I think I’ll go back again on Thursday.
Before any of you start freaking the fuck out… just let me explain.
First of all, I wore my Ninja Turtles t-shirt. I wore my Ninja Turtles shirt and a pair of purple gym shorts. I know. Just why the fuck didn’t I pack yoga pants to do yoga? Your guess is as good as mine. I didn’t pack any shoes either. Which wouldn’t have been a huge deal, you know, if I hadn’t changed into my stupid-ass “yoga” clothes on the seventeenth floor…
And then had to ride the elevator down to the seventh with my work wedges on.
Whatever. I would have expected nothing less embarrassing from myself.
Walking into the gym, the reality of my decision to “try out” an exercise class at work really hit me: “Shit. I know these people.” I had just sat in a meeting with one lady. The girl finishing up her weight routine in the corner, yeah, she works on my floor. And our favorite little facilities guy, Gabriel, was even grabbing a mat.
I scanned the sign-in sheet and recognized names.
What the hell was I thinking? I have no balance. I’m fairly confident I could fail (or pass?) a text for dyslexia with flying fucking colors. And I still actively practice the ol’ “L” hand trick to figure out my left from my right.
So, why did I think yoga – at work – would be a good idea?
Oh. Yeah. Because I figured I would suck real big (yoga) balls and sure as shit didn’t want to pay 10 bucks to find out. So, I grabbed a mat, kicked off my wedges and wiggled in-between some real go-getters. Yep, that’s right, scoot tha fuck over Lady PR and Ms. Business Systems – make room for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Tech Writer. And ya better gimmie lots of space too, ’cause I would hate to lose control flipping my dog and end up dancing your warrior, if ya know what I mean.
Our teacher, Ms. Lisa, was awesome. She had the perfect voice. The kind of silky smooth voice you’d hope a yoga instructer would have. She was cute and exuded an aire of peacefulness. She said things like, “Bring your hands to your heart’s center,” and “Feel your bones melting into the earth,” and “Show appreciation for your craft.”
I have a craft, y’all.
So, back tha fuck off me.
I was surprised at how well I could stay focused during class. I was surprised that I could actually clear my mind (… well, sorta). As shocking as this might be, I have a hard time staying “focused” and “open-minded” during a time devoted to relaxation. Even though I love being manicured and pedicured, I find sitting in the chair for hours on end utterly painful. And massages? Oh sweet Jesus! My masseuse (yes, I have a masseuse), Ms. Lisa (yes, another magical Ms. Lisa), actually apologized to me last month. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to make it around to your front, baby. But you’ve got a lot of issues,” she chuckled and then corrected herself, “I meant your back – you’ve got a lot of issues with your back.”
I laughed, “Oh, if I had a dollar for everytime I’ve heard that one…”
Yoga was easy for me, though. Granted, I didn’t exactly know what the fuck I was doing. So, maybe that helped some? Maybe I was so focused on getting the movements right, and trying to breathe, and not fall on my goddamn face that there wasn’t room enough left in my brain for all that other shit to fuck up my flow. Maybe I was more concerned with elongating my spine, inhaling from my crown, and opening up my hips than I was worried, and stressed, and bothered with life.
And maybe that’s how they getcha.
Well, hats off to you, mother fuckers. ‘Cause you’ve successfully added another Kool-Aid drinker to this little outfit you’re runnin’ here.
Though, I will have to admit – the 10-minute nap time at the end of class – totally threw me off. Of course, I liked the nap. Loved it, actually. I just was not aware that a nap was included. So, that was sorta weird. At one point, I kinda freaked out and had to open my eyes just to be sure everyone else was napping too. I was paranoid I would blink awake to find a dozen of my peers standing over me with their cell phones out, taking photos of me and uploading them to our internal website. They weren’t. But I kept one eye open just in case.
After class I was actually relaxed. I didn’t feel like I had been hit by a bus or light-headed. I didn’t feel an overwhelming urge to puke. It was nice.
I didn’t fall down, collected zero rug burns, barely suffered through two cramps (… in my hips), and my vagina only showed maybe 46% of the time – tops. There weren’t any moves I couldn’t do. I didn’t feel ridiculous. Sure, I was a little slow, but I blame most of my pokiness on the fact that I can’t do more than two things at once.
When it was all said and done, I loved it.
So, maybe California has changed me after all…
Editor’s Note: I started this blog last week. I’ve went back to yoga two more times since this initial session and look forward to it every Tuesday/Thursday! Wow. Who the fuck am I, right?!