Life's Inherent Discomfort

Last night the Man and I went to early (5:45) yoga. The instructor was a guy I’d never seen before. He said some things while we were doing our practice that I’d heard before but had never stuck with me much; I love it when I get a different perspective on yoga from someone new (to me). While we were in chair position for about eight thousand breaths, he said “you’re in the pose, but you’re not a statue. You’re not a picture of chair position.” 

That was great. Because though I understand that yoga – even holding a pose in yoga can be quite dynamic, even if you don’t look like you’re moving, I have always tried to make myself look like a picture of the pose. This is especially difficult when you don’t think you can hold a pose any longer. It’s easy to get some relief from moving your hands around, or taking some kind of variation of the pose. It’s hard for me to give myself permission to not strive for the perfect looking pose, even when you come to yoga each time with a different energy level or different intention (sometimes I’m looking for a workout, sometimes I just want to forget my day). In any case, I was a little looser with my holding-the-position during yesterday’s practice, and I don’t think I suffered because of it.

After the class was over, the instructor stressed the importance of re-hydration. So the Man looked at me and said

“You know the best way to rehydrate is with sushi with lots of soy sauce.”

To which I replied:

“And prosecco.”

And that’s how we re-hydrated. And I feel great.

A weird thing popped into my head yesterday as I was removing the stubborn foil around the top of the prosecco bottle with a long Cutco knife: My family doesn’t have the best history with knives/cutting tools.

-My mom stuck a Cutco knife through the thick of her hand (between her thumb and pointer finger).

-My dad carved a gash into his hand when trying to cut the plastic top off an ice-cream container with a Cutco knife.

-My brother wounded himself while cutting the tines off a plastic fork.

-I sliced the top of my finger off while improperly using a mandolin slicer.

Sigh. Discomfort and gore.