Sunday, January 25, 2015
Everyone talks about compromise in marriage. But there are limits. (If you doubt this, try to get your husband to take up knitting.) So for my husband, he would happily watch our kids break dance. But he would rather die than go see Alvin Ailey again.
He feels similarly about yoga; tried it, hated every minute. So it didn't matter how many hints I dropped about the Aerial Yoga class -- it combined two things he didn't want to do. 1) Yoga. 2) Being bested by a bunch of women.
So I went alone. I knew very very little about it, except I figured that a beginner class wouldn't be too difficult.
Cue maniacal laughter.
Part of the joy of doing anything, for me, is the joy of talking about it afterwards.So there is value in being able to come home and talk about something besides the weather, the kids, the dogs. To be able to say that I was the only person in the class who couldn't hop into their sling. The women who were much older than me could. The women who were much more overweight than me could. Everybody looked at me with pity. This was not starting off well.
But then a funny thing happened -- the first truly complicated pose -- a pose that made everyone gasp-- I did it readily, quickly, easily. Everyone else was still standing up, and I was suspended upside down, legs wrapped around silk, no hands. My pony tail swung against the ground. It was some honest to God Cirque du Soleil shit.
I felt the stunned hush in the room. I felt what everyone was thinking: Damn, if she can do it, I know I can.
And they did. We did. We did EVERYTHING.