#writing Hugging a dark room My breath is steady, at least I’m trying to make it so. I have a bit of compulsive struggle around trying too hard to not try so hard. Maybe if I tried harder at not trying, I would be better at this is what I’m thinking as the lights turn down and the room becomes dark. I’m in a yoga class because they say mindfulness is good for the soul. They say that yoga brings harmony to the body and the mind. I thought (I didn’t dare say) it’s a classic capitalist corporate land grab at $35 a class and the vibrant, HD photos of the fit, healthy, read happy instructors plastered across their website. The website was sleek. The ground felt hard against my jittery hands. I was in tabletop as instructed. At least I was trying to look like a table. I don’t think I’m a very good inanimate object actor. I might have succeeded at imitating one of those annoying tables where one leg is clearly defective, and you have to create a temporary mental reminder to never lean your elbows on the table lest you launch your iced coffee into the air like happens in the cartoons with the see-saw. We’re doing bicycles. My legs are up in the air, reaching towards the sky, waving for help. I swear I’m not supporting this extractive endeavor. My legs are tied. There’s a cute girl in front of me (very good at yoga) whose motions I’m following (to varying degrees of success). She has Lulus on, so I knew before we even started that she would be a good model. Warrior Two. Who am I fighting I wonder? Is it myself? Why don’t they ever do pair yoga? I wouldn’t mind fighting with that girl.
The room is dark. It’s nice here. I might stay a while. If I stay alive. I start to feel the hot air clinging to my skin. The beads of sweat floating down my face. The way the arch in my back creates a bubble of energy in the base of my neck. I feel the urge to hug someone. I feel the hands of the instructor on my back, kneading me into playdough. Then the arms of the dark air, heavy with intention, laced with cliche pump-up music, the unmistakable arms of a lover.