What I Said on the Day We Celebrated Your Life

Hey y’all, thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here today in support of my mother and my family. 

I’d like to give a special thanks to the man who just spoke before me- my mother’s best friend and partner in life. My father was by my mother’s side through the test of her lifetime. Dad, thank you for devoting your life to Mom. You put in the hard work- every doctor visit, every therapy appointment, every ounce of research. . . anything to help Mom be more comfortable. . . anything to help fight her horrible disease. There were restless nights and disturbed sleep, breaking down of comfortable barriers, and you handled it all. You never held on to anger and you never said quit. Even though it was hard, you’d always say ’not as hard as it is on Mom’.  I thank you for all the years with our Mom but I love you more for the most recent. For the memories you helped us make with Mom and for every moment you were by her side. You’ve shown me what true love means in service to our mother. I love you Dad. 

My mom was a trailblazer. 

Her spirit was fierce and she had a lot of energy. 

This was my mom. 

 She was a HOOT. I was often SO embarrassed by her. But that’s the thing about my Mom, she loved being ‘out there’. She said what was on her mind, did what she wanted, and was frankly funny. She had a laugh that filled the space and she loved to talk. She organized everything to make my family a well oiled machine. Her skin glowed and she always presented herself so flawlessly. She did it all. 

But five years ago my mom started to realize things weren’t right. She went to the doctor’s and they told her she wasn’t sick, that it was just part of getting old. But she was persistent and in April of 2014 my mom was diagnosed by the Mayo Clinic for PSP (progressive supranuclear palsy). This horrible monster of a brain disease started to slowly take away the two things my mom loved most- walking and talking. 

So my mom geared up, put on her warrior suit, with her family of knights by her side and fought the progression. She went to a gym designed for movement disorders multiple times a week. She had a personal yoga teacher- her dear friend Carol, who helped her in mind, body, and soul. She visited Gwen the massage therapist weekly who helped her constant jaw clench and overall body stiffness. And there was the handwriting specialist. There was the speech therapist. The physical therapist. The psychiatrist. But even though she tried, even though we were there for her, we couldn’t make this disease stop. It’s such a rare disease, that has so little research and no cure.

                                     

                                      

Little by little PSP started to take more from my mom. And it was the little things my mom really cared about. The first little thing was when she could no longer do her own hair and makeup. If you really knew my mom you knew how much beauty meant to her. She always looked immaculate and carved out self-care time to achieve her overall Bev Luce glow. So, that was a frustrating moment when her hands became too stiff and her vision became too unstable to complete her routine tasks with the curling iron, with the mascara, with her glam tools. Frustrating for her because she’d lost one of her core bits of independence. And frustrating for me because I’d never had the patience to do my own hair or makeup. But she taught me, she taught me how to do things I’d never cared doing. And it was a spitfire in the bathroom- we’d have our yells and our laughs. Mom was struggling, but she was also teaching me the lessons of patience. 

My mom and I’s relationship was tested in these last few years as I started to care for her more than she could physically care for me. Like I said before, it was not easy. My dad was right, it was always harder for Mom. She spent her life taking care of everyone else and suddenly had to let go and let others take care of her. 

And my mom didn’t want people to know she had to be taken care of. She didn’t like the onset of inappropriate laughter or her distorted voice. She didn’t like her weakness or your possible pity. So she retreated from a lot of you. She wanted to remain the vibrant person we all remembered. 

This disease was like a slow leak, taking away bits of my mom’s essence. Her ability to walk unassisted. Her ability to speak clearly. Her ability to eat independently. And then this past August that slow progression changed to a rapid decline. Her ability to make words. Her ability to swallow liquid. We surrounded my mom with family and replayed memories of all the great impacts the self-proclaimed Queen had in our life. And as she spent her last month with us my mom was reminded of the love that she created and shared with so many of you. She felt special. Sad that she had to leave. But very special. 

                                                           

My mom and I didn’t have the easiest relationship growing up. We weren’t the perfect mother-daughter pair. We bitched. We complained. Ok, maybe I did those things. But I had the honor of helping out and living with my mom during her last years. This disease took away the most special person in my life. but also brought me the closest to her. Thank you Mom for giving me the most valuable lessons on love and care. 

My mom was a trailblazer. 

Her spirit was fierce and she had a lot of energy, a week before she died she did 5 squats on the banister. 

This was my mom. 

She was a HOOT. Even in the end when she couldn’t talk, she was still making me laugh. I remember trying to make her a delicious vegetable soup, and she just put her finger in her mouth like this (show action). My mom loved being out there. She said what was on her mind and did what she wanted. Even in the end when she couldn’t walk, she made it clear if she didn’t want to be somewhere. I’d wheel her to a room, turn around for just one moment, and she’d be kicking away, getting back to where she wanted to be. She lost her laugh, but she filled that space with those special, only genuinely produced smiles. Those smiles were like gold to me. She continued to bring our family together and challenged us to keep the family a well oiled machine. Until the day she died, my moms skin was perfect and her beauty was radiant. 

So thank you Mommy. You did it all. And we love you. 

Coming Home

I’d spent three months in Spain and I was coming home. Coming home to what I knew would be the dying process. 

My mom’s functions and independence have slowly been taken away from her for years, and now it’s overcoming her. She’s still trying to hold on, but it’s apparent her days are limited. She has fought for so long and has been a complete warrior through it all. Really, we all, as a family, have become warriors through it all. 

 We have all been in fight mode. 

Trying to fight death. The most elite doctors. The most expensive pills. The applications for trial drugs. The best yoga teacher. The healing massage therapist. The ‘Second Wind’ gym. The fancy technology. 

….and then the most important things we could do. 

 The memorable family vacations and holidays. The medicine of our love. 

So we’ve been fighting for years, but at the end of the summer we started to see a huge decline in my mom’s mobility and her speech. 

Still, I came back from Europe a bit shocked. I mean, yes, I knew things were significantly worse so I thought I was prepared for it. But when I came home from the airport late at night I walked into the kitchen and heard this loud sound. It was a baby monitor and the TV was on in my parents room. Seeing that device just broke my heart. I immediately went over and turned it off. Then I went into my mom’s room and saw her hospital bed beside my parent’s bed, with a guard rail on one side. I almost lost it. 

But I had to remember what I learned on the Camino de Santiago, the 900 km walk I had completed. I learned about service. Well, I learned about a lot of things, but service being one of them. And I realized that there is no greater gift than to be of service to my mother. To take this opportunity my mom and I have received to spend time together and hold onto all the lessons this challenge has brought us. 

So I’ve been back now coming on seven weeks. 

My mom goes in and out of presence. Sometimes she gazes into what I call ‘a different dimension’- eyes unfocused, mouth wide open, body limp. Most of the time she’s uncomfortable and restless or she’s mumbling away. But she has moments, moments where she is here and I can understand her words. She has moments where she stands up on the banister and does 5 squats. She has moments where she kicks away in her wheelchair when I take her somewhere she doesn’t want to go. She has moments where she smiles. Where she kisses me. Where she embraces me and gives me a gentle touch. 

It’s not like it used to be. How she used to be. But pieces of her are still here. And so we hold onto that. 

And we hold onto family. 

Because family has been the miracle of her disease. 

I was sure my mom was nearing her end a few weeks ago. So I told my brothers they needed to come sooner than Thanksgiving, and they were on a plane within the week. My mom’s three sisters came and my cousins. And I swear having family around transferred all this loving energy to my mom. She got to laugh, and I know deep down it was a confirmation that we all really do love her. She had a spark of life that lasted for a week after everyone left. 

Fast forward one week to the present: she’s eating less, drinking less, and having less energy. So we’re starting to administer low doses of morphine for her pain. But she has more ‘different dimension’ expressions. And she’s shrinking before my eyes. 

My heart used to drop when I would hear my mom fall. This was when she was still trying to be independent, years ago, and I’d hear a boom and her shriek. Now, my heart drops when my mom tries to drink fluids, because it sends her into a choking fit. The most simple things have become the most difficult. So now it’s not her ability to walk, but her ability to breathe that makes me crumble.

So this is suffering. And this is what we are dealing with. And the only way I can get through it is to be with family. Because we’ve all been in it for the long haul, for providing my mom the experience of passing away in the comfort of her own home. And it’s made us stronger, more grateful for the moments together. 

I love my family. That’s why all of this is so hard, right? Because the woman who ‘ruled’ the family is dying. Our Queen. The one who orchestrated our lives and kept us in line. The one who entertained all the special moments. The one who wrote I L Y on our lunch bags. The one who we had the privilege of calling Mommy.  

So Mommy. I’ve been by your side at battle. I’ve tried to be the best warrior for you. But now I’m worried our fight is over. And I just want you to know that I know you did your best. I know you tried your hardest. I’m sorry if I ever thought this disease was anything less than an ugly monster. I know you didn’t deserve this. But I also know how lucky I am to have this opportunity to be by your side. And to remind you that we will never be apart. 

Because, Mommy, you’ll always be in my heart. 

Travel Wings Rustling

I had three things on my mind when I was single again.

1. Go to India
2. Do the Camino De Santiago
3. Work as a Trip Leader

India. India has been on my mind’s future timeline. I put in a lot of research and mapped out the different areas and ashrams I could visit. The orphanages I could help out at. I connected with everyone I knew who knew India and received their recommendations and support. A part of me really wanted to finally experience Mother India, as I know it’s not a vacation, but an experience.

After being newly independent and grounded for a few months, my travel wings were beginning to get restless. But I wanted to be smart about my choice and dip my toes back into traveling alone.

India, India felt like diving head first. I knew it would overwhelm as well as delight. But I also knew it’s shady reputation and the male dominant culture there. I talked to females and understood how I could do it alone. I could do it, but I kept coming back to how hard being a female there would be for me after being in recovery from recent traumas.

So, I told India I’d catch her when I was more strong, more prepared and ready for all she had to teach me.

The Camino De Santiago. I’d had this walk in my mind since, well, college. I minored in Spanish and in one of my history classes we studied the Camino. I remember, sitting in the front (of course), and writing that I would do this some day. **Bucket List Item**.

In my past relationship, it wasn’t just my bucket list, but our bucket list. So I had packed this pilgrimage across Spain away in my mind.

Now my life was back to being all about me, and my choices alone. So up swept this thought like, why not now?

Porque no? 

But before getting too absorbed into the idea of the walk I felt pulled to also seek out a new career. Teaching online is a great passion of mine and I love to connect with my students at the liberty of my own home. But I really was missing in-person connection. So I connected with friends who were traveling while getting paid.

Trip Leader. I’d always wanted to work as a Trip Leader for a company that takes young professionals on travel excursions around the world. I’d met one such company in 2012 in Costa Rica, and felt very connected to their mission and how they create culture rich experiences. I put a lot of energy into wanting this to manifest. . . but unfortunately I wasn’t hired.

Well, I can’t say so unfortunately, because it was actually fortunate.It was clearly not the right time for me to enter that market, that maybe one day I'll get to pursue. 

So with this career setback I was given space to breathe in the Camino. And this journey, this commitment, this (soul)cial experience, would begin in southern France and end in western Spain, Finisterre (the end of the world). It would last 35 days. It would be a physical practice and also a mental one. It would allow for breakdowns and breakthroughs. It would be the thing that refreshed me and returned confidence back to my heart.

It’s interesting how life works out.

We can think our world has ended, and then we can actually be strong enough to walk to the end of the world. 

We always have choices. And I’ve realized the value in sitting with my choices, giving them space, and letting the right choice unfold for me. It worked this time, at least, and I’ve got the confidence now that trusting the flow of life will continue to serve me.

Maybe, just maybe, you needed my story to give you the confidence to trust your own unfolding. Line up those choices. Write them down. And the best one, the one that’s meant for this moment, that one will manifest if you give it the space to breathe. 

Becoming Available to My Humanness

I have words and words to write. Experiences and memories to share about my exploration of Andalusia, about my walking pilgrimage from the south of France to the west coast of Spain. 

I have words and words to write. And memories to share. 

But all I really feel is here and now. Here and now in my moment of confusion. Where I’m left completely uncertain of what I should do.

I’ve finally settled down after completing this life accomplishment- The Camino de Santiago. I found a place to live. I’ve got my yoga studio. A place to test my strength at Crossfit. I’ve bought all my health food essentials and remembered how much I love cooking again. I live in an oasis, with ceiling-high bedroom doors that open out to a green terrace, and a mandala lulling me to sleep above the bed frame. I’m situated in a bustling city filled with art and creativity, where the ocean breeze tries to cool the hot summer days. I enjoy the mix of tourists coming to swallow everything Barcelona has to offer and the ease of Catalan’s going about their everyday life. Spanish fills my language and I get to challenge myself in daily exchange. I am not just traveling around anymore, I am occupying. I am living. 

With all this settling. All this occupying. All this living that is coming together. Another piece of me has been falling apart. My mother, the woman I love so deeply, so dearly, has continued to decline fighting her degenerative brain disease. Just two weeks ago I could carry on a phone conversation with her and talk for over a half hour sharing my stories, hearing about her day. And now, now, I can barely understand her. Frustrated, I wait for my father or her caregivers to translate the sounds she’s making. 

So I leave these conversations nowadays, these conversations that used to bring me light, feeling broken and defeated. Because, why, why has disease started to steal her tongue? Why, oh why, does she have to continue to decline while I am a continent away? 

And I look for answers in others. I message my father and type, “Do you need help?” I call my brother and ask, “Should I come home early?” I look to answers in others because when I go deep down within myself I am left confused. Everything here is starting to feel so right. A beautiful space. A vibrant community. A new culture. A love language. And then, death. Death, this fucker that has been taking away pieces of my mother from me for the past four years. This fucker that’s made me change my life track so many times because it knows how deeply rooted and connected I am to the one who birthed me. 

And I can say, Fuck you Death. Fuck you Disease. But I’m having such a hard time, such a confused time, being present in my life because I could never say Fuck you Mother. I could never say, you deal with this on your own. I still can’t say, let me live my life. This has been an ever-present struggle for the last years. The desire to put myself first, at a time when the woman I love most is fighting for her life. 

So I ask the answer in others, and what I get is just more confusion. Because they know, just as I know, that there is no exact answer. And it’d be different if this was the first time that I’d decided to rearrange my plans, rearrange my time abroad, for my Mom. But it’s not the first time. So part of me knows now that 3 months is just too long to be apart from someone who is losing function at a rapid rate. A part of me know this, and a part of me also knows how aligned I am with myself when I am living abroad. 

I have guilt sitting in my tummy that I’m not at home. I have fear sitting in my heart that if I go home I will have wished I had stayed here in Barcelona. 

And I’m writing all this out, instead of all those other words and revelations I came to in the past 2  and a half months, because this is what I’m feeling right now. And I’m writing this all out, because I want to be vulnerable in my feelings. I’m having a hard time being ok with being confused, but I also know that confusion is absolutely normal. I’ve got to feel and acknowledge my present state. I can’t resist the tears and the anger. As Panache Desai has shared, “Emotions are energies in motion, which means they want to move.” 

Writing, for me, allows my emotions to become motions of script. Instead of denying my confusion, I’m learning to embrace it, to include it as a part of who I am.

 I’m human, after all. We are human, after all. That’s our gift. 

So, the key for me, is becoming available to my humanness. Becoming available to my emotions. 

I’m allowing the flow of one energetic shift to the next. It ain’t easy. And I’d rather be honest about it all, than making it seem like this ship has all her sails in a row. The wind is shifting one moment to the next, one phone call home to one encounter in my neighborhood. The wind is shifting and I’m trying to let it all flow, rather than hold on to the ropes and tangle myself in a mess. 

So here I am. Confused one moment. Absolutely aligned the next. With my heart strung to my Mom one moment. With my soul tied to a life of adventure the next. 

Thanks for listening. It's made all the knots a little easier to untangle. 

Semilla Yoga Permaculture: The Connection

Before I moved to Thailand so many years ago I had decided I would first go to a yoga retreat in Cambodia. That retreat linked me up with some special souls, one of which told me about this amazing sustainable community based in the north of Thailand. So, after teaching a semester in the northeast, I decided to visit this place called New Life.

There, people are welcomed as volunteers or residents, where together they work to create a well-oiled cooperative. Mindfulness is at the center of it’s ethos and a variety of meditative rituals are offered. Along with the daily tasks of cleaning, cooking, gardening, and building, life coaching and healing sessions are given to the residents doing the real “work” to investigate their inhibitions, addictions, traumas, and self-limiting beliefs.

There I was called to serve as a volunteer for a few weeks. And there I met some solid soul connections. One such connection was Emma, a Danish girl who’d arrived as a guest and stayed on as a resident. Emma and I just had an immediate bond. She was among the people I looked to throughout my day for a smile, a hug, or maybe just some eye contact. We went on walks, bike rides, matched up for morning yoga, and saved space for each other during meals. She became “my girl”, my best friend within this intimate community.

I remember when she walked me down to the taxi before I left, and I remember the tear I shed as the driver started to accelerate away. It wasn’t long before we reconnected again in Laos- a visa run and vacation experience. There were some stand out memories, like the night we got invited to join the local police station for a dance party and dinner they were having on the street. Or the tourist visit to the aqua blue waterfall outside of the city.

Our lives took us to other sides of the world- me in the US and Thailand, her in Europe. She met the love of her life after I left New Life and they began an adventure together that brought them to Spain. They acquired a property in the mountains of the Sierra Nevada outside of a small village called Torvizcon. There, tucked in to nature, they created their own version of New Life, their own mindful home.

I followed their Instagram page for the home they coined @SemillaYogaPermaculture. I watched their space grow from afar and I assured myself I would go and visit it someday. That day came three years after it’s creation.



Emma and Tom picked me up in Órgiva, a hippie town outside of Granada. From there we drove along the curves and aside the mountain range until we passed a village and met the bridge. We parked and set off on the 25 minute trek up to their cliff-side home. Two bell tents for guest accommodation, a Tibetan yurt for themselves, open-aired kitchen, vegetable beds, ancient almond and olive trees, composting toilet, yoga deck, rescued-chicken pen, water tanks, solar power banks, terraced tree beds, a lounge area and a breathtaking view. I'm sure I'm missing the many magical pieces that make up their sustainable home, it surely was magical.

It became clear very early on that Emma's husband, Tom, and I would become close friends. He provided the space for Emma and I to catch up, but also matched her amazing presence and energy. I was surely writing about a lot that was going on in my life, but I really hadn't verbally talked through a lot of things. Tom was there to ask me thought-provoking questions and we were able to have an open dialogue about family dynamics, 'the real world', relationships, personal self-limiting beliefs and even conspiracy theories.



When the time came for the teacher training specialization course I was definitely a bit sad that I wouldn't have as many intimate conversations with my quickly-made friend. However, the Animalia Asana two-day intensive was a great opportunity to reconnect to my teaching practice and learn a variety of poses I never knew existed. It was a great exploration of different forms of breath, meditation, and even dance that can open up the animal energy within us. Although I haven't started guiding an in-studio class yet, I felt invigorated to take the next step when I return to the US and incorporate interesting animal culture into the classes. We drew animal cards and the first one I received was a snake, who embodies a state of transformation and shedding of the skin. Simply receiving this message felt very aligned with my path, and then interestingly enough a snake joined us during one of our sessions!  

Following the retreat, Emma had dropped some hints that I should stay longer. I didn't feel ready to leave and wanted more time with my friends, so I listened to her. There were more lovely meals cooked with love, an Airbnb guest who joined in on the deep conversations, photography sessions with amazing backdrops, and an overwhelming feeling of peace. I woke up to the sound of a blender, a message that my morning smoothie was prepared, and I fell asleep to the sound of a frog, a message that nature was comforting. 

At the end of my week stay, I felt like I was leaving family. Sure, Emma had always been close to my heart. But becoming such close friends with Tom, that was a surprising evolution. I was reminded while spending time with these two partners how important non-violent, loving, communication is in relationships. I was reminded what love looks like. 

I was also provided with some relief about my Camino that was coming in the week ahead. My reasons for doing the Camino could change. And I didn't have to get so frustrated that for right now I was doing the Camino to cure my broken heart and to get over a past lover. Because that wouldn't always be the reason I was doing it. It would change. I would change. And there was no reason to rush my healing. 

I left Semilla in the morning dusk. I breathed in all the beauty that their land had to offer. I soaked in the scent of the yellow flowers. I appreciated the running river. I thanked nature just as I thanked these beautiful partners for welcoming me into their home. There was no doubt I would be connecting with these two hearts again in the future. And there was no doubt that Semilla lived up to it's beauty that I'd been following for years. 

Madrid: The Purge

I had these plans to drop off my luggage at my friend’s mom’s house and dash off to the South of Spain.

But, plans can easily be changed. 

I arrived to the Madrid airport with a large lump in my throat and unbearable back pain. The older I’ve gotten, the more I truly believe that disease within the body is just that dis-ease. I could feel some lasting sorrow from leaving my mother in the US for 3 months. I held back tears in Charleston when the thought entered my head that when I return she could be worse along the progression of her illness, or, even worse, she could be gone. I knew that what was manifesting as a pain in my low back was my grief in leaving and fear of what could happen while I’m gone.

I also could feel some part of me feeling like I hadn’t completely voiced myself in this breakup to certain characters I’d blocked. I had words to say to the mom who didn’t believe me, to the sister who had no idea what went down, and I wondered about the girl that came before me and if she had a similar story to mine. I had kept telling myself that I wasn’t allowed to talk to these people. I knew that what was manifesting as a sore throat was my denial of voicing what I wanted to say.

So I arrived to Madrid feeling sick and not the energized self that I imagined would dash off to the next adventure. I had the choice to persist on and fight the pain, or to absorb the pain and confront it. I decided to listen to my body and my internal struggle, so I unpacked my bags for a few days and settled in.

There came a moment when we were out for lunch. Somewhere between the paella and the fruit creme dessert where I felt some relief about being away from my mom. I was here, at a table with a mother of my best friend, someone I had always wanted to meet. I was here. And I realized to be here I needed to let go of being there. I breathed in some relief, and by days end, surrounded with a family I would have never gotten to meet if I hadn’t left the US, I let go of the grief.

I woke up the next day with a relieved back, but a persistent sore throat. I had the whole day and place to myself as the rest of the family was off at a funeral. It had rained heavy all night and into the morning, matching this cleanse I felt so dire to my soul. I woke up clear with what I needed to write and who I needed to write to. So, I said all the things I’d been wanting to say but swallowed deep down. I carried on the rest of the day a little lighter, and felt my throat opening up a bit. I’d expressed what I wanted to say and I wasn’t going to hold on to the need of a response. So I cuddled with the dogs and made friends with the horses. I went on a barefoot walk up the mountain and felt like nature was hugging me with all its beauty. The wild lavender scent and the fresh air rolling through.

It all felt like exactly where I was supposed to be, and having this day to myself really sunk in the beauty of what my time in Spain was to be. I decided I’d take a trek the following day as a trial walk for the 500 mile Camino de Santiago I’d be starting on in 2 weeks time.

A home-cooked meal rounded out this beautiful day. A day that felt like I was really coming home to myself, to me. And the more my throat loosened and the less pain I felt swallowing.

I woke up the next day ready for my 20km walk through the mountain range of Miraflores. And I got a message I wasn’t expecting. I got a gift from this girl I never thought I’d talk to, a girl who went through the same exact thing as I did with the same exact man just before me. I let the hurt rise to tears, I let the inner critic question, “why hadn’t you reached out sooner?”, I let all the emotions ebb and flow. And with this new formed connection, talking to someone who’d been through the storm and survived, blossomed even, I was overcome with relief. It wasn’t just me. I knew I hadn’t lied about our story but having someone else confirm it just made me feel more at peace about it all. Yeah, it sucked, I could have reached out years earlier and he would have been exposed. But here I was, talking with the girl I wasn’t ever supposed to talk to, and feeling at peace that I was not alone. And that we were here for each other. 

I went on that trial walk with thoughts swirling in my head. I cried. I laughed. I screamed. I let my mind flutter to the past. I got lost and then found the trail again. I got caught in a storm and persisted on through the thunder and the downpour. And by the end, I’d turned the to-be 20km walk into something more like 30.

As I finally found a way back to my Spanish mom’s house, not ‘the way’ I’d left, but ‘a way’ all the same, I was overwhelmed with lightness. Yes, I was sore. Yes, I was sure my stubborn self shouldn’t have stretched that hike so far. Yes, the rain and the miles had done their work in washing me over with feelings and ultimately, calm. 

I didn’t just say to myself that I was an independent badass, I truly began to feel it. I felt it in my bones, like everything was unfolding for me. My throat loosened up even more and as I walked through the gate, eyeing the white stallions, I swallowed my peace with no pain or attachment. I felt washed over with ultimate freedom.

Free.

I was finally Free again.

To the Yogi who Thinks She Owns the Studio

To the yogi who thinks she owns the studio, thank you for disrupting my peace. 

Every time I share a class with you, I get hot and bothered. 

You always arrive late, it’s not a one-time thing that happens because of traffic or some kind of emergency. If it was, you’d arrive late once in a while. You arrive late every single day. 

Before I start my yoga practice, your late arrival creates a verbal cue in my brain “rude”. So before I even start my yoga, you have made me think “rude”. 

You always throw your things down. In such a quiet and sacred space your disregard for cacophony is cringe-worthy. 

Before I start my yoga practice, your sound disrupts my meditation and I flicker open just to roll my eyes at you. So before I even start my yoga, you have made me judge you. 

You always flow front and center. No matter if you arrive late, you’ll have the whole class move their mats so you can flow on your favorite piece of hardwood. 

Before I start my yoga practice, your egoism makes me react with a snobby scoff. So before I even start my yoga, you have made me ridicule you. 

To the yogi who thinks she owns the studio. Thank you for disrupting my peace. 

Every time I share a class with you, I get hot and bothered. 

Instead of leaving all the shit beside my mat that I don’t want to carry with me through the practice, I am actually piling more shit on the mat. 

So you fill my space with “rude”, “judgement”, and “ridicule”. 

And it’s much more challenging than every other class I take without you. Because you fill me with rage before my practice even begins. So those hardships and tests that I usually face halfway through my practice are staring me down as we begin with sun salutations. 

Every time I share a class with you, I get hot and bothered. And halfway through the class I get hot and unbothered. 

But just before I think I’ve had enough of you messing with my energy, just as I’m diving into pigeon to release all that pent up energy stored in my hips, you disrupt the room again as I hear you packing up your things. 

Every single time before savasana, waves of “rude”, “judgement”, and “ridicule” come washing over me. 

What is usually the most peaceful part of my practice, the moment where I get to lay like a corpse and just be, gets stolen from me as you decide savasana is never worth staying for. 

So I lay with “rude”, “judgement”, and “ridicule”. I tighten up with ahimsa and frustration. 

To the yogi who thinks she owns the studio, you make me face my greatest obstacles in this hot box, on these 68 inches of mat. 

And for that I thank you. 

One day, you’ll be my release from it all.