Downward Farting Dog

I should be doing yoga instead of sitting at my computer right now. Yoga is a big part of my life. (Please don't read "hippie") I started it as a way to relieve neck pain, but what I found was, it happened to be the only thing that calms my overactive creative noodle. When you're trying really, really hard to stand on one foot while grabbing the other over your head--you have no time to think about exes or bad jobs.

In fact, I joined a local yoga studio after losing my job. Up to now, I had been mostly doing yoga at home. And in fact, sort of fell away from it during the aforementioned relationship. So finding this new "community" was a good thing. I liked the people, I liked the teachers. I started to get strong. What happened next, was one of the reasons why I decided to write this blog. You can't make this shit up.

I decided to try a new class with a new teacher. I liked him. I liked the time of the class. I liked some of his regulars. Then one night as I left class, and backed out of my parking spot, I saw a bumper sticker on the car behind me. It said "Metallica"--okay well it didn't say "Metallica" but let's just say it was the name of the local band my ex is in. I thought. Huh. They have fans? (Let alone bumper stickers) And as I drove off wondering why anyone would put a local garage band sticker on their car--I saw my new Yoga teacher walk over and get in. In the "Metallica" car.

Now maybe it was a coincidence. Or maybe God, Buddha, and Shiva have a really insane sense of humor. At the next class, I had to ask. "I noticed you have a "Metallica" sticker on your car. Do you know that band?" He replied. "Know it? I'm it it!"

Of all the yoga joints in the world...I had to walk into the drummer's. I decided not to let that bother me. And yes, told him "I'm friends with the lead guitarist." Didn't take him long to find out it was THAT kinda friendship. And even though I got hell from the EX--almost insinuating I "sought out" his band mate's yoga class--in a very, contemplated, stalker move that would have required some sleuthing skills beyond what the FBI currently possesses-- (I never saw his new band--only knew the name) I figured I needed to rise above it. You like the class, keep going. (I admit I wondered if he would report back to the ex about the rolls of post-break-up depression fat under my sports bra, but still...)

Eventually, I got back to calm breathing, and a still mind. I never think about the unbelievable synchronicity that brought me to meet Mr. PP and his drummer. Well not in Yoga anyway. Inevitably though, something breaks my concentration in class--and most teachers will tell you--that's okay. Just let those thoughts of "why that guy isn't wearing a shirt" or "who was the one who strategically farted while transitioning to downward facing dog" just pass by like clouds. Even if they smell.

Namaste.