Brownie Goes to Yoga
So yesterday I took Brownie the puppy to park yoga with my beloved teacher Eddie. I was thinking that maybe this time she would be like that other dog I’d seen at park yoga that other day, the big old German Shepherd-y 90-pound dog that just sat there snoozing and meditating the entire class without moving, while it’s super-bendy, lithe, young 90-pound owner did her upward this and downward that, gliding through the poses in her spaghetti-strap macrame halter top, blonde dreadlocks flowing in the wind like angelic magical seaweed wings. So enlightened-y and blissed out-y vibe.
What they look like on the outside, I wanna feel like that on the inside. I do, I really do. And truth truth, and I know this is totally NOT the right answer on the enlightened-y fairy-type playbook, but truth truth I wouldn’t mind looking and vibe-ing a tad more magical young sprite and a little less socially-awkward dark cloud misfit on the outside either ….
Then again, I’ve definitely looked that more than I look that now and felt worse then than I feel now, so I know, I know looking groovy and feeling groovy are not causally related. Not for me. And yet. The promise of being able to drink something, eat something, get injected with something, have something surgically removed or enhanced, the mesmerizing idea I could buy something, anything, and have this gnawing not-okay-as-I-am feeling go away, yes. Yes!!!!!
But anyway, back to my 19-pound, just turned 2-years-old Brownie and her failure to act like an old, big, dog, and my frustration and embarrassment at that and my frustration and embarrassment at not being whatever idea of me seems better than reality this week this year and my desire to run and hide, both of us, and my brain’s incredible knack for turning a relatively safe, lovely environment into a torture chamber of horrors.
Reality was, Brownie was Brownie, perhaps even more so than usual, possibly to spite me teach me train me to not bring her to yoga, to not put her in situations inappropriate for her proclivities, her is-ness.
Oh wait no, that’s my story. The reality is that Brownie was Brownie, rolling on her back to feel the delightful feel of the grass on her furry little body, digging in the grass in ecstatic pursuit of gopher or other underground wonders, flowing in the bliss of her dog-ness right there, in public, on the grass, for all to see, snarfing dirt, woofing at birds, fluffy butt wiggling with enthusiasm. She’s shameless.
I was filled with shame and remorse and regret, for both of us. Me, inside: “Shit fuck fuck fuck shit shit — everyone’s gonna hear her and be disturbed by her and know I brought her and think I’m a horrible, selfish, dog codependent weirdo. And they will be right!!! I am a horrible, selfish, dog-codependent weirdo. It’s not okay.”
Outside: Left knee up, right leg down ….
And so, the truth is, I almost left, I tried to leave, it was so loud and so awful in there, in my head. But my teacher told me to stay, and I stayed.
Eventually Brownie settled down, I settled down, everyone survived. I survived, my teacher survived, Brownie survived, the gophers and the birds survived. I got to re-learn the valuable lesson that when my expectations are inconsistent with reality, suffering for myself and for others is the result. I’m gonna keep going.
www.livingeveryminuteofit.com
🙏 Thank you to the teachers and to Yoga Soup
