I rolled out my yoga mat, as I had done a million times before. Sitting in the corner of the yoga studio, I had gotten into the pattern of allowing myself the luxury of maintaining a healthy distance from my classmates, while still being able to observe their practice. It was the voyeur's dream.
I had just settled into a stiff, creaky half lotus, when a classmate rolled her mat beside mine. I peered up at her--she greeted me with an uninhibited smile.
"I just wanted to say, I love your hair," she said, gesturing to my newly-red locks. "Is that henna?"
As far as I knew, henna was that stuff that I had tried to slap on my body five years prior that made me look like I had rolled around in dirt.
I shrugged. "Just regular hair dye." I grew increasingly self conscious, and tried to discretely rub off my violently purple eyeshadow. What was perceived as a great investment in my self-esteem amongst my roommates seemed a terrible felony at the yoga studio. You mean to say you paid money to pour chemicals on your head for the sake of your appearance?? The horrors!
"Oh, you should really look into henna. Nature's pantry. It's amazing stuff."
I wasn't sure when nature got a pantry, but I had the sinking suspicion I was terribly un-enlightened for lacking this knowledge. Perhaps if I used organic lotion and put wheatgrass on my head, I would be able to do a headstand by now.
Somehow I doubted it.
I have been doing yoga for about four years. It's been a positive constant in my life--I love the feeling of complete surrender after falling into that final savasana. I have learned to better express gratitude--both for myself and others. It's an added bonus that I can stand on my hands and make people go "oooh." But, paradoxically, with that ability to finally maintain some level of ease, I also have that nagging feeling that I don't quite fit. I smile and nod when my fellow yogis discuss homemade lotion recipes and kambucha. I've had fleeting desires to rid myself of superfluous material goods, only to realize that Ulta is having a sale, and that red lipstick makes me forget that I'm not actually queen of the universe.
I know I've written about this before. One of my first posts addresses the internal struggle of finding the balance between "fashionista" (meaning I bought a pair of jeans once) and "spiritual being." Since then, I've realized that my own inner peace has nothing to do with the type of jeans I'm wearing, and if anything, exfoliator does wonders for that third eye chakra. It took an embarrassingly long time to realize this, but enlightenment is not a "one size fits all" formula. What strikes me, however, is that--at least from the outside--one size seems to fit most. It's like the yoga pants debacle of 2014, only with more chanting, but equal amounts of spandex.
Although I've technically been going to yoga since senior year of high school, I hesitated to call myself a "serious yogi" until this past fall--part of this was an excuse to laze around my apartment for months on end and completely avoid physical activity of all forms--but a major factor was that I feared letting go of my casual yogi status, as in my mind, that required forcing myself into a mold that I knew I could never fit myself into--I'm not nearly flexible enough.
There was a particular quote from Erica Kaufman, the owner of Lila Yoga Studios, that resonated with me: "yoga doesn't change who you are. It frees who you are." I certainly see how this would be true--reducing my anxiety has allowed me to focus on more meaningful, deeper aspects of myself. Yet I still struggle with the concept that so many yogis' "selves" align with one another. Yoga class is quite possibly the most open, least judgmental environment on this planet, yet there are times when I wonder if I'm doing something wrong, that I can't be taken seriously as a disciple or teacher.
Which brings me to my next point. As someone who is studying to become a yoga teacher this coming school year, I am volunteering myself to "fit the yoga mold," at least in the most abstract sense. I've struggled between the desire to fit in and my need to be true to my most authentic self. Which is really a bummer, since I was told I should have gotten past this struggle like, five years ago. I'm still waiting on that whole self-acceptance badge I was told would be waiting for me at the finish line of my teenage years.
It's quite possible I'll be able to just rock the "lipstick yogi" look and make it a trend of sorts. But seeing as my middle school attempts to initiate the jeans/skirt trend flopped, I don't have high hopes.
Excuse me while I go buy organic everything.
Namaste.
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