I don’t want to say I enjoy hot yoga, because I truly believe that there is not a scenario that could be considered comparable, short of being trapped in a burning yoga studio with a room full of half-naked strangers. Yet, I went back a second time. Why? I can’t tell you.
What I can tell you is this. Both times, without question, I have experienced the best feeling in the world.
That feeling is not the moment of terror when you notice that you’ve missed the last possible second to escape before the practice begins. It is not the nagging in the back of your mind that says, “Just stop now. You tried, but there’s no way you can keep going for one minute longer.” It is not the sensation of having another woman’s slimy sweaty arm accidentally brush into yours. The best feeling in the world is not stretching (although the is wonderful).
The best feeling in the whole wide world (so far as I’ve found) is such a simple moment, such a small item that, to an outsider, it may seem insignificant. That item is a towel. Now, this is not just any towel. This towel is cold and soaked in something wonderful smelling. This towel is the ultimate ending to the practice. As you lay there, desperately trying to center your thoughts and not think about the amount of perspiration fighting to exit your body, the towel comes and instantly calms you. The moment that small washcloth hits your skin, your body reacts with such gratitude. Your mind becomes overwhelmed and you want to hug whoever brought such a thing into your day (if you had the energy to stand up, of course). For me, that towel provides physical comfort and mental reassurance. Reassurance that I can do anything if I set my mind to it. I have earned that towel. I have worked for that towel. Maybe one day, I won’t need that small token at the end of yoga (this implies that I will be going back though, which is up for debate), but for now that towel means a lot to me.
Every difficult experience has a towel at the end. Every struggle provides at least a short moment of relief and pride that accompanies your accomplishment. So, every time I find myself wanting to cry, getting stressed out, or even debating giving up… I just need to remember my towel.
Disclaimer: Veggies may want to skip this next part..
You know what is NOT the best feeling in the world? Eating raw meat. I won’t say it’s absolutely terrible (surprisingly), but I wouldn’t rank it near the top of my list. Some context: Last night, I agreed to try Steak Tartare. Don’t ask me why I agreed to this, but I did. It should also be noted that a. this was not in a restaurant, but rather homemade, b. this was high quality meat, safer than what you would get at a grocery, and c. did you know it has raw EGGS in it too?! Despite practically every fiber of my being shouting NO at me, I took a bite. Then, I took another. By the third bite, I had proved to myself that I was brave enough to try new things, but had reinforced my belief that my meal should not be mooing back at me.
Overall, this is what I came to DC for, right? To explore and try new things and probably hate a few of them. Oh, and to get a Masters degree, I suppose.
On that front, things are as frustrating and overwhelming as previously reported. Still not enrolled full time (closer though!), just got into an ASL class, and extremely confused as to why anyone is ever going to trust me with a client.
I went through the same thought process after graduation had passed and I moved to the Zebra room (le sigh). For a few days, my inner dialogue went something like:
“So, these kids are here. and I’m here. and there are no other adults here. Someone has entrusted me to not only keep twelve, TWELVE, children from killing themselves, but to actually teach them things as well. Who thought this was a good idea?!”
Obviously, I am now much more confident teaching a class of two year olds to sign the ABC’s and leading circle time (You look good, frog!), but I still can’t imagine being responsible for a client. Someone’s therapy. I’m 23! I’m still a baby! I can’t complete an otoscopic exam or administer a CELF test. Then, I stop and realize that I actually understand what those things are (which is more than many people can say). I realize that, just three weeks ago, I “couldn’t” communicate on a Deaf campus and I did. So, I think about being given the insane amount of responsibility they thrust upon us in a few short weeks, wondering if I can handle it, and I think maybe I can.