When I came back, I stepped into my new house with my shoes on because I had forgotten we were following the Hawaiian no-shoes-in-house custom.
And that was the moment.
My new house was not my new house. The same photos and the same mugs and the way I had instinctively put the mail on the counter right next to the fruit bowl. This wasn’t new. I’d even saved the pie box Brad and Marcy had brought, so I could use it for the cupcakes I’d make for the team later, just like I’d been doing for years. Why were we always making friends with people who brought us pies? Brad and Marcy weren’t new. They were our old friends all over again. This house was our old house all over again. This was just us, so exactly and predictably us, and this was the moment I thought, Nancy, you have two choices. Get back on the hamster wheel or reinvent yourself ASAP.
?
The 7:00 a.m. class was on a swatch of grass right near the beach. I’d read online that yoga had transformed many people’s lives, and I needed a transformation. Plus, I’d been meaning to try it for years.
I arrived at 6:45 with my new purple mat and watched as people gathered. I was nervous about getting out of the car. These people were in better shape than I was. They plopped their mats in the grass with no hesitation because they knew what they were doing. Maybe I should go home and do some yoga DVDs on my own and come back later.
A knock on my window. I was so startled I spilled hot coffee all over my hand. I inhaled sharply and put the stupid coffee back in the drink holder and looked up.
First I saw what she was carrying. A yoga mat and a bulging brightly colored bag with tiny mirrors built into the pattern. Pale hands. Tattoos on her wrists. Tight red shirt with a scooping neckline. Her hair was short and black except for one shocking chunk of neon pink that cradled her face. Her face was open, inviting. Warm brown eyes and dewy skin that everyone in Hawaii seemed to have because it was so humid all the time. She smiled at me. Her teeth were perfect and white.
I rolled the window down.
“Hi there,” she said, placing her hand on the car. She looked at the mat in my lap. “You here for class?”
I opened my mouth, prepared to speak, unsure of what I would say. I was still half planning to go home.
“The first day is always the worst.” She chuckled. “It’s like being the new kid in school, right?”
My mouth was still open and I still wasn’t finding words. I definitely didn’t want to acknowledge I felt like the new kid in school. I was stronger than that.
“I’m Ana,” she said. She pronounced her name On-a, not the other way.
I cleared my throat. “Nancy.”
“Welcome, Nancy,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here.” She smiled again. “I’m going to go set up. I’ll see you over there, yeah?”
Somehow, that was all I needed. “Yeah,” I said. I grabbed my mat and followed her to the grass.
?
Ten minutes after seven, she hit the gong bowl, and when it was done reverberating, she said, “Good morning, yogis. We have a new student today. Everyone, this is Nancy.”
The chiseled man on my right gave me a little bow. “Welcome.”
“Nancy, that’s Kurt,” Ana said. “And this is Sara Beth and Patty.” She pointed to them in the row. Sara Beth was young. Bleach-blond pixie cut and her eyebrow was pierced with a hoop. Patty was older, early sixties maybe. She had bed head and wore an oversized T-shirt with a picture of a cat on it and she was tugging at her ear. She waved at me and I waved back.
“Now,” Ana said, placing her hands in her lap. “Sit up tall. Close your eyes. Imagine your head is attached to a string. Imagine the string is attached to a cloud right above you. The cloud floats up. Your head lifts from your body. Your neck is long, as long as a skyscraper. Length. Lengthen. Relax. Relax your tongue. Relax your throat. Relax all the muscles in your body. Feel as muscle slides away from bone. Feel that tectonic shift.”
A pause.
“Lift your heart. Lift it higher. Lift your rib cage. Lift it higher. Imagine there’s a balloon under each of your lungs. Two balloons nestled inside two cages. Fill those balloons. Expand. Expansion. Expand expand expand—now hold your breath at the top and keep holding. Hold it for as long as you can. Hold it for longer than that. Your brain will give up before your body. Always. Skyscraper neck. Unclench your jaw. Lift your heart. Lift your heart. Lift your heart, and when you absolutely have to, let it go.”
I exhaled, feeling dizzy.
“Good,” Ana said. “Now in, out. Hear the ocean. Breathe like the ocean.”
After a few breaths, I peeked to make sure I was doing what she was doing. Her hands were on her knees. I put my hands on my knees. Her face was relaxed. Was mine? I kept studying her. She was pretty. Full lips and high cheekbones, a good nose. Her eyes were deep-set. They made her look like a thoughtful person. Her body was curvy like mine, which was comforting—curvy women could do yoga, too. Her breasts were large, definitely larger than mine. Large and intact and proudly displayed in her plunging red tank top because she was obviously very confident. Mine were covered by the new zip-up jacket I’d bought at Foot Locker in preparation for this.
“You are at the beach. It is morning. Listen to the sounds.” She paused. “Birds, waves.” A car honked and she laughed. “When your mind wanders, come back. Back back back. You’re not at the grocery store yet. You’re not surfing yet, Kurt.” She chuckled. Then she opened her eyes and reached for a book. “I’m going to quote a little Pema this morning. It’s short.”
She fingered her bookmark, found the page. “Here it is: The truth you believe in and cling to makes you unavailable to hear anything new.” She paused. Then she said it again. Then she set the book in the grass. “We all have a story about how this day is going to go. How this life is going to go. Cop to your story. Let go of your story. Expect nothing.” Pause. “Expectation is disappointment waiting to happen. It’s bad for your heart. Broaden your chest. Lift your heart. Lift it onto a higher plane.”
Her words, so unexpectedly poetic, gave me the chills. I felt moved. I felt like more was possible, which was exactly what I’d been wanting to feel. I thought of something I’d heard Oprah say once. We are most teachable during the hard times in our lives. Hard times make us open. They make us available to hear new things. I unzipped my jacket a little and inhaled the fresh salty air and thought: That’s right, Nancy, you are not at the grocery store yet, and you are not trapped, and this breathable jacket you bought was a very good choice.
“Let’s start with three oms,” she said.
I was self-conscious at first—my om sounded too high-pitched next to Kurt’s—so I deepened my voice. By the third om, I was thinking: Okay, I can do this.