“Habitual momentum,” she said, “dictates of our lives. It’s hard to change our patterns. And it’s easy to get stuck.” She nodded at that thought, and looked almost a tiny bit worried for a second, gazing beyond us at the ocean. And then she yawned again. “Excuse me. I didn’t sleep well last night,” she said, patting her lips with her fingertips a few times before going on. “The point of yoga is not toned arms. Maybe that’s a nice side effect, but it’s not why we’re here. We’re here to open up. We’re here to change. I know it sounds lofty. But I promise you, it’s very real. When you come here and you stretch and you feel different afterwards, that’s because you are different. You’ve created a new space for yourself. You’ve opened the door to a new room.”
She rolled her shoulders back. “What’s in that new room? Love? Gratitude? Fearlessness? Who is in that new room? Your dog, your partner, the guy who works at Stop and Shop? Let’s set an intention. Dedicate your practice to someone or something that feels important to you today—whomever or whatever you want in that new room.”
What came to mind, and I don’t know why since I rarely thought about her, was my mother. But I didn’t want to dedicate the practice to my mother. Did I? Next was Chuck, which would have been fine, but it felt like a default setting—choose your husband—and not completely right for me today. The boys—that always felt right; they were my children. I settled on “family” and in my head I said, I dedicate this practice to my family, even though really I knew it was for my mother because I couldn’t stop picturing her swollen face.
?
Despite being tired, Ana was present and attentive during class. We focused on hip openers, which looked easy but which were not. The hips, she told us, are where you hold your anger.
She left us in pigeon for ten long breaths. I thought I might die; it was so uncomfortable. “Deep, even breaths,” she said. “Your bones are made of jade. Heavy. Jade bones. Breathe.”
A never-ending pause, during which the feeling that I might die intensified.
“Feelings will come up. Think of it like you’re walking through a loud party. That’s your brain talking to you. You can say, ‘Hi, crazy brain, how’s it going today?’ But you don’t stay there. You pass through the party and go down to the basement. That’s where we are, deep down here with all the gunk. Exhale, exhale, go deeper. Ungunk. We are ungunking now.” She chuckled at herself, maybe because ungunk wasn’t a real word. “Every time you exhale, you’re going a little bit deeper into how you really feel. The feelings underneath the chatter.”
She told us to imagine the energy below every living thing like a light. She told us to undulate like seaweed. She asked us to picture our bodies just as bones, just as skeletons in an X-ray. She said, “You are bones and water in movement and that’s it. Don’t make it complicated. It’s not complicated.”
As the sun rose higher in the sky, I thought about many things, both complicated and not. What would I make for dinner? If my mother were still alive, would we be speaking? What time did Target close? How many times had I googled Shelly since the affair? Fifty times? Eighty?
At the end Ana said, “Peace to all beings, no exceptions.” She bowed. “And that means no exceptions.”
?
We waited in line for the basket in the same order as last time. I pretended not to watch Kurt pull his shirt down over his abs, which looked like an eight-pack of those Pillsbury biscuits I was no longer eating.
I was spilling over with my post-yoga energy, which apparently included verbal spilling as well, because out of nowhere I said to Kurt, “Ana is such a good yoga teacher!”
“The amazing thing,” Kurt said quietly, looking at her, “is that Ana has had a pretty rough go of it, but her take on life is still very positive.” He looked somber for a second. “She’s an old soul.”
When everyone had left and it was just me and Ana, she said, “Sorry, I forgot the Red Vines today.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I said. “I’m sorry you didn’t sleep last night.”
She shook her head. She seemed upset. It was the first time I’d seen her be anything but completely confident.
Automatically, I was consoling. “That was a wonderful class. Thank you so much!”
“Thank you,” she said, really meaning it. “I appreciate you saying that.” She touched my arm. Her fingers were somehow cool and warm at the same time. “You’re doing a fabulous job. You’re showing up, really showing up. It’s great, Nancy, really.”
“Thank you,” I said, raising my shoulders and shrinking into myself. We were saying thank you too many times. “Well,” I went on, taking a step toward the car. But right as I was about to leave I thought, Wait. Here’s a person you find interesting, Nancy, and you need friends, and you should obviously ask her if she wants to get together outside of class. The thought made me skittish. I hadn’t asked a new friend on a friend date since—forever. My friends in San Diego naturally became friends because our children were friends. But this was a new chapter now. I felt like I was back in high school when I said, “I’d love to get together sometime outside of class.”
“Yes,” Ana said. “Why don’t you stop by sometime? I live right over there.” She pointed down Ali’i. “Number 75-6016. We can sit in my Jacuzzi.”
“That would be lovely,” I said, memorizing the number.
“How about Friday. Anytime after two?”
“Perfect.”
I walked toward the car with a bounce in my step, feeling like I could take over the world. I was all stretched and open and ready for the day. New people, new chapters. Because Nancy, you have a friend date. And your marital problems are fixable. And your body doesn’t feel like a log. Let’s go home and throw away that secret stash of Hostess CupCakes because you don’t need those anymore. And Hostess CupCakes are disgusting, by the way!
?
I went straight to Target and bought a swimsuit. I safely chose black because it was slimming, and I got out of my comfort zone a little with the deep V neckline. I was trying it on in the bathroom when Chuck got home from work.
“Nancy?” he said from the other side of the door. “Can I use the bathroom or do you want me to use the other one?”
“You—” I was about to tell him to use the other one, but then I thought I might want his opinion. I put my hand on the doorknob.
“Hello?” he said again.
And then I thought, Screw it, and opened the door.
“Wow.” He looked me up and down twice, and I realized this was what I’d really wanted: for Chuck to think I was sexy again.
“You like it?” I asked, wanting more.
“I love it,” he said. I could tell he wanted to touch me.
“Okay.” I might have giggled. “Thanks for your feedback, Chuck.” I put my hand on his chest and gently pushed until he’d backed away from the door.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, right before I closed it.
In the mirror I looked elated. And relieved. Because exchanging swimsuits isn’t easy, I thought. And because yes, I did look good. Not perfect, of course, but different somehow, and that was even better.
My face was flushed and glowing.
Imagine the energy below every living thing like a light, she had said.
And imagine us, me and her, going over more facts about energy in her Jacuzzi. Imagine us complimenting each other’s swimsuit purchases. Imagine us sinking into warm water. Imagine us enticed. Imagine us open. Imagine us unarmed.
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