Mama and I have been thinking.
“We need to take care of ourselves,” we say.
“We need to lessen the stress in our lives,” we agree with each other.
“Yes, we need to take care of ourselves because Lord knows no one is going to do it for us. We are tired of putting everyone else first,” we say.
“Wait. Didn’t you just go away on a long weekend of putting yourself first?” Mama asks.
“Yes,” I concede, “but we must continue to put ourselves first at every turn. Because putting yourself first just once is worse than never putting yourself first at all.”
Mama listens and doesn’t say anything. Probably because she is in complete agreement with me and is in awe of my wisdom.
“We should go to yoga,” we decide.
“Of course we should go to yoga,” we agree with ourselves. “We must learn to breathe better.”
“Well, we know how to breathe,” we reassure ourselves, “but we want to be able to breather better. For us.”
Mama and I agree to take yoga.
We decide to look for a class.
The good news is that there are seven different yoga places within five blocks of my house.
“That’s because you live where there are nothing but lunatics,” Papa chimes in.
Our blood pressure rises but soon we will be breathing better and comments like this will not puncture our zen.
We look online and one class sounds promising but it is 90 minutes long. That seems very eternity-like.
We go on another site and as it loads, there is chanting.
“I am not into jihad,” Mama says.
“It is not jihad, it’s Buddhist chanting,” I try to enlighten her, but she is firm.
She will not go where there is chanting.
We reserve spots in the 90 minute class. I’ve taken it before and there is definitely chanting, but I’m sure that Mama will find this to be less jihad and more “nice surprise.”
We will keep you posted.
One year ago ...