Having a Goal

I just returned from a yoga-intensive weekend. I go through these once a month as I train to be a certified yoga teacher. For approximately 16 hours during the course of one weekend, I sit with five other adults and learn the intricacies of yoga.

I enjoy these weekends. I get a chance to think in a new and exciting way. For instance, I have never been exposed to Sanskrit before. This past weekend, not only did I learn the Sanskrit names for many of my favorite poses, for an hour and a half I listened to a scholar teach me the beauty of the Sanskrit alphabet. Also, I learned the anatomy involved in some of my favorite poses and the best ways to help everyone find comfort in them. I get to converse with people that I would never initially choose to spend time with. My circle of friends does not include gay male ballet dancers or young professional women from Brooklyn. There is so much complexity to these weekends, I have numerous reasons to enjoy them.

Until the Monday after. I barely rolled out of bed today. Each of the three muscles that make up my hamstrings screamed at me as I attempted to move my legs. My right hip refused to move and protested loudly when I insisted it did. Last month, every muscle in my back announced its presence vociferously. I finally had to get a massage to attempt to relieve some of the discomfort. Two hours later, I realized that I needed to strengthen my back before I went through another weekend like that. On the Monday after, I am left with the painful reminders that I am neither as young nor as limber as I thought I was on Saturday and Sunday.

One could wonder why I choose to put myself through all of this. In fact, as I lay in bed this morning and willed my body to move, I wondered the same thing. But the answer came quickly. My goal is to be a yoga teacher. I really enjoy the thought of helping other people find the same kind of serenity and flexible, strong body that I have found through yoga.

I am grateful I have this goal. It keeps me focused on something positive when I am being bombarded by so many negative things. It gives meaning to my pain right now, and tomorrow, when my pain isn't so great, I will have a reason to open the anatomy book again and try to get my tongue to pronounce words in a language that is unfamiliar. I have pursued things without a clear goal and have never reached anywhere. Today, when I got out of bed, I knew where I was going, albeit slowly and tenderly. And I know where I am going tomorrow.