I get anxiety about being late.
I think being late is rude and I’m not rude enough to enjoy being rude.
This evening I was running late to yoga. Miraculously I arrived in the parking lot of my yoga studio 5 minutes before class began (Which for my non-yogi friends… Is not enough time…there’s a lot of physical and mental set up involved). My backpack containing everything I needed to have a successful hour appeared to be relaxing in between my passenger seat and my glove compartment. With one gentle tug I realized …IT WAS NOT RELAXING! IT WAS STUCK. VERY STUCK. I yanked on the bag with all my might attempting to dislodge it. Failing, my hand flew off of the bag hitting me square in the mouth.
Is my tooth chipped????? No.
Am I bleeding??!?!?! Yes.
Did I already pay for class? Shit.
Into the studio I storm, looking as if I had just gotten into a scuffle, perhaps over a parking spot or who had the cuter yoga pants.
Mouth bleeding (not subtlety) I start to squeeze my mat into a crowded room of relaxed yogis. With every motion I’m unintentionally making more noise than I ever have. Everyone is staring at me with daggers in their eyes. I’m ruining their life; or at the very least their zen.
The grand finale of this story takes place as I wrapped up my noisy set up and went to excuse myself from the room to put my phone and keys in a locker. At this point class was just starting, I dropped my cell phone which proceeded to BOUNCE all the way to the other side of the studio. I’m still having trouble understanding the physics behind what happened.
With shame in my heart I went and retrieved it from the girl’s mat that it had accosted. She didn’t even look at me. She didn’t even hand it to me.
To my fellow yogis in the 6pm class at Yoga Six. I apologize.