Email to My Yoga Teacher

Tammy,

Recently I had a party at my house.  I invited you, my yoga teacher, because you are nice and I thought you would have fun.

After you arrived and grabbed a drink, you looked around the house.  You then looked me in the eye and said, “Gary, where do you practice yoga?”

The bubble above my head started racing:  do I tell her that I roll out my mat and practice in the tv room or perhaps the living room?  Would she believe the garage?  How about telling her that I practice in my head?  What exactly does that even mean?

I noticed sweat starting to pour profusely from my body; kind of like when I am in your class.  I didn’t have a drink yet but I could sure use something to alter my state of mind.  Scottie, can you beam me up?

Why couldn’t your boyfriend say something or pull you away so the two of you could be alone someplace?

Wait.  Why was I so worried about what you think?  Why do I feel the need to impress you?  Oh, simply because you may not think I am in any way serious about yoga and that it is a joke to me.  After all I do laugh in your class, especially at times when nobody else finds anything funny.  With this one question I may have planted the weirdo, stalker, or other whacked moniker in your mind.

Lo and behold what did I come up with?
“Tammy, you see all of my practice (at the studio).”  [the truth]

With that comment you immediately asked for directions to the powder room and disappeared.  At that point, I had a strong sense that I would now be banished from your yoga classes.

Alas, shame has caused my only practice to begin at home in solitude.

Gary Kahn