Little Risks = Big Shifts

Nicole has been telling me for years to get a "hobby"! My response has always been,  "I will when I don't have so much to do!" Secretly, I thought she was encouraging me to shirk my responsibilities.  In reality, she was simply trying to guide me toward expanding my "life practice".

This week, I realized I do have a hobby. Worrying. Talk about a treadmill that leads nowhere. What a bore, makes for excellent conversation, right?

Nicole: What did you do today, hon?"
Me: Uhhhhhh.....Worried.
Nicole: "Oh wow! Cool! How did that go?"
Me: Bad. Bad. Not good!
Nicole: "Yikes!  Watcha' gonna do tomorrow?"
Me: Same.
Nicole:  ??

22 years later...

This has been one long ride.  That is, until last week. Last week, I decided to take a small risk to shake it up. It couldn't hurt, right?  I could always go back to worrying.

So, last Wednesday, I took a jump at Hot Yoga.  It is a very sweaty business, which wasn't the risk.  The risk was all the MIRRORS! Somebody has put a middle-aged woman in my body! I am not kidding you. This was a complete shock and she looks absolutely nothing like me!

Worse yet, I joined the class with my friend the middle-aged super model.  You know the type..pretty, youngish, swaggy looking with rock hard abs and the legs of a 30 year old. Not cool. Plus, she had on this yoga attire that looked like a second skin. Her muscles ripped next to my cellulite infused thighs.  Nice. Great.

We laughed as she tried to help me look/feel presentable. Sweet as pie, she threw me yoga tops in the parking lot that no longer fit her, but made me look like a stripper in a wet tshirt contest. Laughing so hard, we both wished we had thought to wear a lady diaper.  We finally gave up, and I decided to rock my vneck cotton tshirt and my bell bottom running pants.

Once inside, we were both charmed by the effusive Hot Yoga instructor who tried to quell our fears of spending 1 1/2 hours in a 104 degree room performing yoga positions that were advertised for beginners, but in actuality, were more like moves from cirque du soleil.

But, we showed up and we tried. I made peace with the stranger in the mirror and managed to believe that I could finish the class without passing out or bolting from the room. And I did! Saturday we went back again.  This time, I had an outfit.