From the Mouths of Babes

Sicily and I are two weeks into our yoga blitz. There is a teacher that Sicily doesn't like very much. She says she can't quite put her finger on it, but for some reason she just doesn't click with this teacher as a teacher.

We were talking about it in the car on the way to the studio, and I told her that I wasn't in love with this teacher either, but I figured out why. This teacher asks me to do things that I am seriously uncomfortable with, like handstands in the middle of the room. Hers is the class I almost cried in (well, maybe I did a little) because I felt so deeply the significance of not being able to support myself. When I sit down on the mat, I feel apprehensive because I know she is going to throw things at me that I feel like I am not ready for, then make me hold them until I settle into it, even as my legs tremble and my heart pounds. So it's uncomfortable, disconcerting, and not a little unpleasant during class until I can lose myself in a pose or get my mind to shut the hell up.

Sicily thought about it, shook her head and said, "Nah. I am pretty sure I didn't like her because the past couple mornings I have been mad at you. I liked her better today."

Sigh.