I get to yoga early enough to find a nice spot in the back next to a column. I figure nobody will want to be behind a column so I’ll have some extra room. There’s not a soul on either side of me. I’m thinking good thoughts and can’t wait for the class to start. We closed on our house last night and I’m feeling optimistic about turning the page past a dark chapter in our lives. Maybe RJ can stop sleeping in a closet.

The class starts. Still no one next to me. I’m psyched. 5 minutes into our first downward dog, two guys come in and get on either side of me. Crap. One is a huge meatball of a guy (we’ll call him “Meat”) whose yoga towel smells like he left it wet in the car after last class-you know the smell? A little moldy. And the other guy is lanky (we’ll call him “Lank”). He keeps getting up and leaving the room and coming back. It’s very distracting. Let’s be honest: I like men, but men move differently in the world. They have a different sense of personal space and they tend to let their legs splay into your area, and they either don’t seem to notice or they don’t care. For example, have you ever sat in between two men on an airplane? You catch my drift.

As class progresses, I notice that Meat is sweating on my mat and his towel is getting smellier by the minute. His personal odor ain’t too great, either. Lank keeps getting up and walking out the door and coming back to his spot. Is he checking his e-mail, having a snack, going potty--what gives? When Lank and Meat are practicing, I’m in between the two of them and my personal space is completely gone. Now I’m getting angry. The angrier I get, the more I fantasize about pushing both of them over while they’re in “peaceful warrior.” That would show them. It’s not Meat or Lank’s fault, though. Your Yoga practice is about what’s going on inside your head--what irritants are you choosing to grasp? (Although, a capful of bleach will get rid of many wretched smells.)

The end of class comes and the teacher gets us into the last position. Lank has taken up his mat and left. “Good riddance,” I think to myself. But Meat is still there beside me and I can feel his breath on my arm. “Just breathe and let it go. Let it ALL go,” the teacher says. I put the chilled towel over my face and my mind starts racing. All the pain, the inconveniences, the frustration, the anger of the past year rush back to me and I begin to cry quietly. “Let it go,” she says again, and I make a pact with myself that I will turn the page. I will leave all that baggage on the road so that we can move on.

~ Sheri Joseph