I just noticed this weird quirk of mine and I laughed to myself. But it was that nervous laugh, like I’d haul off and roundhouse kick you WITH MY EYES if you laughed too.
I am protective of my mat in a very ritualistic way. I’ve been trying to do more yoga at home, I’m finding that I can commit to shorter flows and I’m always more willing to stay with a good soundtrack and a quiet house. I do yoga all over my house. In my bedroom, in the upstairs hallway, the middle of my kitchen, the livingroom, the basement…I haven’t found or don’t want to find just one place that I can call My Spot. But I guess I don’t need one because it’s my mat- that actual literal piece of rubber- that creates the magic for me. That’s why no one is allowed on it, unless you’re showing me what great new thing I can try. One day I turned around and my dog had one paw on the corner of my rolled out blue mat and I shooed him off, feeling territorial and angry. He’s cute and all, but buddy…I didn’t make up the term ‘downward dog’ so I won’t be held responsible for what you think you should be allowed to do with regards to all things dog.
I call it “my mat” cause it is just mine. When my husband started yoga this year I
told asked him to find his own mat. My kids sometimes practice the most mindless and sporadic yoga known to man…but they do it on the floor or my husband’s mat…never mine, no never Mom’s. And I’ve noticed in the studio that everyone gives a wide berth to each others’ spaces and I wonder if I’m alone in my desire for a protective buffer of space around my mat.
I feel so oddly close to that thing. And yes that’s a little embarrassing to admit, but who are we without a little quirk admission from time to time? (Here’s where I admit that I’m hoping at least one of you out there gives me a high five from the crazy train…) One of the most wonderful things about yoga is that it can be done with little more than just a mat and your own body. I have no choice but to keep my body with me all.day.every.day. My mat? Well…it’s my mat. It’s my tool. It’s sometimes the one thing that can help me show a little compassion to my body at the end of a long day. And my mat and I have been through a lot. If you can imagine the mat soaking in all the thoughts you think while you’re on it, but never say out loud? It’s better than any best friend on the planet. And certainly just as valuable, with much power, to be revered. I like the way it rolls out and flops a little unevenly. I get a little giggle when I spy a piece of glitter, or a strand of little blonde hair from my daughters. One time, I unrolled it and a runaway sock flew out of the fold!
It’s my mat. With all its imperfections. And mine too. It’s hallowed ground, and I’d like to keep it to myself a little bit, thankyouverymuch.