In addition to being somewhat crazy – a shrink once diagnosed me with
borderline personality disorder, which I thought was a bit of a stretch
until I realised that, like everyone else, he just wanted to have sex
with me – I am a yoga
teacher. Should you, recoiling in horror as you read this, find
yourself asking, "But how does someone like this become a yoga
teacher?", the short answer is that I gave a man with a beard and his
hot wife $3,200. The long answer is … well, I'd like to say that it's
because if I hadn't become obsessed with yoga I'd probably be dead,
because that's what people always say about things like this. But that
would be, frankly, a little overdramatic. Let's just say that if I
didn't do yoga everything bad about me would just be worse, and what is
bad is already bad enough.
Now, because you can't get something
for nothing, there's a problem: yoga can be extremely annoying. There's
no getting around it. Yoga has moments of such profound annoyingness
that after I finished Eat, Pray, Love (I read the ashram section 100
times) all I could think was: "You wrote an entire book about yoga and
meditation and you never mentioned, 'Oh, by the way, sometimes you will
want to punch these people in the face'."
And this is where I perform my public service; in yoga we call that a seva
(how annoying is that?). All the stuff Elizabeth Gilbert was too high
on homemade pizza and Javier Bardem penis to mention, you need to know.
Everyone's always telling you how great yoga is, and that's true, but
then you go and maybe the studio smells like onions steamed in cat pee,
and it might have been helpful to know about that beforehand.
Source - Guardian
