If this was my ride to yoga…

When I go to yoga, I want to do it right.

I know I know– so not the point.

So then layered on top of trying to do it right is the knowledge that I’m not supposed to try to do it right so I try to be all: I don’t care. Look at me not caring.

But it doesn’t really work and instead I just end up layering the don’t-try-so-hard! should on top of the get-it-right! one.

Which gets my shoulders all hunched up around my ears even more than usual.

Yesterday I started wondering what I would be like in yoga if I was five. At first I imagined being all loosey-goosey and not caring at all but then I realized that’s not quite right.

I think I would still follow the teacher’s directions and try to understand the pose, and to twist and fold my body into it. But not in order to comply or be good or prove that I’m not completely lame.

Instead I would just be exploring the poses because it’s fun. Because it feels good. Because challenge is fun. Trying hard can feel really good. Getting better and better at something can be a hoot.

Five-year-old me likes to play that game. Not out of perfectionism or fear of criticism. Just for fun.

Five-year-old me would also grab a drink of water or leave to go to the bathroom if she needed.

This morning in class during humble warrior, I started to fall forward and barely managed to untangle my hands from behind my back and get them to the floor in time to prevent face-planting.

That’s never happened to me before because normally I would never, ever risk it. Because, ohmygod, can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?

But five-year-old me isn’t self-conscious enough to get embarrassed. She takes herself so much less seriously than I do. Too busy having fun.