Labor Day: UR DOING IT WRONG
This one yoga teacher addresses her adult students like we are mentally challenged kindergarteners. This is actually not as great as it may sound. Unfortunately, there was only one class available today, and she was teaching it. So I went.
The style of yoga I study, anusara, traditionally starts its classes with what I privately refer to as the sermon on the mat. Teachers take two to three minutes to set up a theme for the class. Themes are usually stuff like "being where you are" or "opening to grace" or whatever borderline New Ageisms further cauterize my charred, bitter East Coast soul. Sometimes themes are about seasonal events. This can be a little challenging in season-free SoCal, so "seasonal events" usually means "holidays." Such as...
"So Labor Day is just a day off for people that doesn't really have any significance," the teacher began, "my main association with it is...barbequeues! And pool parties."
WHAT.
I was in the front row, practically dead center, and I was afraid to look at her for the high-res laser beams I knew were shooting out my eyeballs. I quietly moved my hands from the tops of my thighs to under my ass so I wouldn't be tempted into perhaps misusing my shakti. Granted, I am not the most knowledgeable person in this area, but even I know why we have eight hour workdays, why children are exempt from working, why we have paid vacations and sick days. I grew up hearing about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire and how that affected not just the Jewish community, but all workers. And the times I have had to struggle with psycho employers, I have learned enough to be immeasurably grateful for the legacy of the workers who came before me.
I was trying to figure out whether I should say something, given that I already disliked her, and given that this is supposedly apolitical yoga class. Where on earth would I start? The industrial revolution?
When suddenly!
"Actually, that's not true," came a voice from over by the window. It was this kindly dude who had offered me a blanket over by the prop pile. "Labor Day is a day of remembrance and honor for all the people in the workers' movement. A lot of people died, for example in the Haymarket riot, so that we could have this day off. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but today is not just a random day off."
THANK YOU CEILING CAT, THERE WILL BE NO SLAPPING TODAY.
"Oh! haha," said the teacher, talking over him a bit, "Thank you so much for your contribution! I researched all last night on the internet trying to find information for today--"
"It's on Wikipedia," came another voice a few mats to my right, this woman who I'd never seen in class before.
"Well, oh, haha, thank you so much! I was just going to say something about thanking you all for coming out on Labor Day to play*. Haha. Perhaps we can have a dialogue after class." Window Dude and the other lady both sort of looked like they'd said their pieces and didn't want to get into it any further, so with that we moved into downward dog. I caught Window Dude's eye and mouthed THANK YOU across the room to him. He shrugged, with this semi-apologetic look on his face like he really didn't want to be an a-hole in yoga class, but. Hey Window Dude, you were much nicer than I would have been.
Man. I had to pee so bad, but I didn't go for the first 45 minutes because I was afraid I'd miss something else awesome. At the end of class, the teacher invited any of us who wanted to teach her anything to stay, because she was open to learning from her students. Having attended a barbequeue pool party already yesterday, I decided to get home to my freelance writing and spec script.
*Anusara is very big on the playfulness, although I've really only met one teacher who knows how to rock you like 1985 Rush, Aerosmith, and Van Halen put together and make you come crawling back on your knees over broken glass pleading for just one more vinyasa - usually teachers are all, "IT WILL BE FUN" and it comes out "I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE."
The style of yoga I study, anusara, traditionally starts its classes with what I privately refer to as the sermon on the mat. Teachers take two to three minutes to set up a theme for the class. Themes are usually stuff like "being where you are" or "opening to grace" or whatever borderline New Ageisms further cauterize my charred, bitter East Coast soul. Sometimes themes are about seasonal events. This can be a little challenging in season-free SoCal, so "seasonal events" usually means "holidays." Such as...
"So Labor Day is just a day off for people that doesn't really have any significance," the teacher began, "my main association with it is...barbequeues! And pool parties."
WHAT.
I was in the front row, practically dead center, and I was afraid to look at her for the high-res laser beams I knew were shooting out my eyeballs. I quietly moved my hands from the tops of my thighs to under my ass so I wouldn't be tempted into perhaps misusing my shakti. Granted, I am not the most knowledgeable person in this area, but even I know why we have eight hour workdays, why children are exempt from working, why we have paid vacations and sick days. I grew up hearing about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire and how that affected not just the Jewish community, but all workers. And the times I have had to struggle with psycho employers, I have learned enough to be immeasurably grateful for the legacy of the workers who came before me.
I was trying to figure out whether I should say something, given that I already disliked her, and given that this is supposedly apolitical yoga class. Where on earth would I start? The industrial revolution?
When suddenly!
"Actually, that's not true," came a voice from over by the window. It was this kindly dude who had offered me a blanket over by the prop pile. "Labor Day is a day of remembrance and honor for all the people in the workers' movement. A lot of people died, for example in the Haymarket riot, so that we could have this day off. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but today is not just a random day off."
THANK YOU CEILING CAT, THERE WILL BE NO SLAPPING TODAY.
"Oh! haha," said the teacher, talking over him a bit, "Thank you so much for your contribution! I researched all last night on the internet trying to find information for today--"
"It's on Wikipedia," came another voice a few mats to my right, this woman who I'd never seen in class before.
"Well, oh, haha, thank you so much! I was just going to say something about thanking you all for coming out on Labor Day to play*. Haha. Perhaps we can have a dialogue after class." Window Dude and the other lady both sort of looked like they'd said their pieces and didn't want to get into it any further, so with that we moved into downward dog. I caught Window Dude's eye and mouthed THANK YOU across the room to him. He shrugged, with this semi-apologetic look on his face like he really didn't want to be an a-hole in yoga class, but. Hey Window Dude, you were much nicer than I would have been.
Man. I had to pee so bad, but I didn't go for the first 45 minutes because I was afraid I'd miss something else awesome. At the end of class, the teacher invited any of us who wanted to teach her anything to stay, because she was open to learning from her students. Having attended a barbequeue pool party already yesterday, I decided to get home to my freelance writing and spec script.
*Anusara is very big on the playfulness, although I've really only met one teacher who knows how to rock you like 1985 Rush, Aerosmith, and Van Halen put together and make you come crawling back on your knees over broken glass pleading for just one more vinyasa - usually teachers are all, "IT WILL BE FUN" and it comes out "I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE."