Open Letter to My Teacher

Dear Becky,

I have grave fears that you have ruined me for all other yoga instructors. No other class measures up to yours. It has been three years since I left Montgomery, and in that time I have made at least five attempts to resume my practice, and I have met nothing but disappointment.

There was, for example, the lady at the YMCA who pulled me out of my perfectly correct Chair Pose and pushed me into a form that wrenched my lower back and made me hate her guts. Then there was the guy who insisted I keep one hand on the wall during Tree Pose. And the woman who didn't believe me when I told her that yes, indeed, that was as far as I could bend.

And tonight was quite the worst of all. I brought my mat, but we didn't use them. Instead, we sat on carpet squares; I was the only one without socks on, because that was one of your holy rules, but apparently it hasn't made it to this side of the ocean. We went an hour and a half during which the most strenuous thing we did was Tree Pose. No salutations, no downward-facing dog, not even a child pose. I tried to keep an open mind, Becky, really I did, because I remember how you said we always come to the mat with a spirit of humility, but around the time he suggested I think of my breath as an old friend I was showing around the house, I had pretty much checked out.

Oh, the bliss of your class, Becky. I remember how within five minutes, I'd have my tail in the air, sweat pouring down my face, feeling strong and limber and healthy, like the human body was the most fantastic creation in the universe. Once, you had me demonstrate Bridge Pose for the rest of the class, and you all gathered around and admired the curve of my back, and frankly that might have been the greatest moment of my life. I am not an athlete, but you found something that I could feel proud of. For the next week, it was all I could do to stay upright; I wanted to approach complete strangers and say, "Would you like to see my Bridge Pose? It's really good."

You always seemed to know exactly what reminders I needed: don't clench your jaw; drop your shoulders; remember to breathe. You're the only instructor I've had who took requests; I lived for that: you know the commercial where the dog is thinking baconbaconBACON? That was me, only it was more pigeonpigeonPIGEON!!! Nothing fazed you: one time you were adjusting a guy's leg and he totally farted; you never missed a beat, just quietly assured him that this was a natural reaction to relaxing muscles, and moved on.

Everyone has a gift; the lucky ones are those who find their gift and pursue it. You were born to do what you do, Becky, and I wish you nothing but continued peace and prosperity. Thank you for everything you taught me.

Namaste,

Melissa