Next weekend is my first yoga workshop. This will be the first time I have been to class more than once in a week let alone a day. Such a concentration of unpronounceable asanas has the potential to transport me from a stretch class attendee to a full-fledged hemp kaftan wearer… or not, depending on how it goes.
The second event is the arrival at the local shop of my brand new, custom fitted, top-of-the-range golf clubs. Now I am having trouble counting this one down as the delivery from the US can take anything up to a month… ‘or less’ said the guy in the shop who was so helpful he now feels like a good mate. Not knowing exactly when they will get here makes the anticipation even more acute. I can’t wait.
So you see my quandary and perhaps a wonderful example of middle age.
Yoga is about finding the truth within and I love that, even when my ribs cramp up in the middle of some unnaturally contorted pose. And I also love that I get so excited by my own penchant for consumer goods even though it is so contrary to mountaintop contemplation.
Mostly I love that I am in the hugely privileged position to do both these things and that that is what I am, a hugely fortunate individual born in a good time and place.