It’s 9am on Wednesday and I’m in a Yin Yoga class.
I’m in for a nice stretch with a calm brain, right? Wrong.
We’re starting with a guided meditation, lying on our backs with an eye mask on. And I’m wondering if my eye sockets are uneven.
We’re focusing on our heart centres. And I’m writing a shopping list.
We’re aligning our chakras, imagining coloured light shooting down our spines. And I’m wondering what everyone in the room had for breakfast.
We’re palms up to the ceiling, surrendering our egos. And I’m rearranging the clothes in my wardrobe whilst writing a work to-do list.
We’re acknowledging our energy fields. And I’m suddenly picturing a large green expanse full of imaginary charging cows and galloping horses. I realise the field I’m picturing is a real field. It is by friend’s house. I should call them. See how they are.
My mind isn’t just here, it is very much there and everywhere. It is full, fast, and far from focused.
So is this class a waste of time? Should I get up and leave?
I don’t.
I remember no one is marking my performance. I remind myself that I’m pleased to be away from a screen for 45 minutes and that everything takes practise.
I keep breathing in, I keep breathing out and I continue to wrestle mind back to the room and the mat.
Maybe my mind will be quieter next Wednesday. Maybe it won’t be. That’s ok.
I know it is a hundred times worse in an hour long massage. But I’m not giving them up either.