"I'm afraid of bears. So when I go backcountry camping, I practice Alternate Nostril Breathing. It calms me down so I can sleep."
"I mastered fourth grade math." (to yoga studio owner during a discounted class package transaction)
"Not *this* time, bucko! There's no TIME for depression!!" (to friend, both arriving for class)
"I want to come here for the socializing. But then can someone give me a lift home?" (person waiting for bus in front of studio, stepping in to check the studio out)
"Have you seen my pants?"
(This is the first in what I intend to be an occasional posting series containing--to the best of my memory--verbatim quotes spoken in the lobby at Pink Lotus Yoga. Thanks to the speakers.)
I hang out a lot in the Pink Lotus Yoga studio these days. It's a home away from home. With the warmth, the groovy decor, and the welcoming neighbors, I dare say it actually is a home. A home for yoga.
But it's more than an indoor place for yoga and its related peacenik nature. Right outside my door is where the 26 line stops, many times per day. This means that outside my door some times are people waiting to catch the bus. People hanging, bustling, rushing, and pacing.
I could not be happier for this. I've seen and talked to many of the bus waiters, and none seem much interested in yoga, which is fine. That does not stop me from talking to them about it, and talking to them about where they are headed. Usually they're headed shopping, or to work.
I've gotten to know some of the bus stop regulars in front of the studio. It makes me more and more certain that I landed in the right place as a yoga business owner. Yoga is about community, and I am part of an incredibly lovely one right outside my door. Even if the older, bundled up gentleman who appeared in my doorway a few minutes ago--and who tried several times to light his pipe against the frigid winter breeze while waiting for the bus--never takes a yoga class, I found his presence welcoming. He looked a little like something that got pulled out of L.L. Bean and planted on Detroit Avenue. A man with a pipe in the cold of winter waiting to go somewhere else. The wheels of the bus will take him somewhere warm, I hope. Inside my studio, I am warm, waiting for my noon class, who I am sure will play a role in taking us all somewhere special on our mats. We are all riders on the bus, after all.