As I rushed into yoga class, something about the girl beside me caught my attention.
Since January 2023, I have been addicted to yoga. So much so that my studio just wished me a “Happy 40th.”
Yet, I still can’t get to class without being stressed about being on time.
Admittedly, this time, my nerves were exacerbated by my concern that I wouldn't be at my normal level of yogic abilities.
Since I started my job and moved to a new apartment last month, consistency has been hard to find and before I knew it, it had been a month since I’d been to class.
However, this is yoga. This is a safe space.
This is NOT a place for oggling and objectification.
All I can do is sneak peripheral glances under the cover of the darkened room.
I catch enough glimpses to put together where I’d met her before.
Near the end of the summer, I found myself at a small party where I knew one person.
At the time, I was holding off from drinking as a way to keep myself motivated in my job search— when I closed my new job, I’d drink.
Surrounded by new faces and continually having to explain why I was refusing to take a shot, I was regretting it.
However, one person found it interesting.
Before I knew it, we were in a secluded one-on-one conversation in the corner for what felt like an hour.
Loud laughs. Playful teasing. Eyes lit up in a way that everyone likes to think means something different.
As the night prepared to go past 1 am, I (being sober) decided to call it quits.
This disappointed her in a way that only made me happier.
We left it with how we would “see each other around or something” as I got into a cab.
Despite sobriety’s crystal clear cognizance, I couldn’t realize that I was supposed to ask her for her number.
But here me and this girl were, seemingly living up to our mutual promise of “seeing each other around or something.”
Despite my concerns, my “practice” today has been blessed by the Vedic spirits.
I’m holding the crow pose before shooting directly into chaturanga dandasana.
I’m taking the “optional inversion” to show off my now stable headstand.
I’m rotating each position slightly more than normal, craning my neck just to catch a glimpse of my neighbor.
Yoga class-- once a source of relaxation-- is now an elementary school PE class where I am once again convinced that her affections— my chance to right my wrongs— will only be determined by my ability to be the best yogi in the class.
Evidently, I don’t go on enough dates in NYC.
To me, the main issue is not only “finding the one” but really just finding anyone.
My main gripe about New York has recently been how difficult it has been for me to meet new people; Dating has been no different.
I’ve gone on blind dates, setups, and even experimented with going out to bars and parties completely sober to be in more control.
My new takeaway? I’ve been looking in the wrong places.
Maybe I should be looking closer to home.
Why approach people only while out and about at night? Why not at the cafes, gyms, and places where I already spend the most time?
Why not at a place I’ve been to 40 times?
All the stress of class builds up to a sudden stillness that invites the mind to wander.
I’m in the cab again, alone, empty-handed, and full of what if’s.
Here I am, placed right next to someone I never thought I’d see again.
Here I am, ready to find someone as close to home as I can get.
Here I am, at the nexus of a confluence of chances that seem too good to be true.
My Savasana-induced visions of every potential hypothetical are interrupted by the ringing of a distant bell.
The rest of the class exits around us as I deliberately pack up my mat slowly to catch one last look.
The lights are on: It’s her.
I have been slowly dreading turning 26 and admitting I haven’t had a girlfriend yet.
I’ve realized that it’s not the lack of a girlfriend that I’m ashamed of; it’s what I’ve been doing instead.
Or what I haven’t been doing.
Most dates I’ve been on feel forced, having more in common with a routine chore. It’s going to the gym; something to cross off a checklist.
I hear-- everyone hears-- about situationships, romances starting from random hookups, friends who go on not one, but several dates each week.
Only, I don’t have any horrible dates to tell of. No grand romantic gestures. I haven’t broken any hearts and (probably)haven’t had my heart broken enough times.
If I woke up in a relationship, I’d just as quickly replace my desire for a girlfriend with a yearning for an idealized version of being single.
To put it simply, I don’t have enough great stories.
I approach… only it’s nothing close to my yogic vision fantasies.
The excitement from the last time we met has evaporated as if it was with us in the 98-degree temperature of the yoga studio we just exited.
I’m bare-chested, drenched in sweat, and am in the middle of the door to the girls locker room.
I ask to exchange numbers…..
The response? “I’m actually here with someone.”
But not just any guy.
This guy asked HER out. This guy asked her out to do MY favorite activity. This guy asked her out to MY Yoga studio.
I’m baffled-- realizing I may be more jealous of her new “friend” than I am of their relationship— “WHO?!”
— WKD
"The success of yoga does not lie in the ability to perform postures but in how it positively changes the way we live our life and our relationships."
— T.K.V. Desikachar
Love this! Clever and well written.