The yogi way
On my way to yoga, I saw what happens when a Honda Civic slams into a police cruiser. Spoiler alert: the Honda Civic loses. Thankfully, everyone was OK.
I didn’t witness the accident, just the aftermath. Since the collision happened in the middle of the intersection, traffic was slow in all directions. We call this rubbernecking, but I’m not sure why. A rubberneck means turning your head to gawk, but that doesn’t mean you have to stop. I think Schadenfreude-Stopper is a better description.
The driver in front of me was a Schadenfreude-Stopper. He just sat there like he was going to take a picture, or maybe go live on social media to entertain a global audience of Schadenfreude-Stoppers.
“Move your ass, dipshit!”
Nobody heard me. I was alone in my car. The windows were up. I was rocking out to 21st Century (Digital Boy) by Bad Religion. Still, it felt good to give that Schadenfreude-Stopper a piece of my mind. Then I went to yoga.
In class, my teacher, who usually opens with a spiritual quote, started things off with a story from her day.
“Guys, I had a crazy experience this morning,” she said. “I almost got in a car accident.”
My teacher explained that she lives on a narrow street where people like to park big-ass SUVs within inches of your driveway. It’s impossible to see oncoming traffic when you’re exiting your driveway. Also, motorists speed down this street like they’re auditioning to be on Drive to Survive.
“I thought it was clear, so I went for it,” she said. “But as soon as I got into the street, I heard honking and screeching tires. I cut this poor guy off.”
My teacher explained that she gave him a friendly wave and mouthed an “I’m sorry.” He flipped her the bird. At the next intersection, he pulled alongside her and screamed, “Fuck you, bitch!”
There was a gasp in the room.
“No guys, it’s OK. There’s more. And I swear I’ll bring it back to yoga. Just give me a minute to land this plane.”
After the near-miss at the driveway, and the “fuck you, bitch” at the intersection, my teacher realized something.
“We belong to the same gym.”
Another gasp.
“At first I was like, I’m just gonna ignore him. But then I thought, I almost caused an accident. And OK, he reacted poorly, but it’s not like I’ve never told another driver to go fuck themselves. So I thought, I’m gonna apologize.”
Nervous laughter.
“So I walked up to him, and I apologized. It took him a moment to place me. But then I saw it all come together in his eyes. And he started yelling at me, lecturing me about how to drive and how I’m just a dumb bitch.”
“Fuck him,” said an old lady on the mat next to mine.
The class concurred. Yogis muttered insults. But our yoga teacher held up her hands.
“I said to him, ‘you know, it takes a lot for someone to go up to a stranger and apologize. And I am sorry I almost caused an accident. But that doesn’t give you the right to lecture me, or insult me.”
“Right on!” the old woman shouted.
The class cheered. Our yoga teacher was true American hero, obviously. She had us in the palm of her hands. If she asked for our vote, we’d give it to her. If she told us to follow her to the gates of hell, we’d slather ourselves in SPF 100 sunscreen and follow her lead. If she told us to stand on our heads, some of us would, but most of us would ask for a modification because inversions aren’t in our practice.
“Here’s how this connects to yoga,” she continued. “As this guy is shouting at me, just losing his shit and turning bright red, I realized, he isn’t a yogi.”
Laughter.
“I’m serious. We do yoga for a lot of reasons. But one thing yoga teaches us is how to regulate our emotions. That doesn’t mean yogis are always chill. I’ve seen some yogis rage. I’m seen some yogis start some shit. I’ve started some shit. But yoga is a practice that teaches us how to control our emotions, instead of letting our emotions control us.”
I thought about the Schadenfreude-Stopper. He was a dipshit of the first order. But instinctively giving him a piece of my mind, whether he heard it or not, didn’t do me any favors. If anything, I let my emotions give a piece of me away, and I got nothing in return. That’s a downward dog-shit deal.
“I’m not even mad about the mansplaining, or being called a bitch. There was a point in my life where I would’ve carried that shit around. Either I would’ve yelled at him, or been mad at myself for not yelling at him. Now it’s just a thing that happened. Water off a duck’s tushy. But he’s probably still angry about it, and that’s no way to live, right?”
In Business To Do Bagel Business
I’ve meaning to write about a place in Los Angeles called Courage Bagels. According to The New York Times, which thinks it can cover LA for some reason, bagel-challenged Angelenos are waiting an hour-plus in line for a bagel and shmear at Courage Bagels. That sounds ridiculous. And delicious. Plus, an hour in line with LA hipsters is bound to yield some slice of life humor. I want to write about this.
I will write about this… just as soon as I get my bestseller badge back.
Stick around and chat!
I ask, you answer
How are you feeling? Go deep! As Obi-Wan Kenobi told Luke, “Stretch out your feelings.”
Fuck that motherfucker with a used dick. (Obviously I'm not a yogi.)
This is a powerful lesson for all of us. What's just as interesting as her reaction is how others react to her reaction. It illustrates who would have done the same or who would have escalated. I used to escalate. I don't anymore. I've mellowed in recent years. When I drive 45-60 minutes to work on highways to hell, there are a lot of demons. They speed, honk, cut people off, flip the bird. I drive in the slow lane and simply observe. I can predict accidents now, like the bumper whisperer. We need more people like your teacher and more lessons like this one. Thanks for sharing, Michael!