He leans to his left look to around me — and, by extension, through me.
So it feels when you’re the odd man out: the lone traveler, the know-no-one tourist, the solo pub-goer who looks so distinctly out of place but more by his uncomfortable mannerisms than his outward appearance.
We are, after all, in Cardiff, Wales, and he and I look more alike than we do different.
The young man looks up with an honest smile.
“Just having a look at my things!” he says. His jacket and bag are tucked away in the corner of the old pub, named The City Arms, which lie adjacent to Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium.
“I’ll guard ‘em for ya,” I say.
He thanks me with a laugh and carries on, and I watch him for a moment gravitate like a mayor between handfuls of fellow pub-goers who figure to be his friends. I take back to my position standing there, beer in one hand, jacket in the other, looking up to the television where being played is the match going on next door as Wales’ national rugby team squares off against the nation of Tonga.
The more that I’ve heard myself talk about it to friends and clients lately, the more honest I’ve been trying to be about the truth behind my relationship to yoga.
I HATE IT.
Most of the time.
Okay, “hate” may be strong. I don’t full on hate yoga, but it sure feels like it most of the time when I’m in the act of practicing yoga. It’s tough, straining, occasionally embarrassing or just flat out frustrating.
And yet, I hear myself talking about yoga in such high regards. I say things like “I love yoga” and “Yoga is so great for X, Y, Z.” And in truth, I really do love yoga and all it’s benefits: mental, emotional, spiritual, physical, and on the list goes.
But the truth of it?
Most days, I’m cursing yoga. Not “loving” it. I’m on my mat peaking behind my shoulder to see when this 75 minute class will end. I’m literally cursing under my breath with frustration for my body won’t go into a certain pose, or I realize that my breath is too short and shallow, or I realize that I’m thinking about what I’m thinking instead of just going into some blissful, automated mode of “just being.”
The truth is that yoga is a pain in the ass!
About few weeks ago, I posted a passing thought on my personal Facebook page.
I want to be a part of 50 conversations on topics that matter, all recorded, all with different hosts, all to go live in January to kick off the new year with a bang. I see them being less-formal, less-promotional, less pointed than interviews — more like “conversations anchored in a purpose.” Nothing prescripted or prepared. Maybe there’s one idea, thesis or story that kicks them off, and 20-30 minutes later, we end up somewhere that we probably didn’t intend.
About forty enthusiastic responses later, a new experimental project is born. I’m calling it, “Conversations Anchored in Purpose.”
I want to extend the invitation to you here today.
I would be honored to be hosted in a recorded conversation for your personal blog, podcast or website — no matter the size, readership, “professionalism” or any other factor that you might think “disqualifies” you from the onset.