Happy Yogi

I often tell myself that if I had a trust fund, I’d be a yoga instructor and a travel writer. Although I titter and quickly change the subject when I tell practical folks about my less-than-lucrative calling in life, it’s true. I think I’d make a decent travel writer, even though a handful of obligated family members, a well-intentioned friend or two, and an odd stalker-type ex-boyfriend might be the only people to read my work. I have no idea whether I’d be an inspiring yoga teacher or not, or if I would accidentally break someone’s spine.

Basically, had been born with a silver spoon rather than to divorced parents who struggled to pay the rent, I’d be way more Type B than my current corporate job and focus on maxing out my Roth IRA contributions and employer 401k match might suggest. I would have moved to Boulder to flit about in a drum circle on Pearl Street Mall. Maybe I’d be writing about life force rather than how too many nonprofit workplaces resemble Milgram experiments. Instead of looking to Suze Orman and The Harvard Business Review for sage wisdom, I’d sign up for a retreat with Deepak Chopra.

I know this all sounds awfully cheeky, but it’s not too far from the truth. I spent the first 30 years of my life constantly broke, either because my family was living on the financial edge, I was in college or grad school or serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Southern Africa, or I was travelling around the world with little more than a passport and a backpack.

Over the past five years, though, I’ve settled into a comfortable, practical, lovely life in South Minneapolis. I love my husband, our two dogs, my job, and being financially stable. We shop at a local food co-op and go to the gym together after work. Last month we started experimenting with a Breville juicer and we recently purchased a new memory foam mattress during a Macy’s sale. Cruising to Home Depot in our Ford Focus station wagon, we wonder when we should replace the windows in our house and whether to paint our new front door plantation brown or shaker red.

Things feel a bit too vanilla lately (or heron plume, as they might say at Sherwin-Williams), but my supportive, non-yogi husband wants me to be happy. Not too long ago, he sent me a Star Tribune article about an unlikely CorePower Yoga instructor named Ken and asked me to think about signing up for yoga teacher training.

Ken is a retired corporate executive who found yoga and later became a yoga instructor. I know I’m not Ken, but next week I’m starting an eight-week, 200-hour Vinyasa Flow Teacher Training course at CorePower Yoga. While I’m not about to quit my day job, I think it’s time to pursue the path I’ve been tittering about for the past three years. Oh sure, I’m not the best yogi in Lululemons, but why not put myself out there? Give it a go. If teaching yoga doesn’t feel like a good fit, then at least I tried. And who knows? Maybe I’ll connect with other people pursuing a life of balance, health, and wellness, too.