Hi, love.
I suspect our messages crossed in the mail, and that you didn’t read my last note before sending me your latest invitation. Because if you did, my benevolent bandanna bearing boy, you would know that my ability to just pick up and join you in a week of sweaty yoga sessions and deep thoughts has been severely compromised by motherhood.
Nevertheless, you send me an invitation to this:
Baron Baptiste’s Teacher’s Bootcamp is an exclusive hands-on opportunity for those who understand that a yoga teacher’s deepest responsibility – and ultimate reward – is the ability to transform the lives of individuals seeking physical and spiritual growth – leading them to a healthier state of existence.
Kindly, you suggest that ”This is a process of total immersion and transformation for those who want to teach and even for those who don’t.” Even for those who don’t. So, inclusive, while at the same time, being exclusive. As usual, you’ve got me all turned around and fluttery, Baron.
Honestly, you had me at exceptional standards and personal attention. Would you actually be there to assist me into a more precise crow or dancer’s bow? And, like, touch me? Squeee!
And then, you threw in Hawaii. The BIG ISLAND. How did you know that the only reason I agreed to have Pitter was so that we could guide him towards becoming a high-powered attorney/speciality surgeon/corporate bitch so that he can buy me and Sweet Cheeks a retirement home in Hawaii? That’s how much I love Hawaii, Baron.
Look at these beautiful people, mats jammed so close together, sweating together, truly, “Lives Touched in a Moment – and Transformed Forever.” Who can resist this siren call to grow more than I could ever imagine? Have you been keeping up with my blog and recent foray into therapy? I want to be more than I can imagine. It sounds marvelous.
But.
But.
Then there’s this stuff about those who attend this training bootcamp demanding (demanding!) more of yourselves and each other than anyone could reasonably expect. Let’s pause on this sentence, shall we?: More than anyone could reasonably expect. Combine this idea with your insistence, nay, expectation, that I show up at my best, every minute of every day, and we have a problem.
Every minute, Baron? Every single minute, even while asleep? I’ve gotta be honest. I’m a scatterbrain since becoming a mother. I can’t focus for 1440 minutes for every day I’m in Hawaii. I haven’t slept a full night in almost two years. I’m suffering from mild depression. It’s more than anyone could reasonably expect, pretzel man.
And so, yet again, I must decline your exceptional offer. May your backbends be bendy and your hands stay soft. Even when you’re practicing on rough, callousy volcano detritus.
Don’t forget about me. Somehow, someday, when the time is right, we’ll find the time to come together.
Kisses.
Me.
1 Comment
February 5, 2009 at 11:48 am
[...] at this point in our relationship I feel like you’re just not listening to me. Let’s face it: we’re just not as close as we used to be and your bandanna’d [...]