First
of all, yes, that was the longest open I have ever written in any letter.
Second, there was a time in my life where your
little stunt would have pissed me off for days. I have a pathological sort of
issue with any of my personal space being invaded in any way by anyone. Throw
alcohol, obnoxious behavior, and the fact that I don't even know your names
into the mix, and the old me would have been crying "victim" while I
hunted you down just so I could have you arrested for what I am sure was
way-over-the-legal-limit drunk driving. My only goal: to eff up your day as
hard and for as long-term as possible.
But
you caught me mid-transformation, you little asshats. (Note: My transformation
does not preclude me from calling an asshat an asshat when the label fits), and
on this day, at this moment, here is my message to you:
I
hate to break it to you, but if selling my stuff for liquor and drug money was
your goal, the mat and carrying bag together are probably worth about $20.
So
instead of engaging in what I am assuming is your typical "F*%$ the world
and everyone in it" mentality (if what I saw of your behavior this morning
was any indication) try this:
Remove
my cherished yoga mat from it's carrying case. The carrying case I searched for
for 8 months, until I finally found one that slung perfectly over my bad
shoulder at just the right angle and landed in just the right spot to allow me
to lug it from yoga place to yoga place. Once you've removed my mat, unroll it
with a quick snap, and listen to the sound it makes as it hits the air and then
settles onto the floor. I always loved being in that particular moment, that
familiar sound that told me I was about to begin something amazing and
necessary.
After
you've placed my mat on the floor, look at it. See the words "Peace"
and "Joy" and "Love" printed on it. Know that I have been
looking down at those words for the past 5 years, every time I've stepped on my
mat in search of comfort and in search of some deeper, more loving part of
myself. In search of healing and truth. In search of compassion for myself and
for others. Next, take off your shoes and socks (this is non-negotiable), then
stand on my mat. Picture my bare feet - my little, pale, post-ballet
shoes/bunion covered feet, stepping around the words. Or standing on them.
Whatever I needed at the time.
Then
close your eyes. And breathe deeply. And stop listening to everything around
you. Listen only to whatever it is you hear when you go inside yourself.
Because in moments like this, you are what you hear. And if you hear nothing,
as I suspect is the case, then you, my friends, have a whole lot of work to do.
And my mat can help you with that.
Now
move your feet until they land on either side of the word that represents the
thing thing you most want and need. Is it peace? Or Joy? Or Love? My guess is,
you want and need all three. But guess what? So do I. So does everyone. Acting
out doesn't make you any different - well, I mean, it makes you dumber, of
course. And like ... a walking felony waiting to happen. But inside, we are all
the same. We all want and need the same things, and for pretty much the same
reasons.
When you open your eyes, know this single truth: You didn't steal anything from me this morning. I certainly have $20. I am not so attached to a piece of rubber and a piece of cloth than I can't easily replace my stuff at Target. And you didn't even steal my belief in humanity, or anything like that. Because I know how dark and ugly the world can be, so crap like this never surprises me any more. Even when it happens inisde my carefully constructed little "personal space bubble." These days, it only unsettles me for a short while, and then I move on. Without anger. Without sadness. WIthout much of anything. Including ... as you well know ... my yoga mat.
What you stole this morning was much bigger than my yoga mat, and cost way more than $20. And you stole it from yourselves. Because when I first saw you from across the gym, you looked to me to be two sad, empty drunk guys without much to look forward to today, other than blowing donuts in the gym parking lot and taking off with a used yoga mat in a faded shoulder bag. I bet no one else on earth even wondered where you were this morning. I suspect no one even cared. And it's possible that I am wrong, but you robbed yourselves and each other of the opportunity to ever prove me wrong. You lived up to my first impression assumptions about who you were. And who you weren't. (I'm guessing you were too smashed to wonder if I was a writer. With a few social media accounts. And clearly a little more work to do with the "letting go of grudges" part of my personal transformation. Yet one more way sobreity could have benefitted you at 4am on a Tuesday morning.)
So,
To the two drunk guys who wandered into my gym this morning and harassed the
trainer before getting kicked out and proceeding to go through my car, recline
my front seats, dump what I assume (and hope!) was water all over my console,
and then steal my yoga mat out of my back seat,
My
yoga mat is now your yoga mat. Because I have decided to give it to you. Since
you won't make any money selling it, maybe you'll take up a daily practice
instead. Crazier things have happened. Should you find your way to that path, I
would encourage you to wash your mat in warm water on the gentle cycle about
every two weeks, and - very important - you must not put it in the dryer or it
will melt. Just drape it over a chair, then, when it is dry, roll a Downy dryer
sheet inside it before you put it back in its bag - a little yoga mat trick to
keep it smelling fresh.
Dukkha
muccantu. Namaste.
