why are we here?

Today we had to introduce ourselves to the group.
I hate doing this, here or anywhere.

The Japanese are so lucky. The stand up and say, “I am love the bikram and I will transforming” and the crowd accepts this as adequate explanation of their relationship with the yoga and lets them sit down.
English speakers don’t fare so well. We are expected to provide thoughtful, rational, and sometimes even profound reasons as to why we started this practice and now choose to teach it. Basically, why are we here?

I don’t even know how to begin to answer that question. To me, it is akin to asking me why I am in love with someone. I’d be most inclined to point out NOT their attributes/the things I adore, but their flaws/the things I loathe. Because what fascinates me about loving anything or anyone is the compulsion to stick around when its so much easier to leave.
Nothing is all that shiny or perfect. Not even bikram yoga. I can't explain anything about that feeling--the need or want or love of something.
Its just a mysterious force that makes me, time and again, return to the scene of the crime.

For some the answers were simple. The road from rehab to bikram teacher seems to be a straight, if not easy, path. There isn’t any meandering or taking the scenic route. It is clear, direct, and easily articulated. I will now say something that will produce the world’s largest collective cringe:

I find myself envying the addicts.

For better for worse, they know why they’re here. They are ripe with purpose and discipline and passion. And, more enviable still, they are well practiced in the art of standing up in front of groups of strangers, introducing themselves, and revealing the most intimate portraits of their lives.

I’ve been known to eat far too much and I used to smoke like a european, but that stuff is child’s play. After a woman shares a harrowing tale of the crack addiction that almost claimed her life and the heroic strides she took to clean herself up….well, “hi. I’m Christine, I used to smoke cigarettes” just seems a bit dull. It lacks a certain panache.

As the microphone draws nearer and nearer to me….
As I ponder more and more how incapable I am of answering any question beyond “what is your name”….
As I begin to worry more and more that i'm just some silly girl pursuing a trend….
The worst in my character bubbles and boils.

A woman before me tells a story that begins with divorce and chemotherapy and ends with a desire to teach yoga and end world suffering...and all I can think is, “show off.”

It says nothing about these nice people, but speaks volumes about ME, that I actually created some kind of creepy meritocracy about who has the more appropriate reason to be in hawaii. But this is what I do when put in situations where I am intimidated by other people’s candor and nakedness and willingness to be revealing in ways I would never even consider being.
I become critical and judgmental and heady.
I have to alienate myself from the goings on and act as commentator rather than participant. It’s a horrible trait, but--in my defense--if I didn’t silently comment and distance myself from everyone, I’d have to understand how fragile and painful this experience of life is for them. And, in doing so, i'd have to understand how fragile and painful it is for me, too.
That's the catch.
The two are are inseperable.
And therein lies the problem.
i'm cool with the one...but i'm not at all comfortable with the other.

And for anyone feeling sorry for all the sweet gentle souls trapped at yoga camp with the heartless bitch writing this blog.....don't worry...nobody in the world loves the underdog more than i do. Ask anyone. I'll adore every single one of these lunatics before all is said and done. Mark my words. i'll go home with all of their addresses. And i'll write them old fashioned letters and send them in the mail.