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...was the joke that preceded a pretty pretzelly move that I didn't really get that far into BUT MAN there was this guy who nailed it. And then even the reverse, where you put your hand under the opposite way. Don't even try to figure out what I'm saying, even I don't know what-all was going on and I was there. But there were limbs doing things I've never seen limbs do in Real Life. I was supposed to be working on my own remedial version, but all I wanted to do was stare.
Actually, what I really wanted to do was say, "damn you really are a circus freak!" But can you believe some people wouldn't think that was a compliment?
For me, it would be a dream come true to be one of those acrobats in the circus. So much so that romantic childhood fantasies of running away with the circus are an official part of my professional bio (and today I work at a radio station so technically I did eventually run away with the circus!). And if I had some money I'd go to circus school--we really do have a legit one in Philly. Do not even try to tell me that trapeze isn't a marketable job skill.
Because yes, from an early age I wanted to be able to do all the flips and aerial acrobatics and bendy stuff. Back then I was too chickenshit to try it, still being possessed of a healthy fear of death, so my attempts at gymnastics usually involved overwhelming fear and then crying. But now! Now, after having one too many stories that end in, "and then I almost got stabbed," and spending two years merging onto the Schuylkill Expressway at the old South Street Bridge, I'm not all that chickenshit about death anymore. Plus, I've done enough things that I figure I'll leave an interesting obituary, and that helps.
But also in the past few years I've begun to embrace oddity as something to celebrate and cherish. Weird, right? Well, yeah, that's kind of the point. I love the faces of students at Career Day five seconds after they hear me say, "oh yeah I'm a colossal weirdo." Who says that like it's something to be proud of, right? There's so much pressure everywhere, not just high school, to have The Right Life. To have the right clothes, the right job, the right partner, raise your kids the right way, like the right things so you'll be just like everyone else. Maybe it was because early on I realized that I was never going to do everything the right way. Probably it's because I did run away with the circus after all: it's an inside joke we often tell ourselves, that all of us are in radio because we don't belong anywhere else. So the odd-outsider perspective is an unusual one, which makes us interesting? Or maybe being strange makes us relate-able? For me, the people that are odd are the only ones who can surprise you, so I try to bring people's weirdness out by showing them how okay I am with mine. I approach it like, I'll wave you my freak flag if you wave me yours, and then we can all just chill. Free to be you and me and all that.
Which is why I love when yoga classes almost morph into circus school--I'm kinda getting to know which teacher is more prone to that and making sure I get to those classes. Especially in the higher-level classes, it can become "let's see what we can get up into tonight." I hear a lot of people who don't want to do yoga because they "don't need to be a contortionist." But that's the appeal for me. I want to get to the point where I can bust out a ridiculous move at parties, like, "oh, that? Boom."
So enough with all the enlightenment/epiphany/get-out-of-your-rut crap. The 30-Day Yoga Challenge now has a new goal: I want another freak notch on my belt! If for no other reason than when we go to workshops and do those stupid icebreakers where you have to tell the stranger next to you something about yourself, I'll be able to say, "I'm a classically trained operatic soprano who once beat her male friends at swordfighting at the Ren Faire. Would you like to see me put my foot behind my head?"
Further misadventures at the 30-Day yoga Challenge page.
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