I don’t handle stress well. Never have. And when I say stress, I don’t mean the big and obvious life stresses. Those, well those, I manage to somehow deal with. Don’t ask me how. I cope. But it’s the ridiculously little and mundane stresses that are killing me. Things like: the sweater I sent Pea to school in didn’t make it home with her, or the manicurist opens at 9:30 and it’s now 10:00 and I’m not there yet, oh my God I might actually have to wait my turn. These are the things that keep me up at night, that weigh heavily on my shoulders. And it’s always been this way.

But I don’t want it to be this way any longer. Honestly, being around someone as tightly wound as I can be, at times, can’t be a lot of fun. So I’ve been toying with the idea of trying yoga. Again. And before you roll your eyes and make some comment about the cliche of it all, let me add here that yoga and I have been skirting one another closely for years, due to the close relationship between other family members and it.

My father has made a living out of the fitness industry. He’s a brilliant businessman and has always been one step ahead of the current exercise trends. In the 80s, it was aerobics, in the 90s it was yoga. A friend turned him onto Hatha as a way to deal with chronic back-pain he’d been suffering with for decades. And it worked. So he did what any person would do. He bought a series of yoga studios in and around New York City. But he was too far ahead of the pack at this point, so he ended up selling them off, keeping just one “wellness” center. I guess it was too difficult at that point to turn a good profit. But in the interim, he became certified himself as an instructor and now teaches specialized yoga classes for cancer patients and survivors. Pretty cool, if you knew my dad. He’s so straight. No bends. And he’s a yogi. Have to laugh at that. So you see, yoga and I know each other well. Over the years, there have been lots of classes at my father’s studios, lots of private sessions with his instructors, and I just never took to it. I’m competitive by nature, I can make a contest out of any situation, and although I know it’s not the most lovable quality about me, I cannot stop it. It’s the way I’m wired. And when you add my father into the mix, it’s one big game. Who is the better skier? Who runs the fastest? Who can bend the bend-iest? And so yoga, with all of it’s “do what’s right for you-ness” just didn’t cut it. So I’d pick up the practice and then let go of it. Repeat, ad nauseam.

But now? I’m trying again. I’m coming at it from a different angle, too. It’s not for fitness. That’s just an added benefit. It’s for peace of mind. Ahhh. Peace of mind. Something I have not had in years, maybe never. We’ve hired a part-time nanny to come in on Fridays to help out and while she’s here you’ll find me at the nearest yoga studio. Working on peace of mind.

Pea, at about one, doing downward-facing dog. Not really, but it looks like it, right?