Balancing Acts (10 page)

B
ess sat at her desk, her requisite evening cup of coffee steaming beside her. She was struggling to write a caption about an unfortunate photo of Courtney Love in a bikini. At least she had been told that this was Courtney Love. The disfigured, plastic bobblehead staring at her bore no resemblance to the Courtney Love she had grown up with.

“Rob, is it my imagination or does Courtney no longer have a belly button?” she asked. Rob got up from behind his desk, which directly faced Bess, to have a look.

“It's not your imagination,” he replied. “Jesus Christ, that's creepy.”

“Yeah, that's one word for it. Did the doctor just say to himself ‘Eh, she won't miss it'?”

Rob laughed. “I'd be surprised if she knew it was gone.”

“Yeah, except now her super secret prescription pill hiding spot has been erased by medical science. Ooh, that's my caption!”

“Nice!” encouraged Rob. “That's why they pay you the big bucks.” He returned to his seat.

Bess noticed her instant messenger dock blinking. She clicked on it. Dan! She beamed involuntarily, all thoughts of certifiably insane celebrities temporarily shelved. They had moved past their argument by basically agreeing to disagree about the article. Dan wouldn't ask and Bess wouldn't tell. Part of Bess knew that this was the equivalent of putting a Band-Aid on a broken leg, but she had decided not to focus on it. Besides, she missed the hell out of him.

 

 

Dan was coming in three days. Bess had a countdown going.

 

 

Bess's grin threatened to crack her jaw as she read Dan's plan.

 

 

Her fingers pounded into the keyboard like nails.

 

 

Her entire body was coiled to spring. It was all she could do not to put her monitor in a half nelson. She couldn't believe Dan was being such a condescending asshole. And all because he would have to brew his own coffee on Saturday. Men really were transparent.

 

 

Bess clicked out of IM. The thought of continuing this asinine conversation gave her a headache. She and Dan should just stick to their plan of agreeing to disagree. There were plenty of times that Bess had read Dan's screenplays and cringed inwardly. Had she always been kind in her critiques? Yes. Okay, except maybe once, when she laughed out loud at a premise that Dan considered to be avant garde but was really just obnoxiously pretentious.

She knew her article was no Pulitzer Prize contender, but she did think it had potential. It wasn't just a puff piece. And all of Dan's talk about the unethical nature of “betraying” these women was horseshit. Ugh, just thinking about Dan and his smug judgments from LA—the capital of unethical bullshit—made her want to scream.

“Hey Bess, you okay?” asked Rob, breaking her out of her head space.

She looked up to answer him. “Uh, yeah, why?”

“Because your face is the color of a tomato,” he answered. “And you're crouched over your keyboard like a prize fighter.”

“Oh,” said Bess, attempting to straighten her posture. She so wanted to tell Rob about Dan's asshole-like behavior, but she couldn't. She wanted to keep her article idea to herself. She couldn't stomach another opinion at this point.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just trying to figure out what I'm going to do with Dan this weekend.”
Besides drown him in the bathtub,
she added to herself.

“He's coming?” asked Rob. “Awesome. You must be psyched!”

Bess laughed. “Yeah. It will be great to see him.” And it would be. They just couldn't talk about the article.

Rob switched off his computer. “Looks like it's closing time,” he said. “Time to slide down the dinosaur's tale and into the night.” Bess looked at her computer clock. How was it already seven?

“Don't stay too late,” he warned, as he stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Courtney Love will still be a mess tomorrow. There's no need to break your neck over today's caption.” He patted Bess on the head as he headed toward the door.

“Truer words were never spoken. Bye, Rob!”

Bess stood up for a moment, stretching her arms toward the ceiling. She had to loosen up and move on from the Dan disaster if she wanted to get any work done.

She sat again and faced her computer screen. She couldn't shake the feeling that maybe she wasn't that different from these women at all. She too had sold out in order to make a living in this city. She worked at a tabloid magazine for chrissake. That was a far cry from Christiane Amanpour.

No!
she reprimanded herself. She had shelved some of her dreams, but only temporarily. After all, here she was still doggedly pursuing them. Inevitably, her mind shifted gears to Dan. What would continuing their relationship do to her dreams? If he was already pulling rank about her article ideas, what was to stop him from sabotaging her entire future with his negativity? And what if he wasn't even legitimately unconvinced about this article, after all? What if he was more concerned about her free time being sucked up by her outside interests instead of him? His overreaction to the fact that she couldn't miss her yoga class was pretty telling, after all. Maybe beneath his sensitive, writer's facade he was just a selfish, chauvinistic pig. Should she just break up with him now?

She clicked into her photos and pulled a picture of them up on the screen. She studied his face, wondering if evil lurked beneath its handsome surface. She had a look at herself as well, cringing slightly at the smitten, love-soaked grin plastered across her face. Was that the smile of a serious career woman?! No. She sighed heavily and closed the picture.

She had to focus. No doubts and no man (
Dan, are you listening!?!?)
was going to veer her off track.

G
ood mornin', ladies,” greeted Charlie, as Sabine, Bess, and Naomi sat on their mats, watching her as expectantly as Saturday morning at 9
AM
allowed.

“So, I was searching for a way to open class today,” said Charlie. “The perfect quote or frame of mind to launch you back into this new world of yoga. On my bookshelf was a dog-eared copy of Aristotle's
Nicomachean Ethics
. From college, no less. Have you guys read it?”

Sabine nodded. “Yep, in college. Humanities. Pretty epic stuff.”

“Indeed,” answered Charlie. “I had completely forgotten. Anyway, I was particularly moved by what Aristotle has to say about moral virtue and balance.” She paused, noticing Bess's discomfort.

“Bess, stay with me here, I promise this will make sense in a minute.” Bess laughed nervously. She really had to be more careful about her facial expressions.

“He talks at length about how moral virtue is about striking a balance—‘hitting the mean between two extremes,'” Charlie continued. “He then goes on to say, more or less, that everyone's balance is relative to themselves. There is no universal, inarguable mean that everyone should strive for. The best we can do is be conscious of what
extreme
means to us and always lean back toward the middle to regain our balance.” Charlie paused for emphasis.

“On some level, this same premise can be applied to yoga. Sabine, your sense of balance is not going to be the same as Naomi's. And Bess, yours is not going to be the same as mine. The best we can do is connect with our inner equilibrium and encourage it. Here, in class, and beyond—in our everyday lives.”

Charlie smiled. “Sorry to ramble on, but I tend to get a bit nerdy when old school thoughts are so incredibly applicable, you know?” Sabine, Naomi, and Bess nodded in agreement.

“Okay, let's begin,” said Charlie, as she took them into breathing.

As they moved through their mountains, trees, and triangles, Sabine struggled to maintain her positions. Her mind was elsewhere. Subway Crush to be exact. Tonight was their date and she could barely contain her anticipation. They hadn't spoken all week, which worried her. What if he stood her up tonight and she could never take the subway again? Inevitably, she was also worried about the real Zach vs. Subway Crush. How could he possibly live up to the standards she had set for him? It was practically impossible. By the same token, what about the real Sabine vs. Subway Girl? Were they already doomed from the get-go?

“Hey Sabine, you okay?” asked Charlie, suddenly by her side and attempting to lengthen her back and adjust her hips. “You seem a little tense today.”

“Who, me?” asked Sabine, clearly flustered by Charlie's critique. “I just,” she paused and released her position in defeat, “I just don't think I'm very good at this.”

“What? ‘Good' at this?” Charlie laughed, shook her head and lowered her voice. “Honey, there is no ‘good' or ‘bad' in yoga. You have to stop thinking that way. Your sense of equilibrium is inherently your own, remember? Just aim for that connection here.”

Sabine looked at Charlie quizzically. What she wanted to say was, “Okay, Yoda, thanks for the tip,” but what she said aloud was, “I know, I know. On paper that makes sense but on the mat it's a bit more difficult.” She motioned to Naomi, who was moving through her positions like Mikhail Baryshnikov. “I mean, when you're up against that. . .”

“But see, you're right back to that way of thinking!” scolded Charlie, her voice rising in frustration. “You're not ‘up against' anyone! C'mon, Sabine, work with me here. Really try to connect with yourself. Humor me.”

“Okay, I'll try. I have to switch the natural flow of my brain to get to the natural flow of my body I guess. Or something.”

Charlie clapped and smiled. “That's exactly it,” she whispered. “Exactly that.” She moved away from Sabine to continue her loop around the studio.

Bess's grin stretched from ear to ear, like a demented jack-o'-lantern. Dan's arrival had catapulted her into a universe of elation. They hadn't mentioned her article once since he had arrived. They hadn't really done much talking at all, actually. She took a deep breath, relishing the lingering tingles of last night's events.

Sex,
she thought.
Really good sex.
It was all she could do not to hump the door frame of the studio in excitement. All the stress of that week, all the doubt about her relationship with Dan and her independence. . .poof! Gone. She assumed tree position and marveled at the elasticity of her post-romp muscles. She had crawled out of bed that morning like a cat burglar, quietly gathering her things and even waiting until she was outside in the hallway to zip her jacket and climb into her galoshes.

Of course, she knew why she was escaping her apartment with such unnecessary skill, but she didn't feel like thinking about it then. Although she had told Dan ahead of time about her yoga class—memories of their IM blowout still haunted her—she hadn't exactly reminded him the night before.
Why ruin the moment?
she had thought to herself. She had left a note on the bathroom mirror with the promise of bagels upon her return, but she couldn't be sure how Dan would react. Hopefully he was over his high-and-mighty ethical stance and had just accepted her decision. If not, well. . .she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she would continue to marinate in her postcoital bliss.

Charlie turned her attention to Bess. Bess was a strange one. She seemed to be the very definition of tightly wound. Charlie had seen her rolling her eyes on more than one occasion, so why was she here? Maybe she wanted to change those tendencies within herself. Or maybe she wanted Madonna arms—which was usually the case with the less than spiritually inclined. Either way, Charlie was glad to have her. She loved watching the ones like Bess learn to open their minds through yoga.

It reminded Charlie of her own initial struggles with the practice. She was so busy doubting it that she had consistently missed out on its benefits. It was only after a huge fight with Neil and an ensuing yoga retreat to “prove” to him her openness that she had let herself go and surrendered to yoga's powers. The rest, as they say, was history.

Charlie circled Naomi, watching her with satisfaction. She really was a natural. Naomi, however, was battling evil thoughts about Gene and Mini-Noah. She was also hypersensitive to her body's reactions to the poses. Last week's sensations had thrown her for a loop, even though she was relatively back to normal now. Her body felt familiar again, but still unnaturally fatigued. It was becoming harder and harder for her to get out of bed in the morning.

It's just the winter blahs. Plus, the whole Mini-Noah thing, which I really need to just chill out about. It's a freakin' doll for chrissake. But why didn't Noah suggest that I take his mini to yoga class? That would have been cool. Or to. . .wait, where else do I go? To my desk to work on lame websites?
Naomi envisioned the sad Mini-Noah album she would produce.

She could just see Noah in class, showing it to his peers, mumbling through it in an effort to mask his embarrassment: “And here's Mini-Noah watching
The Hills
, despite himself. Here he is going to the grocery store with his coupons. And here he is coveting a bag in the window at one of the ludicrously overpriced boutiques on my block.” Naomi giggled to herself, but mostly she was a bit horrified by the lack of variety or spice in her life. Did her son think she was boring?

“Hey Naomi,” said Charlie, who was suddenly beside her, “take it easy. Slow and steady.”

Naomi broke out of her thoughts. “Oh, right! Sorry, I lost myself for a moment.” She attempted to regain some sense of Zen, but her doubts were working themselves into a frenzy.

“Today, we're going to segue into Surya Namaskar, or sun salutations,” explained Charlie. “The sun salute is a series of twelve vinyasas, or postures, performed in a single flow. Most of these postures are going to be new to you, so we'll take it slow.”

The tips of Naomi's fingers grazed the floor as she followed Charlie. She was still trapped by thoughts of Mini-Noah, only now, she had moved from self-doubt to raging anger.

Boring!?! I'll show him boring!
she thought. Naomi tried to breathe deeply in an attempt to escape from the boiling cauldron of her mind. She wasn't boring per se, but her life was admittedly “small.” It revolved around Noah for the most part. She knew that it was time to let go of him a little, to return to her ideas about her own happiness pre-Noah, but it was not an easy feat. He was her baby boy.

God, how did I get here?
Naomi asked herself, exhausted by her interior wrestling match.
From Mini-Noah to my boring existence to my resentment of Gene's freedom to my realization that I need to get a life to utter exhaustion to the tips of my toes? All in less than an hour?
She breathed deeply. Yoga was a workout in more ways than one. No wonder she was exhausted.

Oh, so this is what downward facing dog is
, thought Bess as her blood rushed to her head. Before this class, it was the only yoga position that she had heard of.

Charlie walked over to Sabine and placed her hands under her lower back, lifting her gently. “Just a little further,” she coaxed. “Nice, Sabine.”

As Charlie then led them into plank pose, Bess's arms quaked from the pressure.
I hope the next move involves sitting on my ass,
she thought, as a bead of sweat wobbled precariously on the edge of her nose before falling to its demise on her mat below.

“From here, we move into Ashtanga Namaskara, or the knees-chest-chin pose,” said Charlie.

Enough already with the yoga names!
thought Sabine.
Like we're going to remember them, anyway!
Her triceps felt like Jell-O. She wanted to inflict pain upon Charlie. Smug, yogi Charlie, with her ropy arms and what looked like a six-pack underneath her shirt.

“Exhale and bend your knees to the floor. Next, lower your chest and chin to the floor as well. Keep your chest open and your elbows close to the side of your rib cage. That's it, Naomi, nice work! From here, we move into Bhujangasana, or cobra. Everyone, focus on pulling your tummy up and toward the back of your spine. Good, very good,” she encouraged. “Now, let's repeat it on our left sides.”

Nooooooo, damn you, evil womannnnn,
thought Naomi. Her arms felt like limp noodles, as she begrudgingly followed along.

Please, please let this be the last part of class,
thought Bess.
I promise I'll be nice all week,
she added. Her postcoital happiness seemed like a distant memory. She looked over at Sabine and Naomi. Their faces registered the same sort of frustrated exhaustion.
At least I'm not alone here,
she thought, before plunging her left leg back.

When they had finished, Charlie led them into child's pose on their mats. With their knees bent and their torsos extended over them as far as they could go, they all relished the release.

Ahh, I love this one,
thought Sabine. The stretch was so comforting and restorative. Sabine wasn't sure what came first, the posture or its name, but they were the perfect match. It reminded her of nap time in first grade—that feeling of being sweaty and tired from recess. Mrs. Wheeler would dim the lights, Sabine would drift off to what couldn't have been more than a half hour's sleep, and she would wake up to iced animal crackers and apple juice. Heaven.

Charlie led the class through their seated stretches and into corpse pose on their mats. As they all cooled down with their eyes closed, she circled the studio and ran her fingers from the bridges of their noses to the tips of their foreheads, her fingers forming a
V
.

Holy cow that feels good,
thought Naomi, as Charlie completed her caress. All of her tension seemed to evaporate under the pleasant pressure of Charlie's fingers. Amazing.

As they returned to their seated positions, Charlie returned to the front of the studio.

“Thanks for being here today,” she said. “I hope that you can take a sense of your own balance through the week. Remember to strive for it, even when the hustle and bustle of New York makes you want to scream.” She smiled.

“Namaste.”

“Namaste,” they repeated, smiling back.