At my yoga class yesterday we had a new teacher. She was blonde and perky and looked like not-a-New Yorker. It was her first time ever teaching yoga. She was pretty nervous at the start, but then I guess she remembered her soundtrack, which apparently affected her psyche… and mine.
In yoga, if there is music, it’s usually of the zen-buddha lounge type. Nothing too boisterous or distracting. But this woman had a different style. Her chosen soundtrack was a compilation of country music (honky-tonk variety), hard rock, and David Gray. And as the music blared, her voice rose to meet, and exceed it, transforming what is normally a centering, meditative hour into cacophony and stress. One student got up and walked out five minutes after the music started. She was the smart one because she missed the teacher turning from demure to drill sergeant. It was physically the weakest yoga I’ve ever done, but mentally, it was exhausting!
And on the subway ride home, I had the pleasure of bearing witness to the “I’m the only person in the country who can do this” entertainer. His special (and let’s not forget unique) talent: he makes the ding-dong sound the train makes just before the doors shut.