Surrounded by 12 other hotties this morning, I melted into the reflection of my darted eyes and sweaty-necked body. There, thirteen beautiful frames and torsos stood ready: a variety of gender, race, body type, mental style, intellectual perspective and emotional experience. We fell forward together, rose up together and found motion together.
I define us hotties, only per the 99 degree room temperature and hot yoga flow. We are makeup-and-done-up-free (hell, I hadn’t washed my hair in five days).
I f-ing disgust the term hottie in a social tense, but will riddle-it-for-good within my yoga practice (and vow to stop supporting it as a demeaning and narrowed noun). After all, we drip sweat because it is so damn hard.
We are forced to hold steady in the poses of ourselves, both individually and collectively. There are postures we love and positions we hate within ourselves, and because we have no other destination than being human, we judge others within these motions, too. But, on our mats, we learn how to find our way out of ridicule and rightness, and begin to balance our inner and outer dialogue. When we waver, we recognize and lift the strength within someone to our left or right. When we are solid, we appreciate and honor the inspiration given from someone in the front or back row.
We stand to see and hear and know more than we did the moment before.
It’s super hot (or cool) when we discover ways to bring this type of dignity and belonging off our mats and out into the world, with nothing made-up or over-done; a variety of gender, race, body type, mental style, intellectual perspective and emotional experience. We fall forward together, rise up together and find our motion together.
We let sweat drip because we know there is a long, deep road of introspection and healing mirrored up in front of us.