Why Are You Here? Don’t answer that.
The odds are good that if you’ve attended more than a handful of yoga classes, your instructor has begun the session by asking you to pause and ponder your intention for being there. Like any earnest yoga teacher, I’ve brought up the idea of intention in just about every class. One day it occurred to me that it would be a good question to ask in Zumba, in the weight room, and in cycle class, too. After all, who wants to live with intention during yoga and be random and clueless everywhere else? So I began asking this question more and more often, and in more and more places. (After a few weeks of experimentation, I concluded it was not a good question to ask in public toilets or in the parking lots of seedy motels.)
At first, the idea of asking about intention in class was a sort of “keep the answer in your head” kind of project. But one day I got curious to hear the answers.
“Why are you here?” I challenged the students before me. I’m not sure whether it was a good idea or a recipe for instant humility, but it gave me some keen insights about the weird, wacky, and wonderful reasons people have for suiting up, paying up, and showing up in class. Do any of them sound like you?
“I want to improve my flexibility / endurance / ability to escape wild animals.”
“I live two blocks away.”
“Because if I exercise for three hours, I can have pizza AND wine.”
“Traffic doesn’t settle down until 7, so I might as well work out.”
“My doctor / mom / voices in my head made me come.”
“Two months from now, I have to fit into this bikini / wedding dress / airplane seat, or the world as I know it will end.”
“I can’t face the girlfriend / psycho cat / arrest warrant that’s waiting for me at home.”
“It’s a good place to meet women / express my masochistic tendencies /drop heavy pieces of metal on the floor while admiring my pecs.”
“My friend / wife / carpool buddy had a Groupon / two-for-one deal / heart attack, so it seemed like a sign that I should start working out.”
“I’m here to sit at the feet of the Ancient One.” (I was trying to decide whether to be insulted or flattered by this response, and then I realized that the gent was a misplaced pilgrim who was looking for the Dr. Strange Meetup down the street.)
“It’s none of your damn business, and get out of my yard before I call the cops.” (Note to self: Get treatment for the sleepwalking problem.)
From my intensive research, I conclude that unless you’re Gandhi, it’s best to treat your intention like the little bottle of airplane schnapps Grandma’s got tucked away in her underwear drawer: You know you have it, but you keep it to yourself.
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