By Scott Hyatt
As a newly single guy in New York, I’m looking to find a date. I’ve already tried Match, EHarmony, bars, parties, summer shares – all of the typical places that most single New Yorkers go to find love.
Unfortunately, none of them worked, so I decided to take a drastic approach. I enrolled in Yoga.
You can’t blame me for trying. Yoga is a single guy’s dream. The classes are packed with hot women, stretching in positions that by their nature look sexual. Everyone is sweating, so you know pheromones are sifting in the air. And have you ever seen an overweight woman carrying a Yoga mat? I haven’t.
But I have to be honest. On my way to Yoga, I couldn’t help but feel like I was deceiving myself. I felt like Owen Wilson in the movie, Wedding Crashers. I had become his character–John Beckwith- the guy who stooped to lower levels to deceive the opposite sex into believing he was something that he wasn’t.
I wasn’t into Yoga and everything it stood for – spiritual, physical and emotional enlightenment. I had no desire to free my mind or explore my thoughts. How long before these purists caught onto me, I thought.
It took less than 5 seconds.
“You need to take off your shoes before entering the studio,” the Yoga instructor told me as I walked inside.
I had apparently missed the sign on the door that warned everyone to take off their shoes before entering. I wasn’t off to a good start.
Luckily, Yoga is very forgiving.
It is also very enlightening.
“Being still tries your patience.”
It’s not easy sitting still in a City that moves quickly. It’s in our nature to squirm and move and avoid stillness. How many times did you bite your tongue when you walked out of the subway behind an elderly person?
Hurry up. Move. Go.
New Yorkers are not known for patience, which is why Yoga is so juxtaposed to everything New Yorkers embody. It doesn’t make sense why 50 strangers would cram themselves into a hot room for the sake of stillness, yet we do it. In a City always on the move, Yoga purists find the time to wait patiently for a class that will teach them how to stand still.
At my Yoga studio in Midtown, Yoga to the People, followers begin lining up an hour before class starts. And for those who show up 30-minutes before class, they don’t get a seat. I witnessed this on Tuesday night when roughly 20 people were turned away because all of the 50 spots were already taken.
I am only on week two of Yoga but I am already seeing results. I’m feeling pain in muscles I didn’t even know existed. I’m also starting to view the world a little bit differently.
I walked home last night from Yoga wearing red Yoga shorts, a white undershirt, black dress socks and black dress shoes. I had forgotten my sneakers at home and I didn’t have the energy to change after class back into the dress slacks I wore to work.
But it didn’t seem to matter. Sure, people on the subway stared at me and I could hear their thoughts.
“I can’t believe that guy is wearing that in public.”
But it wasn’t about them. My clothes wasn’t a part of who I was. It was merely a shell.
I may have started Yoga with ulterior motives, but just like Owen Wilson in the movie, Wedding Crashers, I discovered a part of me that I didn’t know existed. I didn’t find love, but now I’m no longer looking for love.
I’m just trying to find a little peace in a place that allows New Yorkers to escape without judgment.