Having both your mother and your counselor in the throes of cancer makes it very easy to ‘set an intention’ – as all yoga teachers are apt to say- at the beginning of class. I don’t need to thank myself for bringing me here. I don’t need to share my practice with anybody. I’m here because I need to take care of myself, if only for the reason that I have done a poor job of this in the past, and if I die before my mom, I will have failed her terribly. Shit, I’m at home again, borrowing her car to come to class, reliant on her careful family planning and my father’s financial savvy, again, after years of being gainfully employed. Maybe nobody sets up their mats by me because I emanate guilt.
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