He was there again.  In the near darkness, I could see him revving up for another class.  I call him MR. GRABBY.  And he irritates me so much that I usuallly leave before class is over. 

Most mornings, I go to a pre-dawn yoga class where I twist and sweat and encourage myself to hold the positions. These arduous poses also give me a chance to exercise compassion, as I look around the room at younger, thinner, bendier people than me.   I purposefully send silent blessings to these amazing creatures.  They represent radiance and possibility—–and although I am squishier and wider than many of them—I feel blessed to be in a community of people who are taking care of themselves.

 The class, with the same routine, day in and day out, becomes sort of a moving meditation.  What is encouraged is total focus on your inner world, your breath, your strength and your goals,  rather than competition, with anyone else.  When I come out of the class, it is into the full-blown light of a new day.    The metaphor, alone, from dark to light from the night before to the day ahead is enough to inspire me. 

But then, there’s MR. GRABBY.  He’s a guy about my age.  As most of the guys are, in class, he is shirtless.  But, unlike most of the buff guys in class, he should not be.  He should be wearing a Precious Princess, by Maidenform, if you get my drift.  But no, “the girls” are resting ever-so-gently on his very big, very pallid, very hairy, belly.   

That’s not the worst of it.  Brace yourself.

He wears very lose, long shorts.  As he begins to sweat, evidentally his shorts get twisted up in the few things left on his body that one would hope to remain private.   His shorts become a tangled diaper as he tries to yank them as high as possible into the very crowded space between his legs.  Before he yanks up his shorts, he is man-handling himself, as he dives with both hands into the front of his pants, moving things into position for the “Big Yank”, as I have begun to call it.  As the class flows from one posture to the next, he is a bevy of pre-emptive activity.

No matter where I seem to position my mat, water and towel, on the floor—-he seems to plop his mat, right in front of me.  I am not sure what you call The Full Monty when you are seeing all of it, for an hour and half, from the back, but, surely some of you clever people can help me with a name—–because I desparately need a name—-so I can objectify the view of the body parts attached to this heaving, sweating mass of humanity.  Please. 

But, guess what?  Here is what I know for sure.  He is there to teach me some things.  Whenever I am stressed by someone else’s behavior, no matter how obnoxious or outrageous, I must look at these emotions as my signposts.  What am I to learn?  How will this bless me?  How is this a gift?  The more seemingly over-the-top  the “teacher”, the bigger the lesson, I need to learn.

MR. GRABBY is no different.  May I just say right here and now—”Thanks a hellofalot”.  For this golden opportunity.  One thing I have definitely experienced over the years is this—-when I do get the lesson and the lightbulb of understanding has switched on—the teacher disappears from my life.  That’s incentive enough to figure out what MR. GRABBY is doing in front me two or three days a week.  So, let’s see if I can make some headway.

First, the question is—-just how committed am I to my own well being?  If I am there for me, and the purpose is to stay through the whole class—FOCUSED on the postures and my commitment to FULLY PARTICIPATE—-then I am shooting myself in the foot—by allowing ANYTHING to distract me.  How easily do I get distracted from other things I claim to be important and committed to, in my life?

Secondly, how quickly do I blame the OTHER person for MY behavior?  WOW, that’s another biggy. 

Third, how often do I enlist the sympathy of others when I am blaming another person.  It’s a great way to get a “pass”.  Who would want to be behind this guy under any circumstances.  Gee whiz, anyone would understand why I would bail out of a class with a guy like that in it! Right?   Just another clever and more manipulative way to bail out on myself.

Fourth.  Hey, what about positioning myself on the FRONT row of class?  The people in the front row are always the ones who can do all the postures the best, right? They have committed to the challenges of becoming not only proficient but excellent at something.  Why not step up and join THEM?  That would resolve the problem completely wouldn’t  it? I would not be behind anyone, ever again.  What other things am I hanging “in the back of the room” about?  What would it feel like to be a leader or a role model or what would it take for me to commit to a greater commitment to the present moment?

If I want a healthy psyche, body and mind, how can I walk away from that possibility by making someone else responsible for my decision to leave? As I leave, driving away in a snitty kerfluffle, MR. GRABBY is finishing the class.  MR. GRABBY just represents all the other times and people and circumstances when I backed out on a commitment.  To Myself.

What’s true for you?