The yoga of dogs

There's a yoga to dogs that practising yoga can't give me. I speak of that centeredness, that living in the moment, which the philosophy of yoga is predicated upon.

I'm the type who usually attacks everything I embark on with the same zeal. Thus, when I decided to really learn yoga, I bought the DVDs, the books, the blocks, the mat, subscribed to a yoga magazine, enrolled in a yoga studio, donned the yoga T-shirts, tank tops and pants, and even momentarily considered getting an "Om" tattoo. In short, I poured all of my substantial verve into the project of yoga-ing myself, hoping that it would help me slow down and tone up.

Alas, it was to no avail. I guess I'm too much of a "Type Quadruple A" personality to get something out of a philosophy of movement based on quietude and stillness. Not only do I feel totally awkward when I strike a pose in yoga but I started having bodily aches and pains because I was obviously not striking the poses correctly. And I've never been the true-believer cutesy type that yoga teachers take an immediate interest in, so I was on my own.

Plus, and this may be silly, but it's true, I hate working in pairs (unless it's with a friend). Thus, anytime the yoga teacher said: "Now find a partner to do the reverse dog as flying fish pose" (or whatever), I groaned and not just inwardly. I don't like getting into close bodily contact with total strangers and because it usually takes me time to figure out how to do a pose (especially since I'm not the most graceful person on Earth), I hate the added pressure of having to figure it out quickly because someone else depends on my doing something correctly. Groan, indeed.

In short, as you probably can see by now, yoga isn't for me. Instead, I walk about a mile with my dogs in the mornings. Most of the time I try to do it without listening to the radio (I love NPR news!) so I can hear and see what is around me, so that I can stay in the moment for one moment of the day.

I'm a compulsive multi-tasker who doesn't feel efficient unless I'm doing my nails while talking on the phone to my sister, or reading an article while watching a rented DVD, or doing laundry while I'm working on my dissertation.

Walking the dogs is one of the few things I do in my day that is just that: walking the dogs. For those 30 minutes or so, I'm by myself but with them and I enjoy that centeredness, that quietude, more than any yoga class I ever attended.

I also like my exercise ratcheted up a notch (in Emeril parlance) so I do indoor cycling and strength-building classes at the gym. That's also time that I focus on myself and on the moment of being by myself and for myself.

Believe me, I'm not knocking yoga at all. I don't think I would've known the value of this myself-time if I hadn't explored the world of yoga and appreciated its message and its goals. This is one short yoga message titled, "Bound Angle," which I keep on my bulletin board for easy reference:

If you could call it perfection
what would it look like?
How would you know it,
feel it,
be it?

Wherever you are now
call it perfection
and know
that in this moment
it is really enough.

Perfection, as I often tell my students, may be unattainable but that doesn't mean it's not worth pursuing. It took me a long time to figure out that we, as humans, were granted the ability to yearn for perfection but not the ability to achieve it. And that has been one of the greatest lessons I've had to learn in my life.

At this age, I (thankfully) know (and appreciate) my limitations well enough to realize that yoga isn't for me. Instead, my dogs are my yoga. And, best of all, walking Rusty and Geni doesn't require mastering the inverted dog as flying fish (or whatever) pose.