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A Family Affair

April 2, 2012

My mother drives me crazy. I can happily go months without seeing her, weeks without talking to her, and just a few hours in her presence. There are days I think we have nothing in common but spider veins.

On the flip side of that coin, my mother is honest and generous and kind-hearted and forgiving, and most importantly – she’s my mother. I will kvetch about her all day long, but so help you if you utter so much as an unkind word about the woman. You haven’t lived with her. You don’t know her. You haven’t earned it. Complain about your own mom.

And then there’s Ashtanga. The only thing I love about Ashtanga more than doing it, is talking about it. And I particularly love talking smack about it. I could complain about Ashtanga all day long. Some days, I do. And I can tell you about 100 different ways that the practice isn’t right – too many forward folds in primary, too many dogmatic teachers, too much focus on gateway poses, too much repetition. Maybe 96 others, per my earlier estimate.

And if you practice it yourself, or battle with it, or love/hate/love it, I’d probably really enjoy talking smack about Ashtanga with you.

But listening to people who have never committed to the practice slam it just about pisses me off. You haven’t lived with it. You don’t know it. You haven’t earned it. Complain about your own practice.

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3 Comments leave one →
  1. April 4, 2012 7:28 am

    🙂 anytime!

  2. April 4, 2012 8:32 pm

    Kvetchathon!

  3. April 5, 2012 9:39 am

    Hear, hear. Don’t mess with my Mama or my Ashtanga, ‘less you know them.

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