Misadventures of a Garden State Yogi. Brian Leaf

      ^† Sticky mats were invented, by the way, in the 1980s by Western yogi Angela Farmer from simple carpet padding, like the stuff under the rug in your den. And it was Sara Chambers of Hugger Mugger who took the nascent yoga mat industry to the next level in the 1990s by designing a mat of similar texture, made specifically for yoga. That’s when the sticky mat that you now know and love was born and popularized. All rejoiced at this innovation, especially the tigers of India (whose skins were the choice mat for Indian yogis of yore).

* Family Guide to Natural Medicine: How to Stay Healthy the Natural Way (New York: Reader’s Digest, 1993), 8.

Chapter 3

       Chicken Sandwiches

      Yoga is the practice of tolerating the consequences of being yourself.

      — BHAGAVAD GITA

      My friend Paul and I had bonded over the chicken sandwiches served in the dorm cafeteria on Tuesdays, and we always made sure to be at lunch together on chicken-sandwich day. But as I woke up to my body and how things affected it, I recognized a cause-and-effect loop: on Tuesdays after I ate the chicken sandwich, I felt gross, as if oil was leaking out of my pores, as if there was a vile, indigestible mass in my stomach. These were the kind of processed chicken patties that look like breaded sponges with little nooks and crannies of fat and the occasional chewy piece of cartilage that makes you look both ways before hunching over into your napkin.

      So finally, one Tuesday, I broke it to Paul that I wouldn’t be having the chicken that day. He was pretty upset. I didn’t blame him; this was our routine, a cornerstone of our fledgling friendship. Later I broke it to him that I was giving up the chicken sandwiches permanently.

      First I gave up the processed chicken patties. Then, I ate less sugar, less fast food, and less processed junk. I was still a few years away from eating brown rice, kale, and tempeh, but I was on the right track.

      Giving up the chicken sandwiches was a turning point for me. It was a harbinger of many future pronouncements, seemingly odd quirks, and even embarrassing epiphanies that resulted from my yoga practice.

      In 1994 I had to tell a landlord that I couldn’t keep an office space because the “energy” wasn’t right.

      In 1999 I had to break it to Linda that we couldn’t have sex in the mornings because it affected my morning yoga practice.

      In 2000 I realized that I needed to learn how to feel and express anger, so in order to practice, I called everyone I had ever been angry at to tell them exactly how I felt.

      And in 2002 I had to tell Millie that we couldn’t cuddle at night as we fell asleep because I was practicing Reiki (a form of energy healing) on myself.

      But back to college in 1993, when during senior year, like clockwork, my colitis flared up after two years of remission.

      I noticed the symptoms early, and I took immediate action. Since my last bout of colitis, I had weaned myself down to practicing yoga twice and eventually once a day. So now, without pharmaceutical help, I again began my self-medicating treatment — four sun salutations followed by deep relaxation, five times a day.

      Miraculously, like the last time, after only a few days, the symptoms disappeared. Again I was elated and grateful and ever more committed to yoga and holistic health.

      I wanted to tell my doctor about all that was happening, but I had heard a story about a woman with breast cancer. She had dived headfirst into natural health, visiting alternative health practitioners and staying in spas, ashrams, and mountain retreats all over the world. She found something that worked for her, and the cancer disappeared. She shared the thrilling news with her doctor. He responded, “Impossible, there’s no way that changing your diet and getting massages can have made the cancer disappear.” She believed him because he was her doctor. She was devastated. The cancer returned, and within six months she was dead.

      This story haunted me, and I was terrified to tell Dr. Brenner about my yoga cure. I believed in it. But did I believe in it strongly enough to hold resolute if he dismissed it?

      I avoided him and canceled my checkups.

      But, eventually, during a visit home, at the urging of my parents, I faced Dr. Brenner. I thought that in the best-case scenario he’d call me nuts, and in the worst-case scenario, well, who knows.

      But instead, he nodded, “Yeah, I’ve heard that yoga can help colitis. There have even been a few studies.”

      Dr. Brenner looked me right in the eye, probably for the first time. We shared a moment. I thought he had joined me, was right there with me in my zealous commitment to yoga. Another convert, ready to swap out his scrubs for sweats. And truthfully, I think he was. I think he acknowledged the possibilities, even saw for a moment the potential to rise above society’s addiction to pharmaceuticals, but then he shook his head slightly, as if waking from a daydream, made a sound like “Uunc,” blinked a few times, and seemed to forget all about it. He jotted a few indecipherable notes in my folder and left the room. I never saw him again.

      This brings us, finally, to the first of our eight Keys to Happiness:

      Do yoga. And if you already do yoga, do more yoga.

      Yoga cured my friend Trish’s chronic and debilitating back problems. Laigne, a coworker, had always suffered from having one leg a quarter inch shorter than the other. That threw off her hips, her spine, and her gait. She could barely run. Until she started doing yoga. Now she’s strutting with ease. And, obviously, it changed my life.

      So join me by doing some yoga. And if you’re new to yoga, don’t try only one class. Finding the right style of yoga is like dating. You might have to try various styles before you find the one for you. There’s a spectrum of classes, from power vinyasa, if you like a vigorous workout, to gentle restorative, if you prefer something much cushier. So try at least three different yoga styles in your area. Look for yoga centers, or check bulletin boards at the library or health food store. You can also try a Google search for “yoga class [your town].”

      In the meantime, while you’re dating a few styles, you can also use appendix 1, which offers a simple yoga flow for you to practice right at home. You can record yourself reading the directions and then play them back as you practice, or if you can’t say the word buttocks without giggling, you can download a recording of me guiding the practice at www.Misadventures-of-a-Yogi.com.

Chapter 4

       Belly Down

      Named must your fear be before banish it you can.

      — JEDI MASTER YODA

      After graduating from Georgetown, I moved into an apartment with my brother for one last year of living together before he got married (we had shared a room in my parents’ house since I was one). We rented an apartment in Jersey City, New Jersey, across the Hudson River from Manhattan. From our window we could see the Statue of Liberty and all of lower Manhattan.

      I took a job as a high school math teacher. I had started Georgetown four years earlier as a champion debater and future corporate attorney, but I graduated as a yogi math teacher. You already know about the debater-to-yogi transition that happened on day one of Oskar’s yoga class. The other transition, from lawyer to math teacher, happened thanks to Ricky.

The story is this. During my first year at Georgetown,