Yoga was simply a set of fun, challenging physical exercises and postures (asanas) that brought my body more into alignment, strength and balance, and made it easier to sit in stillness and meditation for a little while afterwards.
That was it.
It could have been surfing, or pilates, or running, or the gym, but what worked for me was yoga. I liked it. It made me happy and as a blunt, bordering-on-the-Aspergers-spectrum cynic, it made me a little easier to be around.
Fast forward 14 years, and I live in Venice Beach, California, surrounded by a yoga ‘industry’ which is at once competitive, judgmental, egotistical, consumerist and self-important. It’s an industry which is saturated with teachers continually pushing themselves to gain a cult following with gorgeously saturated selfies of themselves, or pictures by Robert Sturman, in more and more challenging inversions and arm balances.