Dear followers, it seems that I have failed you. As an ambitious and driven young woman, I entered my sixth (ah.) semester of college filled with intentions of updating this blog with entertaining anecdotes and deep reflections as I navigated my return to Vanderbilt University. I actually have a document titled “I’m Back Bitches” (classy, I know) on my computer that I have opened and contributed to a few times throughout the semester, but, due to the busyness of the culture that saturates my favorite establishment of higher education (no, not UCD), I have failed to complete said post (or any other post for that matter).

So, a quick update and then, as promised many moons ago, an irrelevant anecdote followed by a greater commentary on life in general. Let’s go!!!!

Here I will redeem my previously self deprecating declaration of failure by sharing that I have actually published quite a few blog posts this semester! I am currently taking a class called “The Art of Blogging” and, conforming to course requirements, have maintained a blog throughout the semester. It’s about making sustainable life choices so if you have been in mourning over my lack of blogging (I am not so pompous to think this is realistically the case for anyone but I find no harm in a bit of self-promotion), have no fear and click this link! Blogging class is interesting and dynamic and so unlike any of my engineering courses. Also, it includes snacktime. Needless to say, it is my favorite.

I am not so narcissistic as to think that anyone on the Internet is interested in reading about my daily schedule and experiences (and I’m pretty bad at talking about myself anyway), so I will use the rest of your time and energy for the real purpose of this post: my experience at yoga class surrounded by the elderly.

Irrelevant update: I am currently sitting on a plane in front of a screaming baby. Said baby’s slightly older sister has been kicking me throughout the flight. This situation is less than ideal but it is also much better than many other situations I could be in at this point in time. Okay, sorry, just wanted to set the stage, (373 words later) here we go.

Yesterday morning, I ventured to yoga class with my mom and my aunt. Knowing that this class was to take place at a beach club in South Florida, I fully expected a silver sneakers-esque group of yogis who would be willing to do a few downward dogs here and there, but wouldn’t make it too far past child’s pose due to their collective osteoporosis or arthritis or whatever other ailments tend to prevent the elderly from performing athletic endeavors with the sprightliness of their youth.

We arrived to class a few minutes late (is anyone surprised?) and were held up for a few more moments than necessary by a technologically-challenged rule-follower of a receptionist who spent a significant amount of time misspelling my name before allowing me to enter the yoga studio. Mildred (the lady was definitely a Mildred) was your run-of-the-mill crabby old lady and I expected her more flexible counterparts in the studio to be similar. Maybe a bit more zen due to their namastes and ujjayi breathing, but similar.

As mom, Aunt Kristie, and I entered the room, Simon (the instructor) welcomed us with open arms and a kind greeting, giving off much more yoga-esque vibes than Mildred from the desk. After we set up our mats (and mom received a gentle reminder from Simon to please leave her shoes in the cubbies on the wall), we were off. And let me tell you, these elders do NOT mess around.

We flowed through warriors and dogs of multiple varieties, morphed into a whole zoo of animals (cats, cows, crows, you name it), and spent some quality time upside down. Before long, I was praying for a little “Simon Says take a nap”. I can honestly say it was the most intense workout I had participated in in quite some time.

And yet, at the end of class as I gulped some water and Mildred continued to tinker with the computer (apparently the website wasn’t working and there was nothing I, a millennial engineering student, could possibly do to resolve it), Frank and Bunny and Louise and (insert stereotypical “elderly person name” here) were energized and ready to start the rest of the day. I was fascinated.

This experience was quite the compelling cultural commentary on American exceptionalism. Last semester (I was in Europe last semseter, remember?!?!), I attended a few workout classes alongside fellow energetic millennials, but most of them were filled with giggling girls more focused on flirting with the super-tan (not sure how he got that way because, you know, Ireland) instructor than moving their bodies.

South Floridian yoga with the elderly, however, was sweaty and tiring and filled with retirees who wanted to get in that one last sun salutation even after Simon was getting his savasana on.

So what does that say about us as a culture? Or as a human race? On one hand, we have those Irish lassies too focused on the chiseled man leading their class (he did have rather strong arms and a winning smile), and on the other, we have Bunny and friends so focused on the physical exertion that they missed out on the mindfulness and enjoyment so integral to the practice of yoga.

We as a culture seem to be eternally striving, whether for the perfect body or the perfect man or the perfect job or the perfect grade. We strive for attention and acceptance and perfection and success. It eats away at us and causes toxic competition and comparison and robs us of joy.

So how do we combat this cultural phenomenon that wreaks such havoc on our psyches and our communities? Unfortunately, I’m just a broken undergrad with more questions than answers, but those wiser than I have found (and I have tended to agree) that Jesus is the only place we can find unfailing hope. He doesn’t care about what we do or do not achieve, as long as we worship him and actively love those around us. Instead of anxiously climbing our own ladders of achievement and self-fulfillment, he wants us to let go and fall at his feet, allowing him to embrace us and lift us up.

Letting go is so much easier said than done, but someday that ladder (whatever it might be, control, relationships, success, you name it) is going to fail us and we will crash into an abyss of hopelessness if we don’t have a firm foundation. And that vivid imagery, my fellow yogis, is where I will leave you for today. Focus on self-love, compassion, and finding joy in all circumstances.

Namaste, my dudes, namaste.