I went to yoga this morning (I’m writing this on Saturday 3/12) and completely forgot that downtown Ventura was going to be extraspecially crazy due to roads being closed for a parade and a footrace and whoknows what else. Parking is at a premium anyway, so this day made it impossible to find anywhere to go. And since I work in that area, I know all the secret places. No dice.

I tried sneaking into a spot next door in the candy store’s parking lot. Got yelled at. Eyeballed a yellow loading zone spot, just before a police officer locked eyes with me and shook his head noooo. I finally double parked and ran into the yoga studio in a state, saying sorry I would have liked to stay for yoga but now I have to go all the way home thanks to these St. Patrick loving morons, etc. Because passive-aggressive, pointless complaining really is what everyone wants to hear, you know? I was not, shall we say, living in my finest moment.

Despite my inability to control my rage at all things car-related, Tricia the studio counter gal just told me to give her my keys, to get into class and she’ll take care of it. Because she’s a nice person.

I grabbed her into a hug, then shot into class.

The class was good. Perhaps karma told my instructor to make it an ass-kicking class, for my ass was kicked.

In the final rest phase, the teacher gently suggested that we cover ourselves with a blanket. Because I had been so late, and the class was full, I hesitated to get up and pick my way through the prone bodies to get a blanket.

So I lay there. I was going to be fine. But I wasn’t fine. I got so, so cold, but the instructor starting playing her gong and I really didn’t want to disrupt her.

So I lay there some more. I tried to breathe into the sensation of goosebumps coursing over my skin, tried to focus without judgment on my shivering.

Just at that moment, I heard a slight movement and suddenly, a blanket covered me. The rest of the meditation was wonderful.

After class I shyly called out to the people packing up: “thanks to whoever covered me.” It was a nice lady, stranger to me, who said she tried not to cover me up, but just couldn’t help herself.

So, to Tricia, to my weird and wonderful Saturday morning yoga master, and to the nice blanket lady, I say: Thank you, thank you for being so kind and good. You saw my good intention, buried under some bad choices. I continually have so much to learn from you.

Namaste.