The only studio class I attend with any regularity these days is a yin and gentle yoga class. In it, the teacher frequently reminds students that while yoga poses shouldn’t be painful, feeling discomfort is common, particularly in yin. Moreover, one of the reasons we place ourselves in these situations — where we intentionally cause ourselves a controlled amount of discomfort — is to observe how we respond to that so we can learn from it in our lives off the mat.
One of the key lessons I’ve taken from this is to recognize and respect when I am made uncomfortable by something in my daily life. If I don’t respond appropriately to psychological discomfort, I’ve found that it’s a short trip between there and anxiety and/or panic. If, however, I can acknowledge this feeling and give it the attention it deserves, I can often make a more calculated response.
This past Friday, I had two real life experiences illustrating this.
I had a training on the far side of town; I took the bus to get there. As I transferred onto my second bus, I was the very first passenger on board. Since I knew I was going to be riding for a while, I sat in the back corner to allow folks with shorter commutes easier access to the doors.
The passenger who entered behind me — a man, probably somewhat near my own age — sat down next to me.
Next to me. Not across the aisle from me. Not in the seat just in front of me. But right next to me. On an otherwise empty bus.
It is fair to say I was immediately uncomfortable. My train of thought went something like, “Dude is doing something seriously questionable and creepy. Ugh, go away! There’s no real way for me to go away without talking to him. Thanks, no. There will be other people on the bus soon. Maybe it won’t matter so much.” I kept my sunglasses on and pretended to be engrossed in my book — Margaret Atwood’s Life Before Man.
Several stops later, he got off. We did not speak. At no time did the bus become crowded.
At the end of the training, when it was time to go, I checked the bus schedule to see how long I’d need to wait and whether I’d be better off doing so indoors. Arizona sunshine at the peak of a June afternoon is not my idea of a good time, even for a few extra minutes.
“You’re not taking the bus home, are you?” a colleague asked. “You should let me drive you.”
“That’s okay.”
I do not understand folks’ low-grade horror when I say I’m taking the bus somewhere. As far as I am concerned, I’m sitting in air conditioning, reading a book, and letting someone else handle the cross town rush hour traffic. After a day of much interpersonal contact, I was actually much looking forward to this aspect of my commute, so I was not actually pleased when my colleague insisted — the bus must take too long; he lived across town, so my house was on his way.
To be clear, I did not doubt that this person’s intentions were anything but friendly though perhaps misguided and fueled by a negative mental image of the bus that I do not share. I was not, as in the morning, uncomfortable in a creepy way. But I was uncomfortable. Not only had my colleague substituted his judgment of what I must want in place of what I really did want, but he also replaced it with something I actively did not want — more personal interaction.
But there’s no great way to say, “I don’t want a ride because I don’t want to talk to you.” And there are potential downsides to rejecting a friendly gesture from someone with whom one plans to have an ongoing professional relationship. So I accepted, and we made awkward small talk about traffic and Godzilla for half an hour.
I think, yes, on that day, I twice chose to remain in situations that made me uncomfortable — rather than to remove myself, which could potentially resolve or escalate. This is not really a great thing but is sometimes necessary to negotiating life. I mean, sometimes, it’s not as simple as coming out of a yoga pose early; sometimes, there is no choice that removes the discomfort entirely. Sometimes being able to recognize discomfort and to meet it head on is, if not ideal, a useful skill to have.
