Today, I did yoga for the first time in months. I mean months. You know, like, the amount of time it would take most yogis (and by yogis I of course mean the Lulelemon-clad yogarati glutting CorePower spin-offs all around town) to do enough sun salutations to propel their 2-percent-body-fat selves to the actual sun. Even still, it wasn’t as hard as this undoubtedly was.
Props to you, Jodie, for going to “Laughter Yoga,” so I don’t have to. Although it does sound kind of—?—cool.
“I think I have a pretty forgiving definition of what yoga is (like, taking deep breaths when you’re trying not to punch people on the subway is clearly yoga), but standing in the dimly-lit “party room” of someone’s condo with a handful of kooky middle-aged ladies (respect), and forcing yourself to cackle maniacally at literally nothing for a full hour is just unsettling. It’s like the humiliating improv unit in high school drama class, but this time you paid money for it and everyone is 30 years older. My chakras are still unaligned.”
“Four Unfunny Truths About Laughter Yoga,” by Jodie Shupac. Read the full story here.