TARYN GEE/The Globe and Mail
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It is a truth universally acknowledged that an unemployed lawyer in possession of a Passport to Prana must be doing a lot of yoga.
I thought of this riff off Jane Austen's famous opening line while reading an Italo Calvino novel on a park bench between yoga classes.
It was near the end of the summer and I had spent the previous three months trying to figure out what to do with my law degree that would both satisfy the reasons I went to law school and allow me to pay off the debts I accrued while there. The weather was unseasonably cold, and my pockets were remarkably empty.
I sat in parks because they were cheaper than coffee shops. I read novels to give myself something to do other than check my e-mail. And I did yoga because I had a Passport to Prana.
The little plastic card I had bought for $30 online entitled me to a free yoga class at more than 50 studios in the Greater Toronto Area. With no income to speak of, and far too much time on my hands, I was the ideal cardholder. In the span of a few months I crossed almost every studio off the list.
Riding my beat-up bike around town, I went to studios with high ceilings and free teas, studios with inspirational quotes on the walls, and studios that smelled of other people's sweat. I went to a Bikram class where the instructor wore a bathing suit and taught at the speed of an auctioneer. I visited a small, dusty studio with a resident cat sporting a poodle haircut.
I breathed deeply, squeezed my inner thighs, balanced on one leg, and let my spine relax. Instructors I had never met called me "flexi" and commended me on my practice. Some even guessed that I was travelling on a Passport to Prana.
In the course of my explorations I made some observations I think worthy of sharing with you, dear reader: the kind of high-value intelligence that only a qualified lawyer (with 15 years of yoga experience) could possibly gather.
First, aesthetics. A lot of studios have plants. In fact, if there is a long room with a large window, there are very likely glossy-leaved rubber plants by the window's side. Most studios have wooden floors and pale walls. There is usually music. There is often a smell. Not unpleasant, but noticeable.
Second, demographics. Yoga students are called yogis, and yogis, I have noticed, tend to be tattooed. Should your eyes wander while in downward dog, the ample exposed flesh reveals a tapestry of trees, birds and dragons. I found that the colours of the ink are more varied than the skin itself: My fellow yogis were predominantly white and overwhelmingly female.
Third, practicalities. Very few studios have free mats. When I started practising yoga, every studio provided mats. I would borrow a mat, ignoring any thought of the people who had used it before me, and wipe it down at the end of class with a tea-tree-scented rag. Now, most studios charge $2 a mat and still expect you to clean it yourself.
To save money, I started carrying my fold-up travel mat with me everywhere. That way, no matter where I was when I suddenly had some free time I could just whip out my phone and locate the nearest studio with the timeliest class. Unfortunately, much of my free time came in the middle of the afternoon when few studios run classes. And since an astonishing number of studios don't have easy access to class schedules on their websites, I often found myself standing on a street corner, my body practically begging for a triangle pose, while my fingers fumbled through the tiny print on my phone's screen, growing angrier and less yogic by the second.
You might wonder why, given my employment status, I was touching my toes and thinking about my breath instead of polishing my CV and attending informational interviews.
The truth is that looking for work is no fun, and doing yoga has always helped me through difficulty.
As an advocate for refugees, I've worked with people who are traumatized: victims of sexual violence, tortured and torturer, and children orphaned by war. Dealing with problems of this magnitude is a challenge that sometimes leaves me paralyzed with fear and frustration. Yoga helps. The steady rhythm of the breath, the deliberate flow of the movements, and the physical challenge of arm balances, deep forward folds and headstands take over and quiet my mind.
And so to counter the stress of waiting to hear back about a job I'd applied for with the United Nations, I stressed my hamstrings and measured my breath. At least 50 per cent of finding a job is waiting. And patience, along with flexibility, strength and focus, is one of the great benefits bestowed by yoga. It prevented me from impulsively applying for other jobs I didn't want.
In my case, the waiting has paid off. I will soon be taking a job in a part of the world where the yoga studios are closed and the parks are no longer safe.
But even though I will be using my Canadian passport to get there, I will be bringing everything I learned on my Passport to Prana with me.
Eva Tache-Green splits her time between Toronto and the Middle East.