I take a yoga class on Wednesdays. My family has a history of arthritis, my back is ready for retirement and the doctor said this was the best exercise for me. So, here I am, every Wednesday, sweating to the strings of a sitar.
I have to admit I can see the difference. I'm no longer the Tin Man before Dorothy and Scarecrow loosen him up with the oil can. But I find it a humbling and sometimes awkward experience. As my bare feet pad across the hardwood floor, it doesn't take a guru to figure out that I'm not like the others. My teacher and the other 11 students are all women.
Every week, I have to remind myself of the opening words of our teacher: "Leave your ego at the door." Generally, it works, for a while. The other day, as we worked through sun salutations and balancing poses I kept up with the ladies, but then as I prepared for a back bend, the teacher called me out: "Daniel, why don't you take a child's pose?" As if that wasn't bad enough, a septuagenarian, who'd had a double knee replacement, was allowed to proceed.
Don't get me wrong: I have no problem with strong women. I come from a long line of them. My grandmother received a law degree in 1925. My mother earned her Ph.D. in the '70s and went on to run a college department. Not to mention that my older sister could beat me up until I was 13.
Letting go
In fact, I'd been around powerful women for so long that it was a little odd for me when I stepped into the insurance field in 2008 and found such a male-dominated world. But in our special feature on women (starting on page 36), we wanted to showcase some of the strengths that women bring to an advisory practice.
As you will see, progress is taking place in the insurance world; however, my own world of yoga continued with conflict. We end each class with something called corpse pose. We lie on our backs, close our eyes and try to shut out the outside world. Today, I couldn't do it. I had what is called "monkey mind," the ideas ping-ponging inside my thick skull. Forgoing my teacher's advice, I let my ego enter the room. Trying to heal my wounded pride, I doubted that any of these women had stared down a blitzing linebacker and completed a pass or taken an elbow in the face, suffering a broken nose, but refusing to come out of the game.
But my fantasy was short-lived as the teacher asked us to think of something we're proud of, something that makes our faces shine. My monkey mind immediately went back to a specific place and time: to my living room, eight years ago, as my wife entered the 25th hour of labor and gave birth to our daughter. A home birth and she never even asked for as much as a baby aspirin.
Now that's one powerful woman and I wouldn't have it any other way.
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