Conflicted Bliss

Today I worked out.

It was in a fitness class that I haven't attended for a full year:  Bodyflow at my local Gold's gym.  My teacher's a supportive and skillful leader, and one couldn't ask for a better trainer in even the most competitive of big city gyms.  I admire and enjoy her personality and I trust her expertise absolutely.  In Bodyflow class I know I will push myself, albeit in a seemingly gentle way (not really!), and that I will emerge stronger and stretchier after each session.  Not only that, but I'll be privileged to connect with men and women from a wide variety of backgrounds and circumstances in our class.  I loved this class all last year, but when I went back to work this year, I had to give it up.  This week I'm on spring break, so I can pounce on the opportunity to shift my balance from the uber-cerebral toward the body-aware.

I'm not rich - oh, by no means: I'm a part-time public school teacher - and yet I invest every month in an expensive gym membership.  One I - as most of us - don't use as often as I should.  How suburban is that? 

It's a great gym, unlike any I've attended in the past.   Polite and pleasant members, incredibly friendly and personable staff, clean and up-to-date facilities, and zero "look at me: I'm so fit" factor. 

Yet I feel embarrassed to be spending my money on a gym membership when I have so little of it in the first place. 

So, suburban zen apprentices, I have to ask you: Why?  Why do I feel guilty for participating in something so healthy, so community-oriented, so absolutely positive in my life?

And I have to ask you to ask yourselves:  What absolutely positive investments have you made that you feel - perversely - conflicted about? 

Let's confront our stupid conflicts here and now. 

So we can MFB,
L