I’m two deep breaths into side angle pose when the instructor tells someone named Carrie to drop her shoulders away from her ears. In an attempt to remain Zen, I tune her out. She repeats herself. Twice. When I glance to the middle of the room, I see my teacher is staring at me. Clearly I haven’t made much of an impression on this yoga community. I correct her, release my shoulders, and continue to twist my chest toward the ceiling as instructed. As I roll up my mat after class, the girl who had been chaturanga-ing next to me introduces herself. “I’m Zoe. What’s your name again?” Someone’s trying to pick me up! I get ready to woo her in return. “Rachel.” “Are you Jewish?” My name and my curls usually give this away. “Um, yeah.” “Cool. Me too. Shalom!” And with that, before I have a chance to pick my jaw up off the floor, Zoe wanders off. Did she really delve into religion before we’d even exchanged last names? If that was her pickup line, Zoe might be worse at this than I am.
