Naked Beneath My Clothes

Sometimes I think India is a 12-step program designed to encourage me to let go of my control-freaky ways, forcing me to walk into traffic without a crosswalk; barter for rickshaw fares; gaze at the bugs that reside on my hotel room wall and shrug; notice ice cubes in my drink and think "Whatev" after a moment of "Omigod I am going to contract some horrible disease!" This morning in our asana class, I even tried ican'trememberthesanskritname (reverse plank), traditionally a pose I avoid, just for kicks.

In my own neurotic way I am going with the flow, probably a side effect of spending all my time with people who talk about experience and energy and the moment with total comfort, while I am usually snickering at myself a little inside.

So yesterday, while getting a massage, I found myself naked, lying on my back, covered only by a towel from the waist down (not a usual occurence for those of you who've never had a massage), I was thinking, "Well, this is an interesting experience" and then, a bit later, "Holy shit, I was naked with a stranger."

I'm not sure if this was a breakthrough or if I'm now going to start stripping.