My Yoga Mat Was Stolen. Here's How I'm Handling It.

It was long past the last studio class of the night when I parked my Jeep back at my apartment. As I turned off the ignition, I let myself be distracted by reaching for my phone and texting someone to look at the moon. I continued texting and laughing as I headed upstairs, completely oblivious to my black yoga mat that I’d left on the passenger side floor. As I settled into some late-night catching up at work, I remained unaware.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when I glanced at the corner in the hallway where I always place my mat, that I registered its absence. In that moment, I knew it had been stolen. Not just forgotten or misplaced. Gone.

In the 60 or so seconds it took me to slowly, knowingly make my way to the parking spaces along the back alley, I cycled through self-blame, indignance, outrage, and back to self-blame. I quietly cursed whoever had broken into my Jeep and recklessly taken what belonged to me, and then I self-corrected with the reminder that I had carelessly left it there for the taking. I was entitled to feel a little violated for someone taking something I couldn’t afford to replace, wasn’t I? Then my thoughts veered toward someone—one of the many unhoused people that make their way through that back alley—having a cushier place to sleep that night and felt like crap.

I reminded myself it was only a mat. That it could be replaced. That there were yogic principles around non-attachment that I could, rather, should embrace. I quickly disregarded each of these.

Yet when I reached the Jeep and confirmed that my mat was nowhere to be seen, I experienced something else entirely. I felt relief.

It wasn’t the sort of selfless relief that comes from knowing someone in need was a little better off. My relief was exclusively and overwhelmingly for myself.

In the decade that I’d been unrolling that mat, day after day, I had catharted on that mat. Cried on that mat. Overome fear. Learned to arm balance Gotten outraged. Understood how to be still. Began teaching. Confronted more than I’d wanted. Pleaded with whatever gods that may or may not exist.

Throughout that era of returning to a rectangle of natural rubber on the regular, I’d remembered who I was as I worked through past versions of myself, versions I no longer needed, versions who definitely weren’t and still aren’t perfect.

Yet in that instant, it felt as though I was no longer lugging all of that along with me each time I practiced yoga.

Truth be told, I was still feeling considerable contempt for whoever stole my mat. Others who have had their mats taken tend to describe a feeling of melancholy. Some say they were forced to confront an emotional attachment never knew they’d had. Given the intensity of my relief, it seems my attachment was to more than the mat. Maybe the emotions experienced when something that’s accompanied us through eras of our life goes missing aren’t so much about losing the thing. They’re about losing a part of our story—or perhaps just a physical reminder of it.

As I walked back to my apartment empty-handed, I started to contemplate its eventual replacement. Initially, I figured I’d opt for the same exact model. But then the idea of a mat with an entirely different look, vibe, and brand came to mind. I’m not so naive as to believe such a material change would delineate anything more immaterial in life. Yet change is rarely a bad thing.

The only attachment I am still working through is my resentment toward whoever stole it. That person unknowingly ended up stealing a lot of heavy emotions that I’d been lugging around. As emotionally loaded as that mat was, to the person who has it, good luck. They say karma’s a bitch. As for me, I’m thinking maybe karma dealt me the hand I needed and not the one I wanted.