The yoga studio I go to has a small paved garden at the back. Pinned to a window overlooking the garden, there’s a notice that says they are creating an urban wilderness. The best way to nurture a flourishing ecosystem, it says, is to stand back and let nature take its course. So far the urban wilderness is an empty birdhouse, a patch of nettles and what looks like a rotting Christmas tree. I joke that I’ve had the same philosophy with my garden for years. My instructor does not find this funny. She shakes her head like I’ve misunderstood something important, like she’s disappointed, like there’s no point even trying to explain something profound to someone like me. I feel her disapproval for months. She whispers gentle encouragements to everyone in the class but me. She praises someone’s Flying Pidgeon that is clearly nowhere near as good as mine. She walks past my mat with heavy feet, correcting my posture by prodding my shoulders a bit too hard. Sometimes I have problems with online …