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 bookings that I suspect are not really a computer glitch at all.


Once, in front of all my classmates, she reminds me to please put my blocks away neatly this time. The shame is unbearable.

Still, I stay committed to Yoga II on Wednesdays. I thank her for another great session, subtly alluding to the fact I am her most devoted student.

Just when I think I cannot endure this punishment for much longer, she tells us that this will be her last class at the studio. She is going to India and does not know when she will be back. I say that sounds lovely but I am devastated.

At the end of the session, she plays a gong to signal the end of our time together. The undulating beautiful sound shakes me to my core.

I open my eyes and turn to my instructor. She nods slowly and smiles, seeing in my wide eyes a moment of true wonder.

It’s then that I know myself.

I am an empty birdhouse. I am a patch of nettles. I am a rotting Christmas tree.

Robin Forrester is copywriter and procrastinator based in London. He spends his time writing poems and short fiction when he should probably be working. He lives with his equally sleep-deprived partner and two young daughters.