Last Day of Yoga Class

Today was my last yoga class before I leave for India later this month. I have written before about how I am addicted to that class, and had a lousy few days when I skipped it once. When I have been in town, I have only missed the class three times in a year. With a little bit of effort, I could tell you exactly how many classes I have attended, but I realize this post, and what it says about me, is weird enough already.
The yoga class is not blissful. I have been going for a year and I still don't know the names of any of the other attendees. I know that most of them are teachers, or teachers-in-training, which I suppose  is why they are such a clique. Add to it the fact that I am a reserved brown man in a class of mostly white young women, and I guess you get the picture. In the beginning, I always felt like a fish out of water but the pull of the class itself was too hard to resist. The yoga teacher is simply great. The class is in the hippy part of town, and she is a bit of a hippy herself but not too much. Last spring and summer she would end the class with a 'partner' exercise, which entailed, among other things, staring into another person's eyes and sitting against their back. I used to feel supremely uncomfortable during those exercises and super-conscious of my gender, colour and reserved personality. She dropped it a few months ago, much to my relief. But, today, she did it again, possibly because this was a New Year session. And, this time I only felt mildly uncomfortable, not super uncomfortable. I guess I  have become comfortable with the discomfort of that milieu. In any case, I will miss the class while I am away. It is starting to dawn on me how set my routine in Bristol is, and how much I will miss it. I will have to make a new routine during my time in India.