What Is Your Intention?

Let me get back to you on that.

It's not often I find myself in a zone of New Age happy talk.  Old Age kvetchy talk?  That's more in my comfort zone.  This, I know from.  So I was a little thrown when I went into the ballet-inspired cardio class. The sign on the door was the first hint that maybe I'd wandered onto the wrong set:  "What is your intention?" All I wanted to do, in that moment, was use the free coupon someone left on my windshield.  The pretty young lady behind the desk took it without hesitation, expressed gratitude, and suggested I channel my highest energy.  Oy gevalt.  Was I signing up for a cult?  Should I stay or should I go?  Just then, I heard the pulsating music beckon me forward. These people knew how to get to me. I went inside the studio and got my first of many scares. I was surrounded on all sides by tall skinny young women, their fat-free midriffs exposed, their tattoos of flowers and butterflies in plain view. "Run," my inner-voice said.  "Run and never look back."  I didn't.  I stayed, and a moment later, the instructor appeared, a buff young dude with a microphone surgically attached to the side of his face. "What is your intention?" he asked.  No one answered.

A minute later, "What is your intention?" he asked again.  "Why are you here today?  What are your goals?  What is it you want to achieve?"  "To make you shut the eff up," my inner voice said. "You want tight abs? You want tight glutes? You want to look like a goddess?  You have to work for it."  "If I give you a gluten-free cookie, will you zip it?" my inner-goddess replied.  "You can't just talk the talk," he went on.  "You have to walk the walk." I was tempted to walk out, but then, something happened.  Things got real.  One of the skinny young exercisers passed out.  One minute she was up, the next, she was down.  My Jewish Mother instincts kicked in, immediately.  "Oy veysmere, see what happens when you don't eat?" I said.  "Should we call the paramedics?" I went to get my phone. "Here, I have them on speed-dial, just in case." "She'll be fine," the buff dude said. "She doesn't seem fine to me. Everybody, stay put.  There's a deli nearby.  I'll get her some chicken soup.  It couldn't hurt." "Go back to the barre and tighten," he told me. All the other ladies were doing just that. No one made a move. Their intention was to keep going, no matter who dropped in front of them. The instructor offered the fallen goddess a sip of some protein juice box they sold at the front counter.  She started to regain her higher consciousness. Thank God. A few minutes later, she got up and floated out the door. Namaste. Smart girl.  I should've followed her, but at least, I'd finally figured out my intention. To never come back.