Rock Star Pants

Rock star pants. That is going to be my new mantra anytime I pause before doing something or contemplate not doing something because of fear. Fear of what? Fear of the unknown. Fear of failure. Fear of making a fool of myself. Fear that is totally wrapped up in my own insecurities, perfectionist tendencies, and ponderings of what others might think of me. Fear that has nothing do with reality. Fear of things that might be, could be, fear of things that have not come and may never come, but it is better to get all worked up and simply do nothing rather than venture out a limb that possibly, but in all likelihood won’t, end looking anything like my most disastrous fantasies. Yeah, I know, it’s crazy.

Last week I spotted and tried on a pair of yoga leggings with a slightly out there pattern. I decided to try them on because, why not? It would just be me, the pants, and a mirror. As long as I triple checked that the dressing room door was locked to ensure no one accidentally walked in on me while I was trying the pants on everything would be fine. I tried them on and kind of fell in love with them. The sales lady wanted to see me in the pants. I obliged. She loved them on me. I took a picture of myself in the pants and texted several friends asking if I could pull them off. I always wear black leggings while teaching yoga, except when wearing dark grey or a deep purple. I know, I’m very adventurous with my yoga attire. I bought the leggings. I reminded myself that I could always return them. They sat in the shopping bag, untouched, for a week…until this morning.

This morning I cut the tags off the crazy leggings and put them on. I fumbled out the door and headed to the studio. Within seconds of entering the studio one of my students commented on my leggings. “They’re your rock star pants,” she said. Several other students agreed. Pretty soon they had been dubbed my rock star pants. All the fear and worrying about what people would think, what my students would say, or worse, what they wouldn’t say and then mumble behind my back, silly, useless, pointless. My fear of wearing something totally out of the ordinary for me, and being harshly judged by others, was for nothing. I was the yoga teacher with the rock star pants.

The next time the silly voices in my head stir up fear and anxiety over something new I am going to simply reply with, “Rock star pants.” Sure, I could make a total fool of myself, fail miserably, experience all of my worst fears becoming a reality, but I could also be a rock star. In the long run, who cares what other people think? Even if I fall flat on my face I will have learned a lesson and most likely have a funny story to tell. How many rock star moments have I prevented myself from having? And how many rock star moments lie in my future? I am going to try really damn hard not to thwart any more rock star moments.

About djunapassman

I teach yoga, write, and edit. I live in a Brooklyn neighborhood that is changing faster than I can, or care to, keep up with. Manhattan still beckons me to her island a few subways stops away, reminding me of when I lived amongst her daily hustle and bustle.
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