If I sounded righteous (or enlightened) yesterday, allow me to describe my morning. Waiting for yoga class to begin, I was mirrored back to myself like a reflecting lake. Seven of us stood outside a darkened and locked yoga studio,waiting for our instructor to arrive. A conversation about lateness spontaneously began (as it tends to) and my feelings regarding punctuality and business etiquette (along with a mild case of Type A personality – although time has softened me) were shared. “Maybe you should consider therapy?” a woman said. Really? “I don’t know, I get that it’s a challenge and I’m working on it,” I answered, surprisingly nonplussed. Our instructor arrived at 10:!0 for our 10:00 class, waving and smiling.This is my second class with this woman, and I like her a lot. She’s young and cute, with a vivacious yet peaceful personality and her yoga class is superb. But the pièce de résistance is the cranial massage she offers at the end of class while we rest in shavasana. She dips behind my resting form and pushes my shoulders down hard, which provides a wonderfully grounding sensation. With essential oils she then begins to massage my face and head which manages to both rejuvenate and relax me. I leave the class feeling calm and centered, fully awake and present, ready to start my day. By the time the end of class has arrived, I no longer care when it started. I am not saying that I support lateness, I do not. But I am saying I am not going to spend my energy feeling annoyed or upset about it. If this woman’s class is worth attending (which in my humble opinion, it is) then I accept her rules of the game. The rules of this particular studio may be very relaxed, (zen, even) and my pushed buttons are there for me to deal with. And so it is.