Some strange sense of deja vu hung over me that whole weekend, and I couldn’t figure it out. It was like I’d been there before. And that’s when I realized. Wanderlust was cheerleading camp for grown-ups.
It’s dangerous, though, you know? Practicing in the sun for hours, concrete under your mat, knees ripped up and feet filthy, you get so lost in the contrived removal from the Real World, this Yoga Disneyland of sorts. It’s tempting, a total tease; after all, who wouldn’t want to leave the day-to-day sludge of the work world behind to just hang out half-naked in a perpetual Savasana, listening to music under the stars, punch-drunk on Parivrtta Parsvakonasana?