I go to a yoga studio in Soho founded by a super rad Israeli couple. You can hang out in the lobby between classes. With a café and a small library, it’s a nice respite between errands in the neighborhood. One of the co-founders, David, and I have had some interesting conversations over the past few months.
One Sunday afternoon, I’m hanging out there. "Hey, I'm heading out for a bit," I say to David. "See you in class in an hour."
"Are you going to Whole Foods?" he asks, referring to the one across the street. "If so, can you please grab something for me?"
I pause. Me at 28 would’ve just done it without saying anything. Me at 31 reluctantly says, "Actually, I'm going to church around the corner." I launch into a lengthy explanation about my spiritual practices and my understanding of the historical light and shadows of the Catholic Church.
“Hey, don’t worry,” he interrupts me with a knowing smile and a wink. “I get it. I studied at yeshiva.”
I exhale, surprised and relieved.
“Say hi to God for me.”
“Of course.” I smile back and laugh, slinging my backpack over my shoulder as I head out.