The last 10 minutes of the class are my favorite because we lay in "corpse" pose (flat on our backs, arms at our sides, completely relaxed) and meditate. This pose gives us the opportunity to reflect on the practice and let go of any lingering tension.
My final relaxation pose was interrupted this evening, however, by an abrupt cellphone ring-you know, the generic ringtone that always seems to go off next to you in church or at the library. Fine. I can deal with an absent-minded yoga-goer who forgets to silence her phone before practice. Done.
Nope. Five minutes later the same phone goes off again. Since I am in my peaceful meditation mode, I allow the sound to pass by me rather than consume me. Fine. Done.
As I finished changing in the locker room and gathered my belongings to leave, a woman in my class commented on my boots. I was wearing my "work" clothes: black pants and my new favorite pair of black, pointy-toed boots with an impressive heel.
"You must be a law student or in med school or something," she says, looking at my footwear.
I smile and reply, "No, I'm a grad student in the School of Social Work, actually."
And then the inevitable, slightly deflated and hesitant, "Oh...."
I wished her a good night, turned on my heel, and headed towards the exit. As I pushed through the swinging doors I heard the infamous, generic, meditation-busting ringtone coming from her phone. I smiled. Perfect.
When will social workers be held to the same esteem as doctors and lawyers by the general public, I wonder? According to my roommate (a fellow social worker-to-be), "Not in our lives." While my chosen profession may not be admirable, honorable, or professional to others, I could not imagine myself doing anything else with my life right now. Fine. Done.
