My beloved mat

I am having an issue with attachment.  This is generally not a problem for me.  I easily clean out and donate items that are no longer of use to me around my house.  But this is different.  This is my yoga mat.  The first one I ever bought.  The one that witnessed all of those first struggling, slipping downward dogs (and many years later witnessed my success and growth).  This is the one that I then blamed for all of those slippery hands and feet in down dog and warriors.  I want to take this opportunity to apologize publicly:

I'm sorry, mat.  I know now it wasn't you at all.  It was me.  Thanks for being my scapegoat for a period until my mind could accept the truth.  

And, although I have bought several other mats over the years, wooed by pretty colors, mysore rugs, newfangled technology and more eco-friendly materials, this is the mat to which I have always returned.  It has been my tried and true companion  for 15 years on my yoga journey.  15 years is a very long time to have something nowadays...  

I don't want a new mat.  I mean, sure, mine is stinky and discolored from my dirty gardening toes and sort of a weird green color that I would no longer choose.... But I love it all the same.  Maybe that is why I feel so attached:  I love it because of its peculiarities, not in spite of.  I love it because it knows my yoga practice inside and out from the beginning.  I love it because it has been a place of acceptance for so many years and so, I accept it.  Will I get that kind of acceptance from a new mat?  I wonder.  

But it is literally disintegrating.  I leave little green rubber bubbles in my wake after practicing and I can play peek a boo through the holes on either end. It is past time to replace it, but, truth be told, I'll probably hang on a while longer -- you know, until its incapable of doing its job at all.  When it does retire, it deserves a rite of passage, proper recognition, and a rightful resting and I haven't figured out what those are yet.  But this blog was a good start.