Day 4: Goat Yoga
My 30 day Nervous System Novelty Challenge
The morning began as all sacred adventures should: with ritual and sweetness. Eden (my daughter) and I made our pilgrimage to Sidecar Donuts, that temple of temporary bliss where we surrendered to three seasonal offerings—Strawberry Matcha, Chocolate Crumble crowned with ethereal whipped cream, and the revelation that was Olive Oil Citrus. With our precious cargo secured, we drove the four minutes to South Coast Botanical Gardens, where we proceeded to consume half of them them while we waited for our event to start.
Sugar-blessed and slightly euphoric from our garden feast, we joined Goat Yoga participants where mimosas awaited (though I declined—my glucose levels were already dancing at their peak). Then came the introductions as we rolled our mats out side by side with our neighbors: Patches, Goldie, and their two companions whose names I’ve forgotten, goats who leaped, crawled, and bounded from soul to soul, seeking treats from their devoted keeper who kept them actively engaged with all of us.
What the brochure doesn't mention, but was said in the introduction by the yoga instructor, is that goats bestow blessings. Not metaphorical ones, but actual, tangible benedictions in the form of urine and excrement. According to Michelle, the goat mama is that you first of all get a sticker for your blessing and then you should immediately purchase a lottery ticket, for you have been chosen as special. The supplies for cleansing were abundant, and when one goat christened the cement early on, I felt a momentary relief. Well, I thought, that's sorted for this one.
But the gods of barnyard humor had other plans. Soon, multiple participants found their mats receiving these earthy sacraments, and I faced the challenge: How does one remain present and joyful while navigating the very real possibility of being, shall we say, anointed?
Three graces worked in my favor. First, my country-girl roots—I’ve had to clean up loads of poop in my day with my horses, cats, hamsters, parakeets - (you get the picture!) so I’m not unfamiliar with this animal reality. Second, I’ve trained my mind to focus on the good - what is hilarious about this situation and how can I really attend to that. And third, the profound practice of trust—believing that these guides knew their craft, had extra clothes, cleaning supplies, and experience helping people navigate hooved massage therapy if it goes awry.
The result? Pure magic. Eden and I dissolved into belly laughter, the kind that rewires your nervous system with joy. We stretched into yin poses while goats used our backs as personal trampolines. We enjoyed the goat on other people's back and even grabbed their phone so we could get their Kodak moment for then and in return, they returned the favor, gifting us memories that will outlast any fear of farm-fresh fertilizer.
This is the art of nervous system flexibility—the ability to hold awareness of potential mess while choosing to swim in the stream of delight. Yes, that creature balancing on my spine could bless me at any moment, and yes, I was giggling so hard my core muscles forgot they were supposed to be supporting a yoga pose.
Do I burn with the urge to return? Not particularly. Would I go again with friends if it were free? Absolutely. Did I feel relief walking away unbaptized by barnyard offerings? Without question.
We celebrated our survival with the remainder of our donuts and wandered the gardens, discovering the Bamboozled exhibit, taking selfies, attempting handstands, and channeling our inner cheerleaders. The day felt complete, full-circle, a perfect storm of sweetness and silliness.
But here's where the plot thickens—I'm already researching cat yoga. Cats, those masters of dignity and privacy, who would never dream of such public exhibitions of bodily function. Creatures who understand the sacred art of discretion. Now that sounds like a home run for fun.
The nervous system, it turns out, craves novelty not for the thrill alone, but for the opportunity to discover what we're capable of embracing. Sometimes the greatest blessing is learning to laugh while staying present to whatever life—or livestock—might drop on us.