Yoga and the Bug-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named

I've inherited many things from my mother, among them, her irrational fear of bugs.  I don't just dislike bugs; I actually panic.  I run from bees.  I duck to avoid butterflies.  The worst, though, are those city-dwelling insects.  Even the word makes me cringe.  Years ago, when a roommate told me she'd seen one in our apartment, I started dating a guy to avoid coming home (until I decided the critter's company would be preferable).  I've fled many an event upon a Bug-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named sighting, most notably a Law Review karaoke party...  I've yet to live that down.  A friend quickly killed it, but I couldn't bear the thought that it might have family nearby.  Among my biggest fears is finding one in my apartment.  I'd have to move. 

You know where this is going.  Yesterday morning, as I was getting my coffee at work, I spotted one.  I yelped, but I didn't scream.  I didn't quit my job.  I didn't even run.  Instead, I sought out an able-bodied coworker and calmly informed him of his mission: kill the thing.  Now.  Once the Bug-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named was disposed of, I took my coffee back to my desk and did my work.  I really didn't freak out at all. 

It's not possible that I've outgrown my fear.  Not even two weeks ago, I called my dad over to my apartment to help finish off a mostly dead fly of sorts.  So, whence my zen and totally rational reaction?  I've decided it has to be the yoga.  I've been pretty good about going for the past few weeks, and had been to class yesterday morning just a few hours before the incident. 

Perhaps there's hope for me yet.

Namaste.

-Gym Belle-