I have a very strong attachment to my yoga mat. He's natural rubber, PVC-free, eco-friendly, biodegradable, and one of my favorite colors in the whole world—plum. He protects my feet from germs and/or sweaty puddles remaining from previous yoga classes. When I carry him home on a smelly, crowded train, I hug him close to my body—protecting him from the cold, harsh world.

I unroll my friend in a specific way, with the small, square label in the top left hand corner. I roll him back up the same way each time—slowly and carefully, so the edges are even and tidy. It's a little ritual that signifies my mini-vacation has come to an end, and I must return to my life.

In fact, I haven't been so attached to an inanimate object since I was a toddler toting around my precious Blankey. So when my well-intentioned teacher asked me to abandon my dear mat for a series of standing poses, I was not pleased. It was reminiscent of the times when my mom ripped Blankey from my hands to wash him. I would spend what seemed like hours (but was more likely a few minutes) jumping up and down as I helplessly grasped for Blankey, which had been maliciously hung out of my reach on the laundry line. In yoga class yesterday, I stared longingly at my mat, as I struggled valiantly to remain upright in Trikonasana (Triangle Pose) on the ice-skating-rink of a rug.

There's a moral to this story. The fact that I found it SO hard to remain upright in standing poses on the carpet taught me that I haven't been engaging my muscles enough in my daily practice. This is a valuable lesson because now I know where I should be focusing my attention when I practice—and it's not on the pretty color of my mat. Maybe, just maybe, I should try practicing without my mat for a while so I can learn to stand strong in my poses all by myself. I'm a big girl now!