Vertical Confessions: Downward Dog Days

Yoga and fitness are all the rage these days, and for good reason. Nothing beats the serenity of a solid downward dog—unless, well we will get to that. Welcome to the adventures of managing a luxury condo association, where the drama is as high as the rent.

Our scene is set at a modern architectural gem with three sleek industrial buildings encircling a glistening pool affectionately dubbed "The Zen Pool." It’s where the city's beautiful people gather to flaunt their flawlessly sculpted physiques. Imagine a high-rise urban oasis for the social elite.

Now, let’s talk about Sam. Sam lives on the second floor with a prime view of the Zen Pool. Early mornings at this posh property are generally tranquil. Residents began trickling into my office with discreet but increasingly exasperated complaints: “Sam’s doing yoga in his window.” Harmless enough, right?

At first, I dismissed it. Condo life breeds peculiar and sometimes eccentric grievances. The prior month, someone complained about their neighbor’s couch—a “ghastly shade of orange” visible through the window. Surely, this was just another case of nosy neighbors with too much time on their hands.

Then came that morning.

I was onsite at 5 a.m. for a major water line replacement, groggily doing my usual property walk. As I rounded the corner, I glanced up at Sam’s window. And there it was: a full moon at dawn. Sam was mid-downward dog, unabashed and undeniably naked. My first thought? "Oh, bless his heart." I wish I had that confidence. My second thought? "Why is it never the people you wouldn't mind seeing au naturel?"

For those that are not familiar and also need therapy: To do a downward dog, start on all fours, then push your hips up and back, forming an upside-down "V" with your body. Keep your hands and feet planted, arms straight, and let your head relax between your arms. Adjust as needed for comfort and stretch.

Now, what’s a general manager to do? A written violation? Hardly. Imagine presenting that to the board of directors for review. (“Do I attach a photo for evidence? Absolutely not. What’s wrong with me for even thinking that?”) Clearly, this required a more delicate approach—a face-to-face conversation. Rookie mistake. It was early in my career and clearly had a lot to learn.

Later that day, I called Sam and asked if he could stop by my office. For context, Sam was one of those unassuming types you’d expect spent weekends volunteering at soup kitchens or fostering stray puppies. Spoiler: I now suspect his hobbies are... different.

As he entered my office, I immediately realized this was a terrible idea. Why didn’t I just handle this over the phone? Small talk wasn’t helping. “Hey Sam, how’s life?” I stammered, trying to steady my nerves. But my brain went into overdrive, ricocheting between panic and a flashback of his dangling....oh never mind...I really can't unsee that.... I snapped and finally, I blurted out:

“Sam... your blinds. You have to close your blinds in the morning. Your neighbors don’t want to see your downward dog!”

Oh. My. God.

The words hung in the air like a rogue yoga mat flung across the room. Sam’s eyes widened. My eyes widened. Sam Froze. I froze. We stared at each other in shared mortification. It was an uncomfortable stand off, where he knew I knew. We stared at each other in mutual, soul-crushing horror. It was like the world slowed down just to marinate us in pure awkwardness. I couldn’t unsay it, he couldn’t unhear it.

After what felt like an eternity, Sam finally muttered, “Okay,” and bolted from my office like he was fleeing a crime scene.

From that day forward, we avoided each other like two magnets with the same polarity. Head down. No eye contact. Ever. Me? I invested in therapy.

Managing a luxury condo isn’t just a job—it’s a spiritual journey. Namaste, indeed.

And now, off to therapy.