Lately, I’ve been using the yoga metaphor that life is about being on the mat. Present. Mindful. Committed to showing up.
When I finished writing my book, I promised myself that I’d get back into yoga. This time, I’d stick with a yoga studio. No pseudo-yoga classes squished into back corners of mega, franchise gyms. Lucky for me, Prana Yoga opened up in the village. I love that if I plan for it, I can walk there. I also love that if I drive, it’s less than five minutes from my home to the studio.
Last month, I decided to kick things up a notch by committing to show up six out of seven days. Seems to be working.
The studio is on the second floor of a stand alone building in the heart of the village. My bank – the bank that was also my grandparents bank – is next door. There are lots of long windows in the studio that overlook Main Street. When I’m in tree pose, I look out and trace memories of what used to be with what is now.
Yoga. It’s my sunshine on a cloudy day.
Yoga. The older I get, the better it feels.
It’s my time out. It’s my muse.
It’s where my creative and physical selves find each other; where my third eye comes out to play. Where the only dogs are “downward facing.”