It’s been a long time since I’ve regularly attended yoga; I took my last class roughly three years ago, at the height of my anxiety and at a time when I probably could have used deep breathing/meditation more than anything.
For some inexplicable reason, I started telling myself that yoga no longer had a place in my life and that I would have to find other ways to fill that void. Except that there was nothing else and I have sincerely missed the stretching, the twisting, the bending, and that feeling of complete euphoria at the end of a good session.
My coworker recently mentioned that she attends a yoga class at least once a week in my town and that I should come with her one day. I was nervous but at long last I agreed, knowing full well that the first time back would be the hardest.
Would I still be able to get into certain positions? Would my bones ache the next morning? Would I make a complete fool of myself in class?
My friend and I arrived to a full classroom. I felt a moment of panic when I realized there were no longer any spots available in the back of the room (where I was hoping to hide) and that I’d have to move all the way to the front.
Sweet baby Jesus.
As the practice started and the sound of “ommmmmmm” filled the room, I listened to the instructor and breathed mindfully into every pose. All of a sudden, I stopped thinking about what I must have looked like to focus instead on this very moment and the gift that had been given to me.
At the end, my friend introduced me to the kind instructor and I rambled on about how long it had been since my last
yoga class. With just a slight twinkle in his eyes, he said something I desperately needed to hear.