It was just one of those things that happen.
You know the sort of thing. The specifics of it are unimportant because the feeling is universally understood. Feeling disappointed. Feeling rejected. Being a little lost.
It’s not the end of the world. It’s just one of those things that covers you in a cloud of sadness. It makes you feel tired and wonder why it has to be this complicated.
I wore my big sunglasses to yoga. I wondered if I could get away with wearing them in the hot room, so that no one could see that I had been crying in the car on my way to the studio.
I don’t totally understand why yoga works. Why sweating and putting my forehead to my knee reminds me of my own self worth. I don’t know why doing a back bend makes me a kinder person. I don’t know why pranayama breathing re-introduces me to myself. I don’t know why a spine twist straightens out my priorities.
But it does. Every time.
There are thousands of years of documentation of this phenomenon, complicated scriptures and impressive-sounding Sanskrit words like svadhyaya. I’ve read Patanjali…and I guess I sort of get it, in theory. But here’s the great thing, you don’t have to completely understand it for it to work. It works anyway.
It doesn’t mean that the world doesn’t beat me up anymore. It still does. I still get disheartened and whiney. I’m just able to get into the hot room and remember what it’s really all about. I bounce back much faster than I used to.
And then I get down on my knees and press my forehead to the ground and profess my undying gratitude for yoga. Because yoga wakes me up to the joyous realities of my life and encourages me to let go of everything else.
And then I promise to do it again tomorrow. Whatever it is.
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