I took a yoga class yesterday.
It was the fourth yoga class in my lifetime and fourth in the last year.
My bride encouraged me to go. Actually, she’s the one who took me to my first yoga class.
The first was hard. I don’t know how people can make fun of people who do yoga. It’s no joke. I shook involuntarily, I sweat buckets, I ached and almost cried. Then Shavasana came. I did it. And she was proud of me.
The second class she took me to, was a hot yoga class. The third was also.
Hot yoga class is an unnatural pain I have never experienced, nor want to ever experience again. I couldn’t breathe, I was sweating buckets, again, as soon as I walked in the door. My skin felt like it was on fire. Luckily, the deluge of sweat pouring from my skin seemed to put out the flames. I’m pretty sure I died. Then Shavasan came. And she was proud of me.
The fourth class was a Restore class. This one I went to alone. By myself. My bride wasn’t with me. I wasn’t going to go. But she encouraged me to do it. She believes in me.
This class was different. Cooler, calmer, softer. The room was filled with flute music and a soft blue light that reminded me of photos of the inside of glaciers. We were guided through many poses, but stayed in them longer. There was no pain, no aches, maybe a single drop of sweat. This was good.
And through it all, the teacher offered us this mantra, “Right now, I’m breathing in. Right now, I’m breathing out.”
In the craziness that is work, life, love, parenting, driving in traffic and planning meals, I was given the gift of presence.
“Right now, I’m breathing in. Right now, I’m breathing out.”
The teacher gave me the gift of a mantra. My bride, who encouraged me to go to the class, gave me the gift of belief. She believes in me.
And now, as I write this, I breathe in, I breathe out.
Breathe with me and receive the gift
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