Yoga becomes art.
My good friend, Jennifer, is a yoga instructor, we’re both about the same age, and have a lot in common. She stopped me as I walked by her cube, and said, “I was just talking about you.”
“Oh yea?” I raised my eyebrows and smiled. “All good I hope.”
“I was remarking with Jean how much we admire you.” Her eyes were direct as always, unashamed to be sincere.
I tried to be the same, but blushed. “Thank you. Truly? But why?”
“We were talking how dedicated you are…getting up every day at five thirty to write, entering contests, and finally getting published.” She knows of my yoga journey. How when I started, my toes were so far away, I thought them another universe. Now I can put my hands flat to the floor, even after recovering from a herniated disc.
“What is harder, to do your first backbend in your forties or write a book?”
“Some would argue the latter.” She swiveled in her chair so as to turn and face me more.
“But it is the mindset. The idea of change, of growth that yoga brings that is so important. Yoga has taught me that all things are possible with practice, and belief, and incremental change; to try new things, whether watercolor painting, or replacing windows in my house, or writing. Our possibilities are unbounded. How can you know what you might be good at if you never attempt new things?”
She laughed. “So many people practice yoga for the exercise, or to relax, or for a myriad of other reasons. But you know? It doesn’t matter. Because eventually, if they stick with it, they will reap that benefit, whether they intend to or not.”
“So true.” I walked back to my cube, my day job, and dreamed of more possibilities.”
