The day I got the news about J, I was on my yoga mat. For months after, I had a new routine: get up, work, come home, eat junk, form a Cindy shape into the couch cushion, stare blankly at the TV, go to bed. One day, I got up and scrubbed the house from top to bottom, bought real groceries and started living my life again. But the yoga practice? That was a bit harder. One day, I got my mat out and just stared at it. Then, the next day, I touched my mat with my big toe and burst into tears. Eventually I got to a point where I could actually stand on my mat, but I'd just stand there and wait for the phone to ring, wait for the bad news. Some days I'd just stand there and hear my mom's voice and words through the phone from that day and I'd clinch my eyes shut willing them to go away. But I moved on, pushed myself to practice, calmed the citta vritti. My yoga practice has changed in so many ways from those early days. I went from practicing once or twice a week, to teaching and practicing six times a week, and now to just practicing. I love my practice now. I love being a student again and I love the confidence I feel in doing my own practice at home. I love that I no longer feel guilt when I miss a practice and I love those days when I push myself the hardest. I love that I have space to practice.
My teacher once told me that just the act of getting your mat out sets the intention to practice. I don't think even I realized until now how true that is. Peace, namaste and Happy Love Thursday.