Last week I attended my first yoga class. Like real deal at a studio with a real teacher. Walking in felt a lot like walking into class on the first day of kindergarten. Which is not necessarily the best feeling when you are dealing with fear. Which in all honesty, is why I found myself there to begin with.
At the beginning of class, the teacher encouraged us to let our mind settle on a word, our intention for that hour. What we came there seeking, what we needed. I very quickly settled on peace. Throughout the class when positions became difficult (and boy, did they become difficult) she encouraged us to call on that word. She also reminded us to breathe. With every motion, she instructed us to inhale and exhale. This seemed a little silly at first, but when things quickly became difficult, I found myself forgetting to breathe. When I found myself in a bind, the first thing I did was stop breathing. I cut off my own oxygen and made it even harder.
I thought a lot about this on my way home that night. Today marks one month until my husband's surgery. A surgery that will tell us whether or not he has cancer. Until now, I had also thought of it as the event that would let me finally be able to breathe again. One more month is a long time to hold your breathe when you have been holding it since Christmas. It is a long time to never feel the deep cleansing breath of being fully engaged in the world around you. It is a long time to want for something desperately, but to have to wait for it. But I'm learning that waiting feels a lot less like a spectator sport and a lot more like yoga now that I'm learning to breath through the hard parts. It isn't easy, it takes practice because it is a practice.
At the beginning of class, the teacher encouraged us to let our mind settle on a word, our intention for that hour. What we came there seeking, what we needed. I very quickly settled on peace. Throughout the class when positions became difficult (and boy, did they become difficult) she encouraged us to call on that word. She also reminded us to breathe. With every motion, she instructed us to inhale and exhale. This seemed a little silly at first, but when things quickly became difficult, I found myself forgetting to breathe. When I found myself in a bind, the first thing I did was stop breathing. I cut off my own oxygen and made it even harder.
I thought a lot about this on my way home that night. Today marks one month until my husband's surgery. A surgery that will tell us whether or not he has cancer. Until now, I had also thought of it as the event that would let me finally be able to breathe again. One more month is a long time to hold your breathe when you have been holding it since Christmas. It is a long time to never feel the deep cleansing breath of being fully engaged in the world around you. It is a long time to want for something desperately, but to have to wait for it. But I'm learning that waiting feels a lot less like a spectator sport and a lot more like yoga now that I'm learning to breath through the hard parts. It isn't easy, it takes practice because it is a practice.
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