Twenty years ago, I stumbled across an ad in the local newspaper about a community yoga class being held one evening a week. I was just out of high school and was going to the community college, working, volunteering and didn’t have much free time.
And yet. Something about the ad caused a stirring in me. I signed up for the class and wasn’t surprised to see that I was the youngest person by decades. The practice hadn’t gained traction on my small rural hometown.
It was hard to show up, be present, and move slowly. There were times I wanted to scream after having been in the same pose for what seemed like hours. I kept showing up, week after week.
Twenty years later, I am still showing up. My practice has morphed since those early days. I struggled with my ego early on. It was hard not to push myself to be able to do the ‘hardest’ poses.
Five years after that first class, I became a certified yoga teacher. I’ve held space for others and given them the pathway to learning the poses, the breathwork, the philosophy. I’ve invited them to sit with me in silent meditation. We’ve done walking meditations on hikes, with the end being a sweet, sweet meditation in the clearing of a forest.
I moved. And moved. And moved. I took a break from teaching. I returned to my roots of solely being a yoga student. I returned to teaching.
I took a deep dive into breathwork and meditation. I believe this is where it all exists- it the breath, in showing up, in being present. When the busyness of life is swirling around, I know I can always take some time to draw my attention inward and to just breathe.
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