Coming Home to Yoga After COVID
Everything good comes to me through yoga. I found my breath and discipline at a yoga retreat. I found my voice & belonging in a yoga teacher training. I found my greatest love in a yoga class. I found my home on the yoga mat. I found my freedom teaching yoga online.
This morning, I took my first yoga class at a studio since before COVID. It’s been almost a year and half since I practiced yoga in a room beside other humans. This is the longest I’ve ever gone practicing alone. I had forgotten the feeling of rolling out my mat and looking around to see us. The feeling of belonging, of being a part of a group, a part of a lineage, a part of a tradition, a part of something.
Practicing alone in the forest last summer during quarantine was my escape from the trapped indoors. I was with the trees. Practicing alone on the rooftop of our new city condo last fall was my escape from the small box and intensity of cohabitating with a man. I was with the sky. Practicing alone in my studio was my escape from the world, my sanctuary retreat. I was with myself. Practicing on Zoom with women around the world was my escape from loneliness. I was with my sisters. Practicing in the studio this morning was not an escape. I just felt like I had finally come home.
All the striving to be something, to create and accomplish, to protect myself and stand up for myself in this big world, to build a brand, to show up authentically on social media, to serve the world with my gifts…all this chaos has been in my mind. I suffer the curse of this individualistic freedom our society has wiggled into. In our striving for independence we walk a risky line of disconnection from the sacred circle…humans dancing around the fire together after surviving the day. All this modern buzzy plugged in shit just drops away as I sink into child’s pose.
Home, beside other people returning home. We’re coming home together, arriving on our mats at the same moment, passing over the most simple threshold together. God, what a relief.