People don’t often talk about what grief feels like. I suppose people don’t often talk about what many things feel like, much less something as big and confusing as grief.
Every day that I come to the mat, I face my fears. I’m confronted with the present. The present is something I usually prefer to ignore.
Mirrors were worthless – they told me nothing. Instead, I trusted this job to my sister. My sister, my oracle.
97% of young women confess “I hate my body.” Why, then, do I need to hear “it’s almost swimsuit season!” before I begin a yoga practice?
Looking back, I see how stagnant my practice was until that point–even if I was making improvements in poses, everything basically stayed the same.
We need to engage the dialogue – spoken and unspoken – about the particular topography of our bodies.
I’d skip around like a kid high on pixie sticks. My clothes fit better. Small children waved to me on the street. Double rainbows appeared everywhere I went.
I hesitated to answer my phone, though it was my parents’ ring. Something made me answer it anyway. What unfolded next was kind of a blur, but I got the gist of it: my dad had cancer.
“That’s it,” I told my husband. “Operation New Life Plan commences now.”