On Sunday, I totally gutted my yoga space. It had become a repository for a whole bunch of knick knacks, laundry, garbage, and dust bunny carnage. I cleaned every corner and set up my little table to create a calm, welcoming vibe and finished it off with a new Himalayan salt lamp. The centerpiece is a lamp my Granddad made when I was a baby, and it’s the centerpiece of my li’l altar.
The warm light created a calm environment, and I felt grounded right away, at home on my mat, wondering why I’d been away so long. There was no judgment. I’m over that. I didn’t feel guilty about losing my personal practice through months of time constrictions and physical limitations. I just felt grateful for coming back.
I know that my effort clock is a little wonky when I practice on my hard. I either don’t push myself enough or I go hard and end up hurting myself, so I like to fire up a video every once in awhile, and I’ll get into yoga videos vs. class vs. personal practice in a later post!
I experimented with a couple ashtanga classes, which is way outside my wheelhouse. I enjoyed them, but I’m not sure it’s right for me. I’m not sure it’s the best practice for my particular body, but if there’s one thing I love, it’s experimenting on my own body like some sort of deranged mad scientist.
My cat, the vociferous and attention whoring Bentley, loved to weave in and out, and he found himself very close to danger on several jump backs until he made a little nest on top of my laptop sleeve.
It may not seem like much, but two days is a nice start. I feel like myself again. I feel grounded, that sense of being unmoored is starting to ebb away.
I even meditated a little.
Record scratch. What?
If you listen to the podcast, you know I struggle with meditation. I know all of the health benefits. I know it’s something that will keep the rest of my day and life in order, but for some reason I don’t do it.
It’s that monkey mind of mind. I can’t wrangle it, and there’s a reason I don’t want to. Fear? Who knows.