Waiting for Thoreau

This summer I have practiced yoga religiously. Three times a week when I can. In a deviation from my normal behavior, I have happily left the farm for the drive to town for yoga. I’ve gone mid-day, with the lunch crowd, and have learned to do my own yoga, to accept my body’s limitations and its potential on any given day, and perhaps, most importantly, I’ve learned to breathe. Deeply. Rhythmically.

I go to YogaSol, housed in a deep purple warehouse in Columbia’s North Village Arts District. The new studio was finished this spring and you can tell it was designed with love. It is simple and uncluttered and perfect.

I not only learned the poses, improving my physical strength, balance and flexibility, but I learned how to unclutter my mind and to slow time.

I am used to feeling my schedule and to-do list balanced on my head like a burden, a heavy weight whose desire is to destroy me. Through yoga I have become unhurried, relaxed and more ready to take on challenges.

I got a lot done this summer, and I did it at a leisurely pace which meant I enjoyed everything more. I’ve kept up with this blog and started writing fiction, reminding myself that writing isn’t a luxury, but that it, like yoga, must be practiced religiously.