Curry, Courage, and Rediscovering Yoga

on yoga

“But I’m a bird,” cried sparrow, “not a pretzel.”

“Perhaps,” Bear laughed, “you’re a spretzel.”

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Mobile: Parts & pieces

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She smelled like Indian takeout, yellow curry or maybe channa masala.

The first time I met her, she was dressed in not much more than a cloud of incense.

Sandalwood, I think.

It swirled around her like poetry, making her edges hard to see.

She welcomed me, hands over heart and … legs behind her head.

Her name was Mickie. And she was my first yoga teacher.

I was 18. In college. And unsure what I’d just signed up for.

Even at that age, I was more comfortable on a couch with a beer than twisting myself up like a pretzel.

And although I showed up ready to muscle my way into every pose, Mickie patiently, gently, thoughtfully spent an entire semester introducing me to my body.

“This is your spine, Mark,” she’d say, hand soft on my back as I awkwardly pivoted into downward dog.

“Would you like to say something to it, perhaps thank you?” she’d ask.

Often, “thank you” was not what I wanted to say. To my spine or to her.

Over the course of many years, I’d drink many more beers, and only occasionally return to yoga.

Five years ago, my partner helped show me what’s available when you quit numbing yourself with alcohol. Her courage inspired my own.

When I stopped drinking, I honestly didn’t know what would happen. All I knew for sure was that I’d removed something from my life, something that was not serving me.

I knew I’d opened a space, but I did not know what would fill it, if anything.

Over those same years, my partner invited me numerous times to try yoga.

Yet, for some reason, I resisted, and kept the door closed. Until recently.

In life, we will lose many times over.

By choice. By circumstance.

People. Things. Dreams.

And that loss will leave spaces, holes, within us.

Yet, with every loss, we have a choice:

Fill with what is outside, or invite ourselves in.

Now, I know I was waiting until I was ready to fill that space with me.

Whether it’s removing something that no longer serves you or affirming something that does, where can you look at yourself more patiently, gently, and thoughtfully today?