My yoga studio closed at the end of last week. No, I don’t own it in the physical sense. I’m not a yoga teacher there either – my practice is far too new for something like that. Still, there was something about the space and the time I spent there that was very much mine. I’ve sent the last few weeks in disbelief over the impending closing of the studio and yet unable to attend one last class there. It’s tough to get to yoga class with a husband that works second shift.
I suppose that’s part of the blessing of the studio closing. I had relied for far too long upon someone else, the rhythm and structure of a class, to lead me along my yoga journey. My own personal practice? Too many reasons why that’s not possible, right? Space, time, and I don’t know what to do.
…And yet, I’ve missed it something fierce. I’ve unrolled my mat a handful of times the last few weeks. It’s always difficult to get my there, but I’m always thankful when I am. Maybe not the first forward fold or downward dog. Maybe not until I reach the first child’s pose with my forehead resting on my mat and it hits me. That oddly comforting feeling that comes and you are at once grounded.
Still, there are practical concerns. Space is always my prime concern which is both a physical concept and an issue of time. The first step, of course, was accepting my basement dwelling fate. I’ve more often than not chaffed over the last two years over the prospects of “my space” being in the basement. What’s that about desperation being the mother of invention? Or something like that. Fine, I get it, the basement it is. Yes, the ceiling is short and I sometimes forget about it in the midst of drawing my arms up before folding forward. Then again, there is a door that I can close. This is key in a house like mine.
My next stop was to enlist the help of My Love. Might he be willing to take control of my assistants during the morning so I could get some time to myself? Yoga on an empty (or mostly empty) stomach is much preferred to post-meal yoga and besides that when there are a multitude of issues between the three small children someone else can referee…more on that later.
Luckily My Love was more than willing to help out. The first task of the day was to get things in order. Papers to file away, dust bunnies to vacuum, furniture to move. It was a lesson in learning to let go. He’d ask where something should be filed and I’d reply that he could figure it out…and he did. Blissful space and greater emptiness? Check!
Last night, after the children went to bed and My Love headed in to work, I unrolled my mat with that pleasant “thwack.” I opened iTunes and hit play on my Yoga playlist. I wish I could say it was as wonderful as I had hoped it would be. It was, in a split up, choppy sort of way. It probably would have been better if I hadn’t needed to go upstairs three times to play referee. Aren’t you children supposed to be sleeping?
A few more practical things – a strap, a bolster, a cushion, and one of those nifty Hugger Mugger Buffs might be nice. Still, it was a good place to start as I shift the majority of my practice to home with a yoga class here and then for dessert. The best part by far was the tiniest bit of silence I found at the very end. It’s much easier to hear the things I really need to that way.