To you who had, at one time, visited with me daily:
So, it’s been a while since we last shared quality time. I was sort of wondering if you’d forgotten about me. In case you have had trouble finding me, I’ve been sitting in this bullshit basket supposedly hand-woven by African artisans or something. It’s to the right of the altar you created when you were actually dedicated to your practice.
I’ve written this letter because I’m frustrated with you. There was a time when we spent every day together—every day that wasn’t a moon day, whatever that means. Only now you’ve seemingly forgotten about me. A poor abandoned yoga mat, feeling worthless, like you.
I’ve seen you through some of your life’s biggest challenges; I supported you when your life was out of balance and full of uncertainties. I helped you through job interviews that didn’t land and comforted you when a rejection letter from your dream doctoral program arrived in your mailbox.
I cried with you when a back injury left you with little strength for your practice and centered you when your mind became scattered. I allowed you to work out your frustrations with your family or the stresses of your career– just by virtue of being there for you.
When you felt abandoned and alone, I gently reminded you that I am with you, so you are never alone. And hey, you never look more beautiful to me than when you are just sitting with me or practicing with me.
No matter how many times you woke up, muttering on and on about how you were too tired or too depressed to practice, I just sort of gave you that look like, “Oh, come on…let’s just practice together for a bit.” When, at the end, it was time to take your rest, I encouraged you to be still because you’d worked hard, you’d earned it.
When your current relationship went from casual to super-serious, I was there cheering you on, reminding you that life is too short not to dive in and enjoy every minute. If you recall, I’d once helped you fly, showed you a new perspective of the world upside-down.
At the time we were regularly working together, growing together, you were a much different you—stronger, more hopeful, at peace. I see that you’ve been struggling to be that person again. What kills me most is that I helped you to become that woman and I could help you be her again, if you’d only let me show you.
I guess what I’m saying is that I really miss you. I don’t understand how you’ve forgotten all I’ve done for you. It’s hard to watch you battling your depression, wrestling with those damn demons and walking with burdens so heavy, when all you have to do is show up. I would help you with the rest and carry you through the toughest of terrains.
Those pangs of guilt you’re feeling as you read this? That’s just you, letting the simple truth of it all sink in. You know you need me to feel complete. It’s simple—you and I, we belong together. Stop running from me. I’m waiting for you whenever you’re ready to feel whole again. What are you waiting for?
Your Yoga Mat
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Assistant Ed: Miciah Bennett / Ed: Cat Beekmans
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The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. A Letter to my Children: You do not come from a Broken Home. These People are Rare Gems—Keep Them, Fight for Them, don’t Give Up on Them. Mom, can I Call her Mom, Too? Jon Stewart makes first appearance since retiring—”it’s not your country.” Waylon shares 10 transformingly beautiful Quotes about Love. 40 Things I’ve Learned in 40 Years. Why your Yoga Goals are (Probably) Irrelevant, if not Downright Dangerous. Dear Woman in the White Car at Margaritas Mexican Grill in West Memphis, Arkansas on July 15th, 2012. How I Raise My Dying Son.