I had a terrible Monday—like an Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day kind of Monday. Tuesday got a little better. And, thankfully, Wednesday leveled out. The happy fairies paid me a much-needed visit.
I moved upstairs into a larger bedroom in my loft. In this room, there is enough space for me to do my yoga practice.
This means that I don’t have to do yoga in the living room while my roommates are cooking dinner in our open-concept kitchen/living/dining room.
This means that I can wear those raggedy old leggings that are completely see-through in the a**.
This means that I don’t have to worry about my overdue-for-a-shave armpits in goddess pose, or the hole in my crotch in crow.
This means that I don’t have to worry about passing wind in plough or roaring like a lion in warrior one. Sometimes I like to scream with my tongue out.
None of these things can you do when your roomies are in the same room as you.
Some would argue that yoga is about letting go of these very things that I (kind of) worry about—tights, armpit hair, warrior one lion screams, et cetera. I mostly agree.
Here’s the catch though, I’m not just weird on the mat.
Being able to do my own yoga practice in my own room gives me more space to be weird downstairs, off of the mat. You can’t overwhelm the roomies with your weirdness. It’s about balance.
How does this relate to my very bad Monday and rather awesome Wednesday, you ask? Well, among many other more serious life queries, my worries around my weirdness and my life path devoured me on Monday. They swallowed me whole and spit me back out again so I could lie on the messy floor and wail for the day to be over.
And finally, it was over.
Note to self: Those days do end.
Tuesday was kind of hazy as I looked at the world through very tired and puffy eyes, but it was definitely better. Nothing swallowed me. Wednesday, though, showed up in all of its glory. Wednesday said, “I am here to rescue you, to turn this week around and to show you that you’re going to be okay—it’s all going to be okay.”
Wednesday brought me my forgotten yoga practice.
The sun was shining and it reached 17 degrees (Celsius). It was absolutely gorgeous out. I was doing yoga in front of my open window in my new bedroom. A warm breeze filtered through to caress my face every so often. A balsam fir incense stick burned on my dresser, and a tea light flickered on the floor in front of my mat. It really was a delicious practice—the type of powerful practice where you move like a ninja in a point class. Precise and elegant. Soul food. It felt so damn good.
The best part of the whole practice, though—my whole day in fact—happened in navasana (boat pose). I sat in my deep “V” with my arms outstretched and my fingertips reaching for peace. My abdominals engaged to maintain my connection to the ground and to the ether. On a deep inhale I watched my chest rise and as I exhaled I remembered to relax my shoulders. I took another deep inhale and on this next exhale I took my gaze to my feet.
And there it was—that magic moment where all of the thoughts in my head found a quiet home in my body.
Centered in my window frame, just beyond my open toes, was St. Mikes’ Steeple. The copper turrets danced in the sunshine, worshipped by the strong stonewalls of the cathedral. Perfectly framed like a sacred painting, God was literally right at my feet.
He winked at me with a smile and said, “No toe jam, life’s good. It’s all going to be okay.”
I don’t often use the term “God.” I prefer “Great Spirit.” However, the church and the steeple go hand-in-hand with God, and so in that particular moment balanced in boat, someone’s God was with me.
There was something about experiencing this visual while in such a physically demanding posture that felt ecstatic and deeply relaxing at the same time. It was like an immediate karmic response to my yoga practice. Thank you for stretching, twisting and strengthening your body, I am right at your toes, pray to me, ask me anything, I am here to help you on your journey.
All I could do in that moment was smile. I smiled at my toes and sent them some love. I smiled at my fingers tickling the peace in the air. I smiled at the weight of the world that was holding me up and supporting me in this deep and sexy “V.”
There was nothing more to it. It was a pure and simple moment, beautiful in its stillness—a moment that I will recall on those Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day Mondays.
Those Mondays will come, and they will go.
Do yoga when you’re flying high, and when you’re feeling low.
Author: Savannah Robinson
Editor: Toby Israel
Photo: Author’s Own // Jes/Flickr