Why I Practice

I've been practicing yoga for quite a long time. Sometimes people are surprised by this; I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's because I only became more vocal about the practice after I did my first teacher training. Many of us practice quietly, though, for years and years and never train to teach or become outspoken about it.

In early 1995, I got my first job after college. I rented a little basement apartment of my own with one of those half-sized ranges in the kitchen and small windows high up on the walls that let in very little daylight. I had an enormous spider that hung out just outside my living room window; I called him Boris. He was just about my only friend there.

I went to work, I had a boyfriend who would come to visit on occasion but who lived far away, and I took care of the necessaries like feeding myself. I liked the local library and borrowed old movies and lots of books. Looking back, it doesn't sound so bad. In fact, it seems like it could have been ideal. I was unhappy, though. Now I know that it was depression, but at that time I thought it was a character flaw. Bygones.

Life went on for a little while in the same way, and I tried to add in some physical activity so I would "be healthy" (but really it was so I could lose weight; health was quite a distant second goal.) I found little that I enjoyed doing (which could have been partly due to depression, of course) so I flitted from one thing to another.

At some point the previous summer, one of my brothers had invited me to his apartment for dinner. It must have been that summer because I was driving a hideous old car and I recall the headlights flickering on and off and I drove along the Turnpike (just another "quirk" of that vehicle, I suppose.) My brother and I had a good visit, and I remember that he told me he had been doing some yoga. He had a meditation cushion he showed me. I don't remember much more than that, but he is my older brother, and I always did look up to him. He's very smart, clever with words, affectionate, and funny. Truly a decent person. I very much looked up to him.

Well, as I explored options for physical activity, my brother's foray into yoga came to mind. Inspired, I headed to the bookstore (where ELSE would I begin??) and bought a Yoga Journal magazine. In the back of the magazine there were some ads, including one for Hugger Mugger yoga products (they're still around at huggermugger.com!) I sent away for a package that included a mat, blocks, strap, bolster, and a big blue duffel bag to carry it all in. There was also a little ad for David Swenson's Ashtanga Yoga Short Forms on videotape that I bought (while no longer on tape, you can still find his stuff at David Swenson - Yoga Teachers on Omstars.) While I waited for those to be shipped to me, I went back to the bookstore and got a couple more tapes (Ali Macgraw's Yoga Mind and Body, led by Erich Schiffman, was one) and when my mat arrived, I started to practice.

This could be the end of my introduction, but it feels incomplete. It's never so simple as it seems. I practiced, and was "bad" at it, and kept practicing, and was still "bad" at it. I moved, fell out of headstand about fifty thousand times, probably to the chagrin of my downstairs neighbors (since I never lived in a basement again) and still thought I was "bad" at yoga. My practice fell by the wayside a number of times, but it always seemed like when things got wonky I would pick it back up. I had kids--four of them--and practiced a little when I was pregnant, using a Jennifer Wolfe DVD (I see the current iteration of this practice has a partner routine with David Swenson!) I started running, and every time I would get achy I would be sure to practice yoga. That meant that if I was running three times a week, I was practicing at least twice a week!

The days are long, but the years are short. Life progressed. Kids grew like weeds. There were ups and downs. The practice stuck with me, for better and for worse. There came a time when it felt like everything began to fall apart in a big way (I'm not sure I'll ever share more about that publicly) and I began to lean into the practice more and more and more. Frankly, over the years the practice saved my life. Several times. Remember how I mentioned depression? It was still there, sometimes medicated and sometimes not. I almost always felt better after I had practiced. Sometimes my practice was the only thing that helped me to feel better. When things fell apart, I often didn't even feel human until and unless I practiced.

That was 2017. I had been practicing for about 22 years, quietly but persistently. I hadn't gone to classes (except for a six-week series I had taken once and maybe a Yoga in the Park class or two locally). I had been through a decent number of yoga mats (my initial Tapas mat didn't last forever, alas!) and had given my blocks away at one point. I started kicking around the idea of taking a teacher training. I had no interest in actually teaching at that time; it was just so that I could learn more about the practice so I could use it even more effectively for myself.

But that's a different chapter in my story.