how yoga found me

Max once asked us in a teacher training to remember our first yoga class.

It happened one Saturday morning in the spring of 2005. I can't remember the exact date. At the time it was not important. I was living in Joliet, Illinois, and my mom was visiting me for a bit. So, I convinced her to come with me to a class I had been eyeing for a while--as moral support.

I had been yoga-curious for months before that. After class, I felt as if that had been what I was searching for without realizing it. Some of you may know what I'm talking about.

Jamie, the woman teaching the class, was the neighbor of my (then) sister-in-law. She taught in her cocoon-like basement, dimly lit with candles. It would become my safe haven. I had moved to Illinois a week after getting married, nine weeks after graduating from college. I didn't know anyone besides my (then) husband's family and the teenagers I managed at a Barnes&Noble about an hour's drive from my house. I felt uprooted and ungrounded.

Jamie led us through a standard yoga sequence, with long holds and lots of vinyasas. My first chatarunga left me lying on the floor in disbelief. In savasana (something I was wary of due to my Baptist upbringing), she covered us in blankets and read a short meditation to us.

I was hooked. I kept coming back, gradually increasing my holds in Warrior 2 from a short 10 seconds to longer and my vinyasa count from 1 proud, sloppy chatarunga to 10 and higher. Unbeknown to me, I was laying the foundation for a practice that would keep me safe and (somewhat) sane through my coming divorce.

The real change was not physical, even thought that's what drew me to the practice to begin with. It was happening deep inside me, undoing a foundation of cynicism and layers of (invisible) armor meant to keep others out. Slowly, I began to realize it was only keeping me in.

In broad strokes, I would move that winter from Jamie's basement (thank you wherever you are!) to the mind/body studio at the Lifetime Fitness gym nearby. Traveling across the flat stretch of gray sky and earth, squished close together, only made walking into the earthy studio that much more welcoming. I had several wonderful teachers there (sorry I don't remember your names), in particular an ashtanga teacher who did funny nose breathing things and a vinyasa flow teacher that made me remember how the world looked upside down.

Nothing could follow me into that room. At a time when I felt emotionally homeless, that yoga studio and the one I would find in Greenville became my home. But I had not learned how to conquer my troubles off the mat yet.

After much thought (and an intervention attempt from my extended family--thanks for the thought), I would move with my dog out of the house I felt trapped in for months, into the guest bedroom of my friend and co-worker Megan, and eventually to a dingy little apartment back "home" in Greenville.

I felt lost and free altogether. It was a time of uncertainty and possibility.

My yoga journey has been one of rebirth, mostly due to the circumstances in which it found me. Which is why, when I found Max, I realized why yoga felt right for me. By diving beneath the surface--that constant changing storyline of our lives--we can find the truth.

So when you step onto your mat next--whether you're a beginner, and you're still getting used to going barefoot for the first time since grade school, or you're "advanced," and you've already played out the day's class in your head--stop for a moment. Open your mind to the possibility of learning something new. Quiet the mind and listen. Simply let go.

No matter what brought you to yoga in the beginning; remember, it's the journey that counts.

[how did you find yoga? do you remember your first class? what kept you coming back?]