- Come as you are. Some days, I show up and my legs are silky smooth and I have an adorable pedicure. Other times, my legs are stubbly and I have an old crone’s feet. You know who doesn’t care? Yoga.
- Some days it feels so easy, and it’s okay when it doesn’t. Sometimes the flow is flowy, transitions are smooth, and I am present and breathing and all is well. Other times, I struggle to remember my right from my left, and one side of my body is loose and lithe while the other feels like a tangle of wire coathangers. You know who doesn’t judge? Yoga.
- You really can keep your eyes on your own paper. I don’t know what anyone else is doing on their mat. Depending on the class, I am too busy either trying not to fall down, or focusing on my breathing and trying to be present in the moment and in my body. (Okay, I *occasionally* glimpse at my neighbor to confirm just what the hell I’m supposed to be doing with one of my limbs…) You know who encourages you not to compare yourself to others? Yoga.
- Good teachers. The reason they make it look so easy is that they’ve failed more times than you’ve ever tried, and they will tell you so. You know who teaches humility? Yoga.
- The studio space. There’s a reason those rooms feel so soothing. Nothing else goes on in there but yoga. There are no phones, no pets, no furniture or clutter. You know who pushes you to leave your shit behind? Yoga.
- The calming the fuck down. I don’t think I need to expand on this, except to ask: Who is the reason I didn’t murder the woman in front of me at the sandwich shop who apparently required nuclear launch codes to build the three most perfect sandwiches in America today? Yoga.
I love you, you gently magnificent bastard.