I remember my first yoga class. It was a Kundalini practice (what is that? I thought) at the YMCA in Lafayette, Colorado. It was a Saturday morning, and after I returned home, I immediately went to my bedroom and took a nap. Now, that's something I never did—napping wasn't part of my routine, let alone on a Saturday morning. I can also distinctly remember feeling calm and peaceful, with the awareness that those weren't my normal go-to feelings.
We've all heard the saying, "When the student is ready, the teacher appears." Little did I know that Saturday morning class was opening a doorway that would change my life in ways I couldn't yet imagine.
Here began a relationship that would evolve into a spiritual path I hadn't known I needed, yet somehow had been craving all along. Over the next twenty-five years, it would carry me through life's comings and goings, nurturing a resilience I would rely on again and again. The learning continues—where my edges are, where I can soften, and the biggest lesson: Can I accept where I am in this moment? Not every practice looks or feels the same. Much like life.
It took a while for me to find my practice, my instructor, and my mat.
"Get a Manduka," I was told, and so I did. Best investment ever!
Yoga classes have come and gone. Studios and gyms in different states, some better than others. Instructors? There have been many. I've been blessed with some incredible yoga teachers, each bringing their gifts, focus, and grace. Many have become deep friendships, lasting decades. Each has freely shared their philosophy and beliefs on so many topics, opening my world exponentially. I have so much love and respect for them all.
The one constant through all of this—my mat. If I am at a yoga class, my mat is with me.
My mat has held me through growth, pain, divorce, troubling times with my children, menopause, tears, laughter, anger, doubts, and triumphs. Never once has my mat let me down. She has held everything I've brought to her, always supportive and comforting. A river of tears has never deterred her.
She has even forgiven my dog Sunny for thinking she was something worth eating.
She has never once questioned the whys or what-nows of my life. The moment the strap comes off and she's placed on the floor, there is a dance between us that is so automatic. I lay her out flat, precise and straight. A familiar ritual signaling the union of mat and practitioner, engaging in a symbiotic flow of support and experience.
My mind rests, my body flows, free to feel, to move, to explore. It can be meditative, fierce, playful, and on occasion, dare I say—drudgery.
All perfect, all held without judgment, and all experienced.
Some sage advice I learned early on—when the last thing you want to do is get on your mat, that's when you get on your mat! Honestly, it's true. The shift in my mood, attitude, and overall feeling can happen from one pose to the next. Sometimes I'll be gifted with a savasana power nap—they're the best. For a few minutes, there's complete suspension and surrender.
My practice is a reflection of me and where I happen to be emotionally, physically, and mentally. And when it all comes together, it is magic. My body flows, my mind assists the movement, and my feelings are free to do whatever they need to do.
I take pride in honoring the yoga traditions. Leave your ego at the door. Enter the space with a beginner's mind. Have reverence for how you open your mat, how you fold your clothes, and respect the space with openness for what unfolds. And above all, just breathe—deeply, slowly. That is yoga at its most fundamental core.
As I get older, I appreciate what it means to have a body that is flexible, strong, and able to continue doing the things it has always done. My mat and I are even more connected these days. I understand the importance of aging with grace and am going to do my best to stretch my body and explore the depth of what is available to me with each passing day.
I will also honor the days when less is more.
As I am writing this, I can't help but think back through my journey from that very first yoga class to who I am today. And while this is about my mat, it is also about me. I am so thankful to have found something that has been a constant in my life. This life has been filled with many twists and turns, but arriving on my mat is always the same. And for that, I am grateful.
I welcome many more years with my mat supporting me as I listen to my body and where it's ready to go.
Feet firmly grounded, a slight pelvic tuck, spine straight, shoulders rolled up—back and down—and above all—
Heart open.
