The First Time I Yoga-ed

Starting stories with the word “and” is satiable to me because I believe that it is wrongful to assume that a real beginning even exists. It’s extremely difficult to start from the very beginning of anything while telling a story, so here we are. A piece of a story which tells the first time I lived in the present without judgement or fear. Yoga at its finest.

The apartment

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And I cried after leaving him, every time on the way back from the airport. I wasn’t sad thinking about the time we would spend apart… I couldn’t have been, because I didn’t think about that at all. I cried because he cried. I cried because I liked to cry. I enjoyed having an excuse to be ugly and let that ugliness escape in the form of saline droplets. Red face and swollen eyes but no one was allowed to judge me. Like a hangover, emotionally exhausted but you don’t quite know why, and you don’t ponder it. Let it be, in an ugly, raw form, without analyzing it; let yourself be.

Fast-forward a year. Time moves slowly for once and I have enough time to exist in my authentic form. I breathe contentment into my lungs with every inhale and my face smiles because I like to smile. Every decision is the right one because it’s the only one. Snow begins to fall for the first time this year and even though the grass still shows through, I am seeing the magic of a snow storm as if for the first time.

And there was nothing to do besides bake cookies and teach yoga.

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