In 2001 and 2002, when gyms were just starting to offer yoga classes I did a fair amount of yoga. That was especially true when John was sick. Six months after he died, I spent a week at yoga camp.

When someone talks about keeping “stress in their shoulders” it is a comfortable idea. Or eating their emotions, which just means that in the long run they keep their emotions in their waistline. That seems pretty comfortable too.

When you take 10 months of adrenaline that was managed, in part, by yoga, and then you take away the raw adrenaline and enter days worth of silent, vegetarian, meditative, intense yoga… something is going to give.

I shattered at yoga camp all those years ago. I exploded into a million tiny sharp shards that stuck in every wall. Then, Terminator like, I oozed back together and started again. Part of the aftermath was that my yoga practice was destroyed. I tried from time to time, I wanted the connection that used to be so comforting, but it wasn’t there.

A week ago, I walked back into a yoga class. By happy coincidence, I have just the right teacher, a great group in the class, and it is happening at just the right time. For now, while it feels right, I’m going back to the mat.

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