I was sitting with my parents in their beautiful backyard, letting my espresso cool a bit before taking a sip. I was looking up at long, sturdy trees; the setting sun framing them just perfectly. The air was cool for Florida in October. My mom said, “You’re more calm than I’ve ever seen you.”
And of course for that compliment, I must be thankful for yoga.
There was something about that evening, and maybe this past weekend in particular that made me realize how differently I feel. I’m not saying it’s always like this, but I feel as though I’m no longer a slave to time; the lack of it, or the past swallowed up by it.
Earlier in the day, Nick was talking to me from the shower. He said he wanted to keep today, just as it was. He reminded me of his old job, which used to send him away without much warning, for weeks on end. He was grateful for life as it is; both sets of our parents still alive and well. We’re young, unmarried, with no kids. We’re happy, dripping with honey-like laziness; content to just waste a Saturday with yoga, smoothies, and trips to Whole Foods to collect apples or plan extravagant pasta dinners (with an abundance of Chianti).
Time is no longer an “elusive bitch” – which I used to refer to it as. I don’t get angry at Sundays. I look forward to spreading my yoga practice through out my day, and sitting with legs up the wall, thinking of nothing except breathing.
“Like branches of a tree we grow in different directions, yet our roots remain as one.”
– Author sadly unknown.