I’ve come to breathe with you again

As I lay in restful savasana today surrounded by trees and breezes and the sound of taco orders being fulfilled next door, my mind floated the old Simon and Garfunkel tune: “Hello darkness my old friend.”

But this wasn’t despair that I welcomed in. It was the deep contentment of rediscovering yoga’s power to restore.

My yoga journey began way back in the 1980’s when yoga took off in Los Angeles, especially among the creative class.  I would find myself cheek to cheek (you know which cheeks I’m talking about) with Hollywood stars like Ali MacGraw, Dennis McQuaid and Meg Ryan at Yoga Works on San Vicente Blvd, a hot spot for the yoga chic.  It was mostly Hatha Yoga at that moment.

Later, when we moved to the Bay Area in the 90’s, I continued my yoga practice at studios in Menlo Park and Palo Alto.  For a time, my Saturday ritual was to race down to Palo Alto for a 10:30 class around the corner from a Barnes & Noble. There, my laughing yoga teacher would take us through our downward dogs and sun salutations at a pace that left me breathless for the corpse pose called savasana.  Afterward, I’d cruise University Avenue, buying an espresso and a treat and perusing books at the B&N. 

Later, I took up yoga at various other Bay area gyms and studios I joined.  And then, amazingly, I went to work for a Jewish Community Center that had its own gym and yoga classes and the staff was encouraged to participate.  What joy!!

For me, that joy was short-lived.  Imagine going to a noon yoga class with your colleagues.  I wasn’t anonymous anymore. I felt exposed. I couldn’t relax.  While I would happily do yoga cheek to cheek with strangers (and the occasional celebrity), I simply couldn’t do it with colleagues. It was just too weird for me. Hard to go from downward dog to face to face meetings with the same people.   And so my yoga practice lapsed.  

Fast forward a decade later  to our move to San Diego in 2019.  We joined a gym, got personal trainers and got into taking long daily walks and hikes around our almost always temperate environs.

And then we discovered a yoga studio right in our own backyard. Well, actually, right in their own backyard! Riffs Yoga in Bird Rock holds their classes on a canopied deck surrounded by tropical plants and trees and kissed by the ocean breezes just blocks away. There are heaters for cooler days.

And, after years of doing yoga solo, Andy decided to join me.  We walk to class with our mats, entering together into the rhythms  of a slow vinyasa class under the sky. Sometimes we are accompanied by bells, gentle music and sound baths. Then we walk home together. It is all part of our new yoga practice.  At this time of year,  we often go to a 4 pm class where we start in daylight and end in night lamps and the warmth of heaters.

Our L.A. kids are recently into hot yoga.  When they came down for Thanksgiving weekend, we invited them to join us in our not hot class.  It was amazing to be alone in our personal practice for an hour and then walk back home together.  We hope other visiting guests will join us in our newfound practice.

And we are beginning to recognize others in the neighborhood who are taking and teaching classes here.   It feels like a community when you run into people carrying yoga mats under their arms.

Namaste: Hello to you, Yoga, my old friend.

P.S. Apparently the last time I wrote about yoga was in 2011 when Lululemon pants were an audacious $50! See old posts below:

Yoga with a Starbucks Chaser. Heaven.

I’ll take savasana, please.

Why do we love Lululemon? Because they make our butts look good