It's Tuesday. Time to fess up, folks!
Yoga for Poets. I'm sure such a thing exists.
On a snowy Sunday morning, I took my first yoga class. Taught by Chris Warner at her studio north of Boston, I have to say it was an amazing experience. Chris has been practicing for nearly 20 years and teaching for half of them, so I felt like I was in good hands. That morning, I really felt as if I did something just more me.
I won't lie--yoga is hard. I have no core strength, and apparently no balance in many of the floor positions. Also, I am not that flexible (no surprise there). But it did open me up; it unblocked a few places I didn't know were blocked. It felt intentional and good, which makes it hard to explain. More necessary than cathartic, like maintenance I didn't know I needed.
I went to the class because I wanted to change up my routine. Will I stick with it? Maybe. It has certainly motivated me to do more than the treadmill at the Y. Change is good.
There are birds chirping. Hurray! I don't know how they're finding food with all the snow on the ground, but at least they're coming back.
My son is about to start his own bit of March Madness with basketball playoffs. They are coming off of a tough loss to the best team in the league, but I tell you watching those 11-year olds play gives me a kind of pride I never experienced as a player (Growing up, I never played basketball, or any sport.). But I get to experience it as a mother, which floods my heart with such emotion and love for my son.
My daughter's league does not have playoffs for her age bracket (and they don't keep score), but she had a good season. She learned a lot, which again makes me kind-of wish I played basketball.
Let's see ... I am working on my manuscript but not writing. I don't want to write until I have more poems edited. The glut of unedited drafts I have is a bit daunting, so revising keeps me connected even when I'm not writing. It's all part of the process.