“Maybe you reach up like you’re climbing a rope” or “maybe you do some circles with your wrists.” “If you’d like, you can put your hands out or on your stomach.” These are some of the phrases I hear early on a Saturday afternoon as I sprawl out in yoga class. It takes every ounce of my being to “call back my awareness,” as my thoughts drifted away a long time ago to what I have scheduled for the afternoon, what’s for lunch, and how fast I can run my next race. Of course I’m not focusing on my breathing or the sound of the artificial waterfall in the room. I do hear the traffic outside and I hear all the stabilizing muscles in my lower legs saying, “What’s going on?!”

I am a yoga novice. For a while I sort of smirked at the art, dismissing it as a hippie high-ground or gentler activity for people afraid of real exercise like running or weight lifting.

I freely admit here – sigh – that I was wrong about yoga. I’m sorry, Yoga. And I’m sorry to all the people who regularly practice yoga. I see now that it is indeed a big world, one I still don’t fully realize. More so, I should be writing this to Hannah and to Carly (who I just met today), two wonderful yoga instructors who so graciously share their knowledge with others.

What I like about yoga: It’s so opposite of almost every other area of my life. All day (especially work days) I’m telling myself to hurry up, do more, push harder, produce more. Yoga asks me to stop. To listen. To be. Hm. To just be. Not to sound hippie dippy, but I love when Hannah says in class, “Just allow your thoughts to flow, without making any judgements.” And today in class Carly said we can just acknowledge that a sensation is present but we don’t have to act on it. She said usually another sensation will present itself if we just be still. Hmm. True. We don’t have to act on every thing – we can just take note of it. It’s okay to just be.

This is a concept I’m trying to grasp more in my life. Ironically, it takes some conscious effort for a person like myself. My husband too. I’m not trying to boast here: My husband and I both, in our late 20s/early 30s had attained the glamorous jobs that most people idolize. At 29-years-old, I replaced a seasoned and esteemed internal medicine physician who retired. Richard, at 32-years-old, was “the man” at his job, leading a team of a dozen or so men twice his age, overseeing multimillion dollar projects, and trying to maintain a number of old buildings in the downtown area of our city. Together we were making nearly $130,000 a year. The down side, we discovered: sleepless nights thinking about buildings collapsing, payroll being short and men not being able to feed their families, prescribing the wrong drug, heart palpitations and panic attacks, heartburn.

People kill themselves in their 20s, 30s, 40s, through age 65 at these jobs so they can one day have enough to retire. We’ve realized that retirement isn’t guaranteed. Why not be a little more moderate, work a job that’s reasonable, and have a little fun along the way? So, here are we at 33 and 34. Richard just took a $12,000 pay cut to work a lower stress job; I’m about to work just 3 days a week (and will also likely take a $12,000 pay cut). Richard’s new job allows him to be home half the day. My new schedule will allow me a 3-day weekend each week. I’ll reduce my workload by 25%. This way, I can have more time to slow down and think. More time to actually be good at what I’m doing. More time to listen. More time to just be. ~