The first yoga class I ever attended was in the nineties.
1995, to be precise.
I was fifteen, and it was late fall in the Midwest. Which meant the five block walk to class was sometimes snowy, and always chilly. I can’t remember how I found the class, exactly; although I’m pretty sure it was the work of my best friend. Of the two of us, she was the one who blazed her own path. Some days she shone so brightly that it didn’t matter if it were unconventional; we were drawn to her like moths.
Something to remember: in those days, in the midwestern United States, yoga was unconventional. It was for hippies and new-aged folk and cultures that felt foreign. It didn’t have social buy-in, franchised studios, branded merchandise or a whole array of specially marked athleisure.
Over the years, I’ve probably forgotten more than I remember about that class. But there are a few things that stick with me:
I remember it was held in the living room of a 1920s craftsman house, complete with glass doorknobs and creaky wood floors and wall sconces. You would arrive on the front porch, stomping the cold and wet out of your boots on the front mat, then open the door to arrive in a warm, inviting foyer. There was just enough space for a small class, but it was clearly someone’s house.
You brought your own mat.
I remember the instructor was visibly pregnant – at least six months along. I remember learning poses in a dimly lit room and feeling very self-conscious, even for a perpetually awkward teenager.
And I remember that choosing to attend that yoga class felt like an act of rebellion.
And here I will reiterate that – in 1995 – it was a strange hobby. It was a weird thing for anyone to do, let alone two teenaged girls. While other high-schoolers our age were playing sports or hanging out at the mall or going to parties and sleepovers or eating popcorn at the movies, my best friend and I were… practicing yoga. (To be clear, we also did all those normal teenaged things too.)
But this was special: I was choosing a thing just for me, regardless of what people might think.
And here I am almost thirty years later, and I still love yoga. I can’t say I’ve been very proficient over the years. I might sporadically catch a class here or there, but usually I will go years without a single class.
Tonight, though, I made the time to go to a yoga class.
This time, it still felt like a rebellion. But mostly, for different reasons.
I was choosing a thing just for me. That was the same.
But what people might think about this choice? That was different.
Before, I thought people would judge me because I was choosing to do something unusual. Now, a suburban mom hitting up a yoga class in her free time is simply fulfilling a stereotype.
Instead, I was choosing selfishness. Or what felt like it. The “rebellion” is because I chose a thing just for me. I didn’t choose it for my family, or my husband, or my children. I didn’t chose it to help a stranger or a friend. It was for me, and me alone.
Our lives are so busy, it can be hard to justify doing those things that feel purely selfish. To choose an hour away from our busy lives, away from the screens and the internet and the noise and the demands on our minds and our bodies. We can so desperately need a recharge, but somehow convince ourselves that our batteries still have a little left.
Even if they don’t.
Tonight was a reminder of how much I needed that refill. How much joy it brings my soul to center myself and listen to beautiful music. To quiet my mind and just breathe. To stretch and move and rest. And I left feeling rejuvenated. I left with joy in my heart and my anxieties soothed. And that is joy I will share with my spouse, my children, my friends and extended family. With acquaintances I meet. With the barista who serves my coffee.
Tonight was a reminder that you can’t give everything of yourself if you are already spent. That recharging your soul doesn’t just benefit you – it benefits everyone around you. And even if it didn’t, it’s still okay. It’s okay to want a little something just for yourself every now and then.
Now, I realize that yoga isn’t for everyone. It may be a thing for a lot more people these days than it was thirty years ago, but it’s still not going to be everyone’s battery charger. So: find what fills your soul with joy, and don’t forget about it. Don’t procrastinate the thing or push it away for too long. Find it, cherish it, and use it to make yourself, and the world, a better place.
