When I arrived on my yoga studio on Saturday and reached for my mat to carry inside, it wasn’t in the back seat. Then I remembered I’d left it on the floor the last time I went to class, which was um…before Christmas. So I dashed inside, and there it was…along with beloved instructor Jill Murawski and 14 other women — most of whom I knew, something that makes me exceptionally happy.
When I first started practicing (emphasis on that word) with Jill almost three (surely not four!) years ago, I knew no one in class. Now I feel this connection on varying levels to all of them. Some are just hello-insert-name-here. Cindy and I go to coffee with almost every Saturday, often joined by Karol and Brian. The four of us went to a play in December, which was oh-so-much fun.
When I needed a jacket to wear to a wedding last weekend, Cindy and Karol immediately offered several choices. A month or so ago, I had an 8:50 a.m. flight to Arkansas to visit my son; Karol and Brian both offered to give me a ride.
Twice now, Jill and I have run the Dallas Half Marathon together, which is such a wonderful memory (and now official tradition) to share.
Even if no one whose name I know is in class any given day, there’s still that connection thing. Be it with our mats, with the floor, with the air, with that peace of being — as the sign on Jill’s wall attests — where we need to be…it’s there, and it matters.
So for branching out, for every breath, and for the connections created when the two of those combine…The Grateful Runner (who one day dreams of yoga-loosened hamstrings) says thank you.