Beginning when I was 14 and puberty had barely sparked (I was a late bloomer), I fell in love with yoga. I was anxious and obsessive, even as a child, and yoga offered a strange but welcome calm. Over 50 years, I just kept coming back. Through careers, marriages, divorces, parenting, pregnancies, and even labor. Doing yoga with headstands and handstands during my first labor, I was in denial it could really be labor because it was too mild. The next morning, I delivered. I’ve been to yoga workshops and retreats. I don’t do yoga at home much, instead attending about three classes a week, an hour each. I’m not a yoga animal, I just need and love it; yoga is a consistent part of keeping myself well.

Down dog, dancer, dandasana. A few fancy folds, twists, and arm balances too. Handstands if I’m lucky. I was blessed with limber DNA. I’m good. But I’m certainly not enlightened, or even close. I’m happy when class ends. It feels good during, and especially after. That feeling keeps me coming back.

But during class? You wouldn’t believe some of the thoughts going through my mind when........

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