Writing With Abandon

Last night, my yoga studio celebrated its 2-year anniversary with a special class followed by “libations” on the patio.

It felt like I was celebrating a year at the studio, but in fact, it’s only been since early February that I first showed up one Sunday morning and Susie told me, “Welcome back to yoga and to your body.” I never turned back.

I’ve been practicing yoga since at least my college years, when I tried out a couple of local studios on the Upper West Side, a hatha and vinyasa practice, learning the basics. I went a couple of times in Madrid, and then picked it up again when I started teaching. When I lived on the Upper East Side, I found a studio and a teacher I loved, and would go every Monday night. Then the pandemic happened. I tried some of the Zoom classes the instructor offered, but eventually fell off of them. I missed the in-person component.

When I moved to Miami, I tried a couple of studios, but they were all a trek to get to from where I was living, or were hot yoga, which isn’t my thing, and all had a very “too cool” vibe. Not like the neighborhood studios I loved from New York.

Last summer, after moving to Coral Gables, I discovered a smaller studio, Suva Yoga, within walking distance from my apartment. My car accident on Labor Day kept me from most physical activity for a few months while I recovered with massage therapy, so I wasn’t able to try it. Then, in February, I finally signed up for a 9am class.

And I’m so glad that I did.

Susie has created something so special at her studio. It’s a true community. Women and men of all ages and backgrounds, always welcomed with open arms. Susie doesn’t take herself or the classes too seriously, and at the same time is one of the most profound yoga instructors I’ve ever had. I always look forward to her classes, and know I will leave them a bit calmer, wiser, and stronger than I came.

Last night, she told us, was because of all of us. One student spoke up to say, “Susie, this is for you.”

There was a concert violinist, yes, and she was extremely talented, but this wasn’t anything like the first class with violin that I wrote about in March.

That class was about the violin.

This class was about the studio, Susie, and all of us.

We faced each other, wonky mirror images as we flowed through our practice. Tightly packed in, we put our arms on each other’s shoulders during tree pose — the stablest I’ve ever felt. We swayed, but stayed. We smiled.

The violin music accompanied us. Sometimes I forgot she was even playing live! It was seamless.

Afterward, we gathered on the back patio for a toast. We shared champagne and small bites. We talked, introduced ourselves to those we’d seen in classes but never gotten to speak to. We shared our names. We shared our stories. I was surprised to find out many were not originally from Miami, like me.

Susie floated around, like a bride at a wedding, hardly able to speak to everyone. That’s okay, though. I’ll see her Sunday, like always. 🥰

Thank you, Susie, for opening your studio and your heart to all of us.

Ana’s “Yes” Moments made me want to show up. Even for the tiniest slice for this Tuesday.

P got home an hour before I finished work.

“Want to go down to the pool when I get off?” I asked.

He didn’t need to think much on it: “Yes!”

We rarely use our pool, but the Miami August heat has been stifling. Walk two feet and you find yourself sweating, dripping down your back and legs and face.

At a few minutes after 5, I turned off my external monitor, shut my laptop, and we changed into our suits. P grabbed the towels and then we went down.

For the next 45 minutes, we stood and swayed and relaxed in the warm pool water, bobbing up for the delicious chill that our wet skin gave us.

Talking about his day, talking about mine, talking about our past and present and future. Me, always the softie, saying once again (will it ever get old?) how grateful I am that our paths led us to each other. This amazing human! My best friend that I get to do life with.

When our fingers and palms got pruny and our skin too dry from the chlorinated water, we got out, toweled off, and went upstairs for an evening of quick and easy dinner and an episode of Ted Lasso.

The perfect way to end a Tuesday. I’d like to do it more often!

I’m reading The Correspondent by Virginia Evans and it’s one of those books you know you’ll want to reread. I wish I’d had a pen with me throughout to underline those sticky sentences (oh, there are so many!), but I’ve been reading from bed or on the couch in the mornings after breakfast and before work, and I’m just sucked in.

Sybil and Rosalie’s long correspondence reminded me of one of my longest penpals, Claire, who I met at sleep away camp at age 11 or 12. We wrote each other letters during college, while we studied abroad (and visited one another!), after college. I still have all of her letters saved in a drawer somewhere at home. What stories letters can tell! (It reminds me of my mom telling me A Little Life was “about a little life!”)

Life was a little slower then. We had phones, touch screen, then smart phones, but until apps really took off, they still didn’t take over our world like they do now.

I like my slow habits.

Knitting (more than halfway done with my sweater after a big chunk of stockinette progress this weekend, wondering if I can miraculously finish in time for my trip to Australia).

Reading (sadly I won’t make it to the book club meeting for this book. Sigh!).

Writing (I’ve been lazy at journaling but picked it up this weekend).

Walking (twice a day at least).

Yoga.

A quick slice, I won’t reread, but I wanted to show up and Ana’s post inspired me. Maybe I’ll order some neat stationery and envelopes.

Mom, remember when I used to sell “creationery” on our stoop in the summer?

Who wants to start letter writing? I’ve got some cute stamps.

This evening, at the end of our last full day in the Yukon, Quinn read Robert W. Service’s poem, “The Spell of the Yukon,” to the 37 students we’ve had the pleasure of getting to know this week.

Everyone was silent as he read in his booming voice, taking us through the mountains and valleys we’d become familiar with in our short time here.

“There’s a land—oh, it beckons and beckons,

   And I want to go back—and I will”

What can I say about my time here? About this place that can absolutely spellbind you.

I think I’ll borrow our debrief structure: Rock, Stick, Leaf.

What rocked?

The views. Mountains everywhere, blue sky, frozen river, deep canyons.

The weather. We got lucky and the sun came out every day except today, which was a snowy wonderland. It reflected off the white snow and made it glitter. It showed a different side of the mountains with each passing hour.

The hikes. I love sweating in the cold. It’s why I liked training for a half marathon in the winter. Start out cold and end up warm. We hiked Miles Canyon, we hiked Kluane National Park in the Alsek River Valley in Haines Junction, we hiked the trails by an off-grid lodge camp at Marsh Lake.

The people! Our local guides. Harold, the Champagne Aishihik elder in Long Ago Peoples Place. Keith Wolfe Smarch, a Tlingit master wood carver, whose workshop in Carcross we had the privilege of visiting. Lu and Mel from Lumel Studios, where we each got the chance to work with a glass blower to make our own piece to take home. The 18-year-old kid at Mount Logan who chatted with me the whole way back about philosophy and what it’s like for him to live in his own off-grid cabin, alone.

What will stick with me?

The silence and vastness. It’s so quiet out here when you get out of town. Incredible and powerful.

How important it is to connect with people and nature. How nature can heal you. How hearing others’ stories can make you feel more connected to yourself and each other.

A desire to come back, like Service’s poem says. “I will.”

The importance of learning from First Nations people, especially Yukon First Nations. “Together Today For Our Children Tomorrow.” The Yukon as the bottleneck through which all the ancestors of the Indigenous groups in the Americas had to pass in order to find their way elsewhere on the continent.

How much I love my person and my pup and how I’d like to share this beautiful place with them on a trip one day.

What will I leave behind?

My long johns.

My snow pants.

Martha’s boots (though they were AMAZING! Thank you, Martha!).

Hat hair.

Wearing a backpack all day every day.

Hotel pillows.

– – –

Anyway, just feeling very grateful as I rest my feet up at the end of the night before I pack my things for our departure tomorrow. Next stop: Atlanta for a conference, and then home on Saturday!