This morning, after popping in to the Old Navy Tankathon that's been heavily advertised on facebook for days (if you're reading this in real time, don't bother - only XL steel grey tanks were left), I headed to my yoga studio.
Not to practice, more to see how I felt there.
3 weeks ago today I was bathed in sweat, smack in the middle of an hour 45 minute yoga class of nothing but Led Zeppelin. The playlist was a gift to me from one of my favorite teachers. I'd taken a class the night before and that was after a 10 mile bike ride. I'm not normally that exercised crazed, but while staring down surgery and recovery, I guess I wanted to fit in as much as I could.
Today I took the elevator to the studio instead of climbing the stairs.
I lasted less than 10 minutes sitting on the floor.
I slowly, slowly, slowly walked home, slightly light-headed as I navigated the heavy Saturday traffic on 6th Avenue.
But, I had made it through the door.
Hey, just the fact that I thought of stopping by was a huge leap from where I've been.
Up until now I hadn't even thought of yoga, of moving, of being back to where I was. I've been so consumed with the here and now, not in a particularly good way, that I lost track about what was. And what will be.
My life was uprooted, my center shifted, my equilibrium thrown off course. Things I took for granted are impossible at the moment.
There's still much healing to be done. Both by my body and my mind.
There's also much to let go of. The anticipation. The roller coaster. The fears and doubts. So much was stored up inside, whether I was aware of it or not. This experience shook me. Hard.
Today though, my center made a surprise appearance. As I sat in the pink and orange room, leaning against the sun-drenched wall, staring up at the painting of Ganesh I love so much, my heart filled. My soul eased.
And I knew I'd be back.