I’m a yoga teacher, so that means I’m always happy, positive, and perfectly balanced. My life is seamlessly smooth…never a tinge of anything but wonderful. Rosy.
Wait. See my photo up there? It appears I am actually human, so the above statement is … out of alignment. Those un-wonderful segments of life have, and do, happen to me.
I first adopted yoga (or was it the other way around?) at a time in my life that the chips were so far down they came out the other side of the planet. Well, if felt that way. So I stayed in bed. For a long, long, long time. For 23 1/2 hours a day, life dug into my soul with a razor-sharp shovel.
But in that other slim sliver of my day–yoga filled it so rest-full that the forceful hours began to seem … not so meaningful. Those few thirty minutes of practice each day began to outweigh the smudges and piles on the rest of my time.
These days I spend more time each day in practice. But I remember clearly how my first days of yoga turned my life around when I was bereft of wonderful. And in what I now see was a remarkably short period of time each day.
That was a very long time ago, and I’ve had times of feeling anywhere from mildly annoyed to destitute since. The practice of yoga has held me throughout, and I never, ever forget that the ever-present light at the end of the tunnel all started with just 30 minutes of my (wretched) time.
I’ve seen this happen with many of my students in times of despair and lost hope. In times like that, a longer practice might seem onerous or demanding, and I recommend a simple practice. About a half-hour or so.
It can and does happen. In the salvation of 30 minutes, one can find relief, and sometimes, spectacular sensations of wonderment. And here’s the super-comfy rub: Those times of relief are accumulative.
Not a bad return on investment.