From one day to the next, I look forward to yoga.

It has been more than a year since I first stepped into the studio, and I never tire of it.

I like preparing to go. I like being there. I like the workout.

And, in turn, I like whatever it is I am doing afterwards.

The after effects of each class stay with me until the next class, and so I go as often as I can.

It is a good place, and it puts me in a good space.

I cannot exactly pinpoint what it is about yoga that clicks with me, but something about it definitely does.

And it is not something new in me to which it connects but rather something seemingly age old.

In yesterday morning’s class, we were in a flow, moving amongst many different poses.

We flowed from Warrior II to High Lunge to Warrior I. We swept our arms down and back and raised them up again. We leaned back and spread our arms open and then swept them down again.

The music played, my body flowed and my mind did, too, back to when I was six or seven or eight years old in ballet class.

We moved into Standing Split and then brought our feet together for a forward fold. We lifted halfway and folded again and then flowed into Warrior II once more. We straightened our front leg and flowed into Triangle pose.

My body reached forward and my mind reached back, and I so vividly remembered myself in my black leotard and pink tights doing The Fun Step.

This happened at the end of ballet class when the teacher would map out a pattern of steps across the room and change up the music.

We would skip and hop, one at a time, traveling from one corner to the next on a diagonal.

I loved it.

I remember always looking down to see my feet but not being able to find them because my little girl’s stomach blocked the view of my toes!

We flowed back to Warrior II and then sailed right into Half Moon. I bent my back leg and grabbed my ankle for a sideways backbend.

As a little girl, I never wanted to go to ballet.

It was scheduled on Saturday mornings when I was allowed to watch TV, and I did not want to do anything but watch H.R. Puff and Stuff.

But I was always happy at the end of class when the good music played, and we flowed freely with The Fun Step.

After class, I would always hang back to watch the older girls dancing jazz, wishing to be one of them, dancing more freely and always to better music.

Ultimately, my mother caved, and I left the ballet scene only to wish in my teenage years that I had not.

I filled in the gap with other dance classes and dance squads throughout my middle and high school years. In college, I fulfilled my physical education requirement with a dance class, too.

We moved through our vinyasa and repeated the flow on the other side, moving from one big motion to the next.

There has always been something about movement and music that works for me, and somehow, yoga brings me back to it.

The music and the movement take my body and mind through a moving meditation, and this is what keeps me coming back.

The good music plays, and I sail freely between the poses as I follow the instructions that make up the flows of the first part of the class.

It is like doing The Fun Step all over again, only this time I can see my toes.