One of the surprising things that yoga has taught me is that physical exertion has effects that go beyond my body.
It seems to offer an unexpected openness and peacefulness. It puts me in a place where I can really hear things.
Recently, I had a lesson on Backbends.
My goal is to dip into a Backbend from a standing position. With hands at heart center, I want to be able to lean back and, oh so slowly, land my hands on the mat behind me.
I am not sure why. I cannot explain this!
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One day this past summer, I was to pick up my parents from the airport after their two weeks of travel.
I raced to finish a chock full day to meet their six o’clock evening flight.
The rainy rush hour had the traffic wound up tight.
I turned on the radio and flipped through the stations and talked on the phone.
I arrived at the airport with time to spare and time to buy a chocolate bar. Going to the airport is like going to the movies for me. I have to buy some candy.
Standing at the arrivals, I looked down at my phone to realize I had a voicemail. It was my mom, letting me know they had missed their connection, and that they would be arriving four hours later at another airport!
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Yoga is a mindful practice that spills over into other parts of life.
It lifts the spirits, calms the mind, deepens the soul and strengthens the body.
Not only does it tone the muscles, but it increases consciousness about what to feed those muscles.
Over the years, I would usually eat most any item on a menu. I never really steered clear of red meat, frequently ate salads topped with chicken, made a mean short rib barley soup and created comfort meals of meatloaf and my signature meatballs. Family celebrations would find us at the Palm, where I would order the Filet Mignon.
But that was all before yoga.
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When I was little, the mean girl in the neighborhood just terrorized us.
I was five or six years old and hung with my sister, older by a year. I felt safe with her. This girl would sometimes join the other kids from the block when we played outside in our backyard.
One day the mean girl pointed to the sky.
We looked up and saw an airplane’s leftover white trail cutting the sky in two.
The sky is falling, she hollered! The sky is falling!
My sister ran, and I followed, convinced the white line had sliced the sky from the air.
We yanked open the screen door to the kitchen and let it slam behind us, considering ourselves safe on the inside while we peered fearfully at the sky outside.
I am afraid to say that I have sort of relived this scenario as an adult.
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There are people in my life who influence me, some to whom I am very close; others who are really just passing through. It never really strikes me that I might be in a position myself to influence others.
Turns out, I am!
And that position is upside down.
Being upside down has become a highlight of my day.
The inversion segment of my yoga class is only about five minutes long, but it is the part of class that is the most fun for me.
During this time, we can practice anything we want as long as part of our body is upside down. Shoulder stand. Handstand. Forearm stand. Headstand.
It is our choice, and our instructor either walks around and helps us or leaves us be on the chance we might topple over with his attention.
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When I was little, our family was five around the table for dinner every night at 6 p.m.
I really cannot remember a time when we were not all there together. Dinner balanced out the day, and dinner was always balanced.
Our plates were filled equally with a protein, veggies and a starch. One night was fish, another steak, another meatballs, potatoes and peas.
We served ourselves, and we had to finish everything on our plates.
Dinner was like a reset button on the day. Whatever the day was, it was shared around the table over an abundant plate.
On a recent holiday weekend, I picked up a yoga class while out of town.
It was hot yoga, the room heated to at least 95 degrees.
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I have lived many lives.
Childhood and motherhood. Married life and divorced life. Career girl and stay-at-home mom. Head of a full house and head of an empty nest.
Each life requires a transformation of sorts; some kind of shake up.
In moving from one life to another, I am able to look back over my shoulder to see where I have been, and how far I have come.
Transformation is BIG!
That is, until I found yoga.
In yoga, I experience small transformations that are impactful all the same. In yoga, I arrive at class in one state of mind and body and leave in another.
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Giving is a good thing.
It has positive connotations, especially in the holiday season, starting with Thanksgiving and lasting through the end of the year.
It is good to give of our time, our talents, ourselves.
But, when giving comes easy, other challenges can arise.
For me, giving is so much in my nature that receiving can actually be difficult, and this ironic concept was brought home in yoga just the other day.
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Life pretty much cooks along for the most part.
In general, things go according to plan in what my son refers to as “The Land of Anne”.
Sometimes, though, challenges pop up along several fronts, and I can find myself navigating some choppy waters.
Sometimes,it can feel as if I have been at sea for a while.
Stay in it, she said. It was your decision to come here. Don’t think about running now.
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This past summer my daughter climbed more than 50 feet above the ground, strapped on a harness, grabbed a bar and jumped off a platform.
She flew on the flying trapeze next to the Hudson River!
Often, she will call as she walks to various destinations in the city, and this day was no different.
She is a jewelry designer and was actually getting her spring line ready, even though it was not yet fall.
It had turned August into a hectic work month as she designed and produced her new line. She called to vent about the hitches and obstacles she was facing.
I am an understanding and patient mother.
I don’t understand why all that is making you crazy! I exclaimed. Why aren’t you beside yourself about going on a flying trapeze?!? Call me when it’s over!
Read MoreLast Friday I went overboard.
Faced a fear and lived to tell!
I consider my yoga mat a safe haven.
Like a Kindergartener who pulls out a mat during rest period, I am content to arrive at yoga, take my mat from the shelf, unroll it, and step to it.
My mat is longer than my body and less than a yard wide. And, best of all, it is purple, my favorite color since Kindergarten days.
The yoga practice takes place 100 percent on the mat. One yogi, one mat. Some classes can be so crowded that a person might be only inches from a neighbor, but each one’s mat honors a personal space.
The yoga mat is home to every student and to every asana.
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I would like to say I have an open heart.
It sounds nice and like something I should have.
Blessed with family and friends, I have people in my life for whom I open my heart.
Yet, the heart can go through some rough terrain over a period of time, and it can cause the guard gates to go up, requiring encouragement and often a leap of faith to get back in gear.
Wheel is one of my least favorite poses in yoga.
It is a back bend, something I have not done since I was a little girl.
More than 20 years ago, I sprained my lower back and have since been on guard against it getting hurt again.
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was pretty lucky to have enjoyed a fairly carefree childhood.
I have great memories, especially of summer evenings, when all my neighborhood friends would gather on the front lawn to play games, ride bikes and stay out until it got dark
In my elementary school years, I was actually pretty adventurous. I used to hop on the back of my friend’s bike, and he would drive wild all over the streets, careening down the most hilly ones at top speed.
We would do the same on his skateboard, riding double and hanging on for dear life.
He tied a stick to a rope to a tree, and I hopped on and swung over the backyard’s creek from one bank to the other, until I had to jump before risking getting stuck still over the water.
I would ride my bike with no hands, fearless, and walk on the stilts my dad made.
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It was the first chilly Sunday morning of the fall, and I was anxious to get to yoga.
The weekend class is one of my favorite classes.
It is the perfect hour, still morning but late enough to have time to laze around a bit.
It is crowded; the people are all friendly, and the class lasts longer than usual. There is something about the large group and the extra 15 minutes.
From the start, the energy is high, and it's catching.
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I often get to help my daughter with her work in New York City and, each time I go, I pack up my yoga mat and together we attend as many classes as our schedule allows.
Although I am early on in my working out, my daughter has been cross training for many years.
She works out with a trainer, runs along the East River and takes yoga religiously.
I am always amazed that she can just throw her hair up, put on her workout gear and look beautiful before, during and after her sweat.
I even have a memory of one of her school coaches asking me, How is it she looks like she just got off the runway instead of the soccer field?
I, on the other hand, would never leave the house without hair and makeup done, much less appear in New York City that way. Having my bangs trimmed and done was always key to a good day.
Yoga, however, has changed all that.
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I had been in great spirits as of late, and I credited this with my almost daily yoga practice.
I loved my studio, my class, my fellow yogis, my instructor and my mat.
I was seeing the bright side of most things, most days. It was as if an angel was riding on my shoulder.
I was on a yoga high even on Thursdays, my off day.
So imagine my surprise when my instructor told me I was holding anger in my quads.
But, I’m not angry, I said, to which he replied that the anger was in my quads.
But, what am I angry about? I asked, to which he answered that he could not say but that it was in my quads.
Well, what am I supposed to do with it? I followed up, to which he answered, Just do the poses and release it.
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I am not sure how this connection came to be, but theonly way for me to balance in the yoga pose of Half Moon is to visualize my son standing at the far end of the studio.
Sometimes, he is in his tennis whites like he was in middle and high school. Sometimes, he is in a suit, like he is now in at his job.
Somehow, seeing him enables me to maintain my footing in the pose.
Seeing my son has always seemed to ground me.
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It was the end of October, the days were getting shorter, darkness falling earlier and earlier.
This is usually the start of a sort of hibernation for me, driving home from work in the crisp and cold with the 6 p.m. stars already shining.
Not really the time of year to embark on any sort of change.
During this time, I am not sure what made me finally take action on what had been sitting on the floor of my car, among so many other things: A flyer for the new yoga studio less than a mile from my home.
I looked at the schedule, chose a class, called a friend and showed up.
Read MoreAnne Samit is an author and a yogi, moving every day and writing it all down along the way.
