When the Mat Turned Into a Mirror
First time I did yoga was freshman year, every Tuesday and Thursday at 8 AM in my university gym. After each 30-minute class my spine felt stronger, my posture taller, but my mind? Unmoved. It was stretching with nicer music, nothing more. Fast-forward to junior year, exactly two years later. I met the ocean for the first time. I got up at 6 AM to watch the sunrise over the Atlantic, a soft reminder that I was alone in a beautiful place, away from home and humming with longing. I rolled out my mat on the sand, started my vinyasa flow, and suddenly every thought dropped away. All that existed was the shake in my legs, the breeze against my frozen skin, the sun warming my bones. The waves sounded like a distant dream. That vinyasa was the moment I fell in love with yoga, because it hushed the noise in my head and told me I could breathe right through it. For the past two months I’ve been consistent. No, I haven’t become the strongest human on earth or achingly flexible. Outwardly I look ...
