A life in sun salutations
Breathe in, breathe out. I’m on my mat; I close my eyes. In the room next door, my new little baby bleats. It’s not quite a cry. I’m aching to do a yoga flow and so I leave him, hoping he’ll calm. He’s not unhappy.
Life has been upended by his arrival, but yoga is a constant thread, connecting me to my past, present and future selves. I start to move. Surya namaskar, sun salutation.
Tadasana, standing at the top of my mat. I remember the first time I ever did yoga – a power class in Los Angeles, in a sweaty, trendy studio just behind Santa Monica beach. I’m young (relatively!), 27, and staying at the backpackers next door. The teacher is tanned and toned, he wears a microphone, the class is theatrical. But the attraction sticks.
Urdhva hastasana, reaching my arms to the sky and then exhaling as I fold down into uttanasana. I’ve just moved to Sydney and bought a two-week trial pass at the studio down the road. A light airy inner city space with wooden floors and large circular windows overlooking a park. My movements are slow and clumsy compared to the class regulars, but my teacher is patient and the space is welcoming. My whole body hurts in a way that is totally new to me, but I persist.
Inhaling into ardha uttanasana, I extend my spine and gaze forward. Still in Sydney, still at the same studio, but a couple of years have passed. I move more fluidly and ache has been replaced by stamina, but I have so much more to learn. I’m not loving my job at the moment and my mind wanders. I try to focus on the breath.
Another Sydney session in a gorgeous space overlooking the harbour. The opera house flashes into view as I inhale and disappears again with the exhale into uttanasana.
Stepping back into plank. Stabilising, sturdy, grounding myself in yet another new city – this time, London. We’ve arrived in December and winter comes on thick and fast. At the studio I peel off my layers, padded coat, woolen scarf, tracksuit pants on top of my tights! The heat that flows through my body as I move is a pulsing energy that stays with me afterwards when I walk out into the cold.
Chaturanga dandasana, I drop down into a push up-like stance. My upper arms barely wobble these days. There’s only just room for my and my colleague’s mats in the tiny board room at our London office, where I’ve started up a lunchtime practice. We follow online videos from a teacher based in British Columbia, who’ll become one of my favourite practitioners. I spare a second to enjoy the roundness of her Canadian accent as she guides us to breathe ‘oot’ and then in, flipping our feet into urdvha mukha svanasana. We turn our faces towards the mild spring sun that finally streams through the windows after long months of grey skies.
Pulling shoulders back and opening our chests. Seasons change again and autumn has rolled back around. A retreat in countryside England, Norfolk, where the heated floor underneath our mats charges energy through our arms and legs as we lift and pull back into (semi)perfect Vs for downward dog, adho mukha svanasana. I feel my spine unknit, unknot and unwind. Glass walls give us the feeling we’re practicing outdoors, yet protected, the leaves beyond aflame in red, orange and gold. Singed sandalwood incense tinges the air.
Stepping definitively into a lunge, reaching arms once more toward the open blue sky. I’m on the beach in Valencia, Spain, attending free community yoga as a way of practicing my Spanish. Inspira, exhala … inhale, exhale. The sand is too soft to do the poses properly, but the sound of the ocean behind us and the rising sun on our limbs are glorious.
Finally returning to tadasana and to Brisbane. I’m not sure if I’ve done the right thing coming home. But I find a new studio, a lovely space in the city on Margaret Street, and my sister and I take up a regular Tuesday morning class before work. I cycle in along the river and I start to fall back in love with the city and its easy lifestyle. Spending time with family and friends again is wonderful and my sister and I finish class and head for coffee, a pleasant morning ritual.
So the cycle begins again. Surya namaskar. As I lift up and dive down, I remind myself that just three months ago this pose was impossible for me, a nine-month pregnant belly preventing me from folding into my feet. I am loving the feeling of returning to strength.
In the room next door, my baby is at peace, having dropped off into his little dreams. I know it won’t be long before he awakes, but as I shift into a second round I also know that the greatest yoga lesson of all will take a lifetime of practice: live in the moment, trust yourself and everything else will follow.
