my first (yoga) time

Do you remember where you were the first time you stepped onto a yoga mat?

For years when faced with this question I recalled occasional classes during business trip and vacations, etc, but I couldn’t put my finger on the very first time I tried asana (yoga postures). But earlier this month, while revisiting memories of my mom as we prepared for her funeral services, I remembered once again.

When I was in middle school in the late ‘70s (I attended a private Catholic school for grades 1-8) my mother’s cousin Nancy had given me a box of books she thought I might enjoy. In addition to My Own Cape Cod by Gladys Taber, I found a copy of A Year of Beauty and Health by Bevery and Vidal Sassoon. “How to look more beautiful, feel more alive, and be more exciting, every day of the year!” the book jacket exclaimed. Organized by month, there were protein shake recipes, diagrams for blow-drying your hair (of course), and black-and-white photos of Beverly in Bikram-esque yoga shapes. There was even information about Beatles’ guru Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, as well as meditation.

I shared the pictures with my 40-something mother—who at that time moved her body by running the loop of our suburban neighborhood in the dark hours before she headed to work—and we started an evening routine in our family TV room. We donned leotards, and I consulted the book for details while helping her into the postures. I liked the way my body felt, like I could take advantage of some youthful flexibility that now evades me, and I enjoyed having my mom’s undivided attention. That could be difficult to come by at times, with her demanding full-time job, three kids and an elderly father to care for. I distinctly remember hearing her talk about our “classes” from the dressing room of our favorite local women’s clothing shop a few days later while I was trying on some outfits. “She even has me doing yoga!’ she told the shop owner through the dividing curtain. “Yogurt? Yuck—I don’t like yogurt,” the shopkeer replied.

Life has a funny way of unfolding. It no doubt provided my mother and me with other distractions back then, and we soon abandoned our private yoga sessions. But somehow a seed was planted in those days, and I’m thankful that I eventually got pointed back to the practice that would help me navigate challenges large and small, and serve as my soul’s purpose.

Do you remember your time trying yoga? I’d love to hear your story, if you’d like to share in the comments below.