30 days ago, I started on a month-long yoga challenge, attempting to do yoga every single day for 30 days. The 30 days are up! So, what was the point?
I’d be lying if I said I did yoga each day in January. I’d be lying if I said I did yoga more than a few times in the last week. But at the start, I did, absolutely, practice each day.
As I went along, my flexibility deepened, and the prospect of coming to the mat started to seem more like a sanctuary, rather than twenty minutes of “oh God, I fell over again. What am I supposed to do next? What’s wrong with my hip? I hate backbends.. uh oh. That’s bad. I should love them.”
As I went along, I also started a consulting practice, started planning a wed ding, and was asked to develop a sizzle reel for a TV show I’m developing. It didn’t make sense everyday to take the time and energy to stop, think of a time to get to the mat, change into yoga-appropriate clothes, practice, put it all away, and on and on..
Yet when a day was particularly rough or stressful, yoga slowly became a dependable stress reliever. My mind returned to the feeling in my muscles and bones after even a short practice.
I doubt that I’ll try and force myself to do yoga every single day from here on out, but it’s so much easier now to come to the mat. My muscles are more loosened, and I know where to place them, where they fit. My breath is much deeper, and my mind can shut off more easily.
I’m not an ascetic, Bodhi-tree yogi just yet–I don’t think I’ll ever be–but I got something out of it. And isn’t that worth it?1