Like many in these oft-referred to 'unprecedented times' I've decided to try once again to pick up yoga. Guided by a daily practice of YouTube tutorials, immediately upon waking but before I am truly awake, my body has been trying to remember the movements that were once vaguely familiar. It feels peaceful to try to move, if only once each day, and reach for my toes just beyond where I can grasp.
The last time I tried yoga with any frequency, I lived in Australia, and worked in the gym where the classes were held. After one class, our teacher briefly explained the purpose of shavasana—by exposing ourselves to death within life, we can let go of the fear that comes with the unknown.
When I first sat down to write this, soon after that original yoga class, I was preparing to move far up the coast, many hours from the place I had been residing for six months. Just when I began to feel settled my roots had to find a new place to cling to. A poignant metaphor sat just outside my front window; a pumpkin plant had risen from the detritus of the compost to take over the front yard. Watching it crawl across the grass, its little green vines springing outwards and grabbing the ground along the way, reminded me how in life we are always moving forwards, reaching out and embedding a trail of our roots as we go along. The deeper they go, the harder it is to pull them up. Before then, I hadn't realised how much I craved permanence, and how each time I left it felt like a little piece of me stayed behind.
Moving forward to get to this new destination can only be reached when the past is left. I had to let go. There are abundant reminders in the tutorials to let go of what no longer serves us, and so this past weekend I requested all of my data from my Instagram and forgotten Facebook, thumbed through it, and then permanently deleted both accounts. What I thought might be a nostalgic afternoon was an unpleasant trip down memory lane as every message, every 'like', every comment was just there, in unformatted json, reminding me of the person I no longer was. It was time to let go, and instead think about what was before me: this moment, and who I am now.
The fleeting moment of death signalling the end of each yoga class has left me thinking about more than how my thighs will no longer have to suffer the burning sensation of warrior poses. By focusing just once each day on nothing more than my breath and the present, I am reminded to let go and experience life, open my eyes, and live.