Last night I drank a little too much wine…
My brain is a little fuzzy. A little dehydrated.
Where’s my water glass?
I glance at my clock…one eye shut and the other barely open. It’s 5:30. Time to roll out of bed.
My husband snores lightly next to me. He doesn’t understand my need to practice every day.
Right now, I don’t understand my need to practice every day either. This is definitely the hardest part of self-practice.
Why can’t I just roll over and go back to sleep like other New Yorkers?
I look at the clock…5:35.
Lazily I stretch an arm, then a leg. Achy. The evening wasn’t kind to my limbs.
Rolling out of bed in one log like motion I find a balled up t-shirt from yesterday’s yoga class on the floor next to my bed and grab a pair of shorts lying below it.
It’s dark. I try to be quiet as I get out of bed and bang my toe on the dresser.
Hit to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face.
Gotta fold my yoga blankets, the fringes refuse to exactly line up.
After three tries I forget perfection and just lie down.
Watch the inhales, watch the exhales and watch the space in between the two.
My practice begins. I feel a little better, This is why I do it.