I know this place, if no other.

Most things in life aren’t quite as great as you remember.  Hence, the rose-colored glasses of history. 

“We don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.”  Anais Nin, folks.  She was on to something.

Nostalgia is a tricky beast for certain, one that bests me nearly every time.  As a hopeless romantic and a begrudging optimist, I rarely miss the chance to look back on an event, time, person, relationship, what have you, and muse fondly, eagerly, no matter how ugly the real situation or feelings at point of impact.  I am, by nature, a positive person, and even in remembering some of the darkest, bleakest moments, somehow I still search for the poetry, the beauty, of those times.  This mode of operating has led me back to the same men and the same relationships several times, has driven me to make the same mistakes, has taught me a familiar lesson, over and over and over again.

And yet, I keep remembering, fondly.  I keep thinking, hopefully, the new moment will match the sweet memory.

Yoga, thankfully, is the one place that never fails to meet—or exceed—my fond memories.  Each class is a new opportunity to learn about myself, on the mat and off, and a new chance to refill the tanks, recenter the chakras, realign my thinking, and renew my sense of self. 

Last night’s class, my first in more than two weeks, is a perfect example.  I burst into the studio late, stressed from the late-afternoon traffic and anxious about how my body would perform, given my two-week hiatus.  I was oh so eager to begin, to push and lengthen and strengthen and to recapture my yoga glow from months prior.

Within the first few minutes, as we all hung low in rag doll, I felt these tensions liftening, slowly.  I released a deep, throaty sigh and then felt the fingers of my instructor kneading my neck and shoulders, easing my muscles, relaxing my breathing further.

“You can always come back here,” he was saying to the class, as he knuckled the knots between my shoulder blades. “That’s the beautiful thing about this yoga. You can always come back.”

How apt, indeed. 

Yes, you can always come back to the studio, in the same way you can, hopefully, always go home, and find peace, solace, love, and acceptance.

I took another deep, envigorating breath and grinned, my cheeks pressed against my shins. 

I thought, I know this place, and my body sighed in answer, in relief.

A present moment matched in memory.