It's Always Savasana Somewhere.

Not long after Ed died, my mother took a six-week grief derail and briefly relocated to Utah, where she began training to teach Raja Yoga, a form of hatha yoga done for 90 minutes in a hot ass room (90-100 degrees).

I don't know why I did full contour before class

The trip was not without its risks: between the intensity of the teacher training, her barely suppressed waves of grief manifesting in intense GI distress (sorry Mom, I'm not getting into detail, I promise), and being thousands of miles away from everyone she knew, she fielded multiple concerned calls from me, suggesting she come home, that there was no shame in leaving early.

However. My mother does not have "give up" in her lexicon.

Raja Yoga Academy Final Class, October 2017

I used to have a great yoga practice. I was ridiculously flexible as a teen/early 20-something, and would fall into more advanced yoga positions like some people fell into a pool after a couple of margaritas. However, my practice was inconsistent and lazy; unlike Sharon, who diligently improved over the course of 20 years of hot yoga. There is no way I could achieve a fraction of her ability, and I am so proud of her. Yoga is her life.

I think yogini-ness skips generations.

Today, I was honored to attend (in the way, way back) her first professional yoga class. There she was, poised, a vision in black spandex, up on that podium, delivering the heck out of a 90 minute class.

Zen AF

Now, considering the fact that my last complete hot yoga class was nearly two decades ago, I have no real knowledge base as to her teacher-ability(I know that isn't a word, I just invented it). However, I know how hard it is to learn a monologue. And she learned the hell out of 90 minutes of solo speaking. It was her up there, all alone, leading a group of almost twenty yogis (and me) through some crazy postures.

Every so often (rarely, because I was terrified of distracting her), her eyes would meet mine and I'd give her a thumbs up, or jazz hands (that was our cue moving from standing to sitting postures). It felt like a wonderful turn in our lives: me now in the audience, rapt with attention; her, gleaming on stage, the intense focal point.

Well, more like sweating over gleaming, but you get the idea.

Just be grateful I didn't barf

Maybe part of what touched me about this class is that she wanted it so badly, and worked so hard. She fought through all resistance, both physical and emotional, to get to that podium. She earned her Raja Yoga Instructor shirt rightly.

I know she eyerolls when she's called an inspiration, but for crying out loud, the woman has been through more trials than almost any of us. AND, she memorized all that script. She is smart, conscientious, kind, and unsinkable. She is the woman that I aspire to be every day.

Except for the yoga. I don't have the strength for that.

But still. My mom's an RN/yoga instructor. How cool is that?

Photo by James Hatch. Ham by me.