School is cancelled, plans rearranged. The town bustling with a kind of inward staggering that only comes before a long-predicted snow "event". You know the kind.. when the shops become dense with people who have paused in mid-flail to stock up on "the essentials" - milk, bread, eggs, and frozen pizza. Not being an avid fan of french toast - especially when paired with a frozen pepperoni delight - this combination makes my mind spin ever so slightly.
And while the onset of several days of weathermen-spouting-"hunker down" inspired relaxation usually brings me straight to the couch and not much farther... today felt different. It felt like time to go back. To reconnect. And so after the requisite snow day festivities were documented and the day remained young, I pulled myself together and went upstairs. I ran the hottest bath the faucet would allow and rolled out my mat. Door closed, steam enveloped, yoga bliss.
There is something empowering about yoga. We come to the mat with all our baggage laced through our muscles, on our faces and in the very choice to be there. But come we do. By the end of that hour and a half, the mind is quiet. The baggage literally squeezed and oozed out of you by the heat, by the twists, by the unnerving voice that inspires just one more breath, one more pose, one more...
I miss the studio experience. The heat. The sweat. The guiding voice and hands that challenge and inspire. But for now, until a studio is found and new routines are formed, the homemade version will do. It'll do just fine. Inspiring change in the best of ways. Allowing a vehicle for creating space for myself. To clear the thoughts. To actively practice bravery and self-respect. To challenge. To quiet. To be.
Through the sweat and the steam... alone in a bathroom... the heat inside makes the cold outside just a little bit sweeter.