Originally posted at theheylady.com – mmny
I’ll be heading back to Long Island at some point over the holiday weekend, and a friend of mine asked if I’d be attending a yoga class. Whenever she comes to visit me there, we make a point of going to this tiny little studio that’s been there for over ten years – one of the first studios in the area and, for a while, the only place to go on Long Island to get certified.
It’s where my dad went to become a yoga teacher, and – maybe someday – where I will go, too. My dad wasn’t always a yogi. He was a regular dad: a softball and soccer coach; a nighttime math tutor; a lawn-mowing, gutter-cleaning, hard-working man who provided for our family and loved us so much I’m sure it almost drove him crazy.
My dad took up yoga after he was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease and ulcerative colitis. And along with a slew of other lifestyle changes, yoga helped him learn to relax, to breathe, and to reduce the stress of everyday living. I am lucky enough to have been there for his transformation. (I don’t hesitate to call it that – since, to me, it seemed that he shifted, stumbled, and blossomed.) I can’t descibe how luck I feel to benefit from his experience. And as I passed from sulky teenager-dom into a more fully formed person, I took up yoga too.
So along with all the wonderful benefits of a yoga practice, I also gained a way to connect with my dad. And today, as I looked up the yoga schedule in my hometown, I saw my dad’s faculty bio. I am just so incredibly proud of him – and blessed that he is in my life.