Pinching myself

This weekend I attended a yoga class where the teacher commented on my sunburn/tan.

“You’ve got some color.  Where have you been?”

“I just got back from Greece, where I was attending a yoga teacher training with Shiva Rea.”

Her eyes lit up and she went on about how amazing that opportunity was.

“Weren’t you just blown away the entire time you were there?  Practicing yoga in a beautiful setting, where all you had to do was absorb?”

“Absolutely.  I was pinching myself the entire time I was there.”

But really, I have to pinch myself a lot.  Even now.  I don’t need to be in Santorini to feel intense gratitude.  It unfortunately tends to get buried under the superficial bullsh%# of the daily grind.  After a yoga class, especially on the ride home, all of this becomes more clear(er).

When I was a little girl on the swing in my parents’ backyard on Strawberry Lane, little did I know that I’d grow up to live in Chicago … own my own condo … write about travel for a living … ride a Vespa … practice and teach yoga … have good health … and be surrounded by loving friends and family.

I didn’t think that far ahead when I was on that swing.

I kind of wish I could recapture that feeling, when I wasn’t so forward thinking, when all that mattered was how high I could soar in that moment.

I love that little girl.  She still resides in me somewhere, peeking her head out mischievously every now and then.  Just not nearly enough.

But when she does, and when I think back to that moment riding the swing at the house on Strawberry Lane, I pinch myself.

That little girl grew up to have a good life.

And hopefully there are more good things to come.

Leave a Reply