The Prodigal Yogi Returns – Day 1

Prodigal Yogi I woke up at 3 am. I was supposed to wake up at 5:30 am to prepare for my first yoga class after an almost four year sabbatical. But I woke up at 3 am.

It is a common occurrence. I regularly wake up hours before the time I’ve set my alarm left there to meander through my thoughts. I’m sure it’s stress or mental exhaustion or rich late night meals or a combination thereof. I often hear a voice that holds me suspended above sleep’s surface; taunting me and negotiating with me. That voice is practiced in keeping me in a perpetual state of overwhelm. But last night, I felt as though it was intentionally sabotaging me.

I recently heard a man say that we should regularly change our routine. In so doing, we shift our perspective and thus shift our motivation. Essentially, we produce a creative energy that keeps us moving forward. Otherwise, we become regressive in our routine, slowly disintegrating spiritually and physically.

In this spirit, I gave myself a challenge. I would do 5 yoga classes a week for 4 weeks. There would be no other changes to my routine, no changes to my diet and no changes to my workload. I would simply commit to the five yoga classes wherever I can find them for four weeks. My intent was to bear witness to yoga’s contribution to my life – good and bad. I am aware from having immersed myself in a yogic lifestyle, what benefits the practice will provide. But the purpose of this exercise is to consciously note how taking on this challenge will affect my life.

But I woke up at 3 in the morning – ON DAY 1. If that isn’t self-sabotage, I don’t know what is. To make matters worse, I decided to take a 1/4 of a sleeping pill at around 3:45 am which finally kicked in at 5 am, thus insuring that I would never make the 6:30 am class at Raksa Sala. Months of planning was disintegrating before my eyes – eyes that were now involuntarily closing shut. When I woke up, I felt defeated before I even started – mostly because I could barely crawl out of bed or focus on a cognitive thought process. I was prepared to give up (or postpone as I like to say.)

But NPR came to the rescue (I can’t tell you how many times that happens when you are frequent listener). I heard a story about a ‘prodigal’ student returned to their teacher to present them with a lifetime achievement award. They’d parted on bad terms and only recently united. The student was able to tell his teacher that after years of resentment, they suddenly realized how much the teacher contributed to his life and craft.

It resonated with me. I equated my Yoga Practice to a teacher that I had forsaken. I sensed that I too was afraid to return for fear that I would show up as a disappointment. I realized that I had an opportunity to return and if willing, I would be received with love.

And was I ever! I attended the 6:30 pm class at Raksa Sala studio located on Washington Blvd in Culver City. I was no where near where I once was in my practice, but I certainly slipped into it comfortably. I quickly found that I was in familiar territory. Like any prodigal son, I was anxious, I was nauseous and I was uncertain. I often times tried way too hard, but I also felt as though I could be myself, wherever I was in the process.

Granted this is only Day 1 and a good argument can be made that I am overdramatizing the events. But somehow I feel that this experiment is going to be life changing. Whatever that means, I am committed to chronicling my efforts and the changes as I witness them. But no journey can occur without a starting point and that point is right here and right now with this blog entry. Weighing in at 185 lb, surviving countless sleepless nights and frequently prone to panic attacks, I attended my first of 20 classes and I started my own personal revolution.

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The Prodigal Yogi Returns – Day 1

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