The Self Practice. Ok, not really an old haunt, but rather, an on-again, off-again friend that on occasion I’ve spent more time with than I’d like, and yet at other times, missed terribly.
In 2007 I lived in Kosovo for a year and had a daily self-practice for lack of any other option. Prior to that time I reserved self-practice for holidays and periods when I was exploring sequencing or being solitary. Self-practice was on my terms, but then, so was everything else; I had no partner, no son, and lived in a place (namely, Amsterdam) where there were plenty of good options for yoga classes. In Kosovo, things were different. There was no alternative to the self practice, and she met me each day like the best friend I had. Kosovo was also the place where I got my teaching feet wet; the time in my life when transformed from a creative director in interactive media to yoga teacher and body therapist. In that sense, the timing for deepening into my self-practice was impeccable.
Almost 6 years on, I realize just how many times I’ve returned to my self-practice as a place of solace and refuge. However, as my little boy has grown into a toddler and fluffy toys, fire trucks and wooden blocks have taken over all living space, self-practice at home on most days has become implausible. Weather-dependent, I tack it on to the back of a run in the park, and on mornings when it rains, like this one, I manage to move a few chairs and toys out of the way and practice to an audience of a stuffed elephant, monkey, bear and rabbit. More often than not thought, I practice in whatever available space I can find at Indaba Yoga Studio before or after teaching as an alternative to attending a class. Whatever the circumstance, my self-practice greets me like an old friend. Dressed up or dressed down, sluggish or energized, she is incredibly honest and holds no judgement. She is a reflection of myself.
It was good, as always, to catch up with her this morning.
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