This summer, I can’t seem to go a day without eating peanut
butter. Who knows why? It’s not the greatest flavor in
the world, and not the greatest texture. It almost always gets stuck
going down my throat, and sometimes requires racing for a glass of
water to help it along. Nevertheless, down the gullet, every day. I
felt the same way about Brussel sprouts last winter, and about steel-cut
oats for breakfast every winter for the last decade.
It seems pointless to analyze this,
provided I’m not craving after heroin or something equally bad. I figure I’ll
just eat peanut butter until the thing runs its course.
Yoga works the same way for me. There are
seasons during which I’d rather read about yoga than do a full
practice every day. At my worst, I’d take reading crime novels over working on Shoulder Stands.
Not so now. These days I’m doing
about 90 minutes in the morning and 90 more in the
“Hi, my name is Kristin and I’m a yoga addict.”
The first practice is delicious. Every
day I finish and think, well that was wonderful, and plenty. By noon I begin to crave it again. By somewhere between 2 and 4pm, I’m
back on the mat like an idiot burglar returning to the scene of a crime.
Maybe it’s the Kundalini honeymoon.
Maybe it’s because I have the time. Perhaps it’s a summery
growth-spurt energy. I don’t know. And as long as it isn’t vodka and tonic or Internet poker, I’ll go with the flow. It’s Camel and Standing Forward Bends, for God’s sake. Meditating and
chanting. Breath of Fire. I’ll take it.
Does yoga happen in waves like this for
you, or are you a steady-Eddie yogi? I wonder if some of us
are waves by nature but squeeze ourselves into a more regimented
practice. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Thanks to yoga for being more delicious
than anything, sometimes. Thanks to you for the conversation,