A friend invited me to her yoga class
this week. “It’s a 10-minute walk from my house,” she said.
“How can that be, when you live in
the middle of nowhere?”
“You’ll see,” she said.
We set out at sunset under V’s of
squawking geese, walked down a narrow road, turned a corner in the
middle of nowhere, and arrived at a long driveway leading to a house
in the middle of what is either a farmer’s field or an extremely
large yard. Outside the house was a yellow VW bug plastered with
Kelly Townson, in what must have been a
delirious if-I-build-it-they-will-come fervor, has created a basement yoga studio
in a location which may not have an area code for all
And she’s a huge success.
Her classes are busy. They were from
day one. One friend told four friends. It spread. Now they tell
each other to be quiet about it. It’s getting crowded in there.
The class is fabulous: soft, low
light; Buddhas; Krishna Das in the background (I swoon); beautiful smells
(incense? eucalyptus?); and great yoga.
It is not my point to recommend this as
a business strategy. My guess is that this bizarre success story
doesn’t happen every time, and I’ll bet many of you work
extremely hard to keep your doors open for us.
My point is to observe a minor miracle,
and to wonder how many of these beautiful classes are out there,
known only to the small groups of friends and neighbors who are lucky
enough to gather in this way. I’ll bet we could spend a lifetime
finding yoga gems like this one.
Is your studio one of these? Have you
been to one like this? I’d love to hear.
Thanks to Kelly for the
fantastic class. Thanks to yoga for such beautiful diversity, and
thank you for the conversation,