Who are you?

I had the honour to take a class with Elena Brower in the city a few weeks ago on an absolutely gorgeous early summer evening. She said something that really stuck with me. She was speaking about WHO you are on the mat is how AND who you should be in your everyday life, and if you are a different person off the mat, what's the point?

It really had me thinking - how many people are not living their authentic lives? How many people are one person on the mat and a totally different person off the mat? Maybe because their family or loved ones don't support their yoga practice, or because they are afraid to show their true light? Why practice something you can't use in your everyday life?

I took this class with one of my beloved teachers, and on the way home we were discussing it. It lead to the discussion about taking your yoga off the mat and using it in the everyday life. I asked her, 'What is yoga?'. We both agreed that yoga is what we were doing right then & there - sitting on a crowded rush-hour train, packed with strangers, using our breath and patience and shining our inner light towards others. Yoga is calling your family. Yoga is a 4 pm staff meeting at your workplace. Yoga is having that difficult conversation. Yoga is being at peace. Yoga is in you and all around you.

Shine on,

M

New Perspectives

I took part in a Relay for Life last night/this morning in Westchester County with my family. I lost my grandfather this past December, and although the cancer he had did not take his life, (a stroke did), he was a man living with cancer. Cancer has changed my life - it took away my paternal grandfather and took away the mother to my very best friend - a woman who showed strength and unconditional love until her last breath. It has taken away so many people who are frankly, too young, to be taken away. It has broken families apart, broken hearts and is a true test of strength - for both the victims and caregivers.

I didn't know what I was signing up when I told my aunt I would go in on this with her. I figured it would be a good exercise (12 hours of walking, yes please!) and a fun night to spend with some of the women in my family I dig hangin' out with. The second I walked onto the track, my perspective was shifted.

The whole night was a celebration of life. There were a crazy amount of survivors, individuals who I don't know, but individuals who motivated me to keep going because of their strength and ability to combat a deadly disease. Everyday heroes. These people have been through the gutter and back, and luckily have survived this deadly disease. Seeing them walk the first lap, with such pride on their faces as complete strangers applauded them and cheered for them, made me realize how damn lucky I am to walk this planet.

If you're familiar with this event - you may know about the luminary walk. Probably the second most emotional aspect of this event after the survivor lap. It's a walk done after 10 p.m., where you dedicate a bag with a candle in it to someone battling cancer, someone who survived cancer, or someone who lost their life to cancer (the luminary we made for my grampy is the image above). The entire track is pitch black, except for these luminary bags with candles in them lighting the path. Instant heartbreak - seeing names, hundreds upon hundreds of names, and knowing that they all have been impacted by cancer - whether they are living or not.

As I walked until the wee hours of the morning last night in 43 degree weather, there were many points where I wanted to bag it, go home and sleep in a warm bed. But I thought about these people. These people who don't have a chance to see the sunset set because they are stuck in hospice. These children who won't have their mother there for them when they grow up because their mother has passed. I kept going. I got through it. I survived, and knew my struggle was not any different or difficult then the person's next to me - in fact, their struggle may have been more difficult.

There were a group of young people who stood out to me through the 12 hours. They had to have been in middle school, mourning the loss of a classmate. Through the luminary walk, they cried, hugging each other and sharing memories. They sat around their classmate's luminary bag for hours, just crying and telling each other it was okay to cry and let it out. I wanted to hug each and every them. I wanted to tell them how sorry I was for them, and how I felt their pain. I wanted to tell them that they were too young to know about losing a classmate, someone their age, to cancer. How it wasn't fair. But at the same time, I wanted to tell them that they should celebrate their life - that this is what their friend would have wanted.

Sometimes, I think we take life a little too much for granted. Tonight, I looked out while on the subway, and saw the sunset. I noticed just how beautiful it looked settling behind NYC buildings and took it in. How often do I miss the sunset? Everyday I just take it for granted. If I am taking the sunset for granted - what else am I taking for granted in my life?

If you have the opportunity to take part in this beautiful event - I urge you to do so. This morning, despite my shivering body and tight muscles, I felt grateful. I made new friends. I heard stories about survival and loss. I made it a point to appreciate things & people I may not have appreciated or even noticed before. I took in a new breath of air - a breath of gratitude, love and strength.

namaste.

m xo