Body

I was born into a Seventh-day Adventist family who regarded health and holiness as the twin goals of existence. It is thus no surprise that I am devoted to feeling and being well, and am assisted by a growing list of habits.Turmeric and ginger water in the morning, before coffee. A good skin-care routine. Organic peanut butter. Daily meditation, between 8 and 15 minutes, after walking my dogs with my husband.

I have also done Ashtanga Yoga for 24 years, only taking days off when the kids were small and I couldn’t carve out the 1.5 hours (minimum) that I like to spend each day.

I have been taught by some amazing teachers: Eileen Hall, Nea Ferrier, Tim Feldman, Mark Robberds and Deepika Mehta. During the past twelve years, though, living in Pakistan and one of only a handful of daily practitioners, I practice mostly alone.

Or do I? Many people believe that yoga originated right here in the Indus valley, and I have always found my practices here to be especially potent. When I press into my mat, grounding deep into the ancient earth beneath my floorboards, I like to think that the earth presses back, opening and healing my body, guiding and uplifting my heart and my soul.

This body is not immortal, though. These days, I need to adapt the rigorous and demanding Ashtanga sequence to suit my age and changing body. Doing big paintings stiffens my neck and shoulders, and has gifted both my knees with arthritis. Years of ballet probably have not been great for my hips, either. So, I go slower, try to exhale more deeply, maintain the neutral stance of the observer, and hold onto the happiness that has been there, on my mat, from day one.  

Yoga makes every day brighter. Before I start, I can feel irritable, nervy, irrational and heavy. Afterwards, I am lighter and freer, move in a much less restricted manner, and feel as joyful a child.