Favorites

Every day when I walk home from yoga class, I rattle on to my partner about how much I loved that class with my favorite teacher.

Only problem is: they're all my favorite.

"Is it Mr. D today? Or Ms. M? Or Ms. D?" he'll ask. I love them all. I have the greatest teachers. I love them for different reasons.

Ms. D. is excellent at integrating the emotional with the physical. I'll say, "I'm having an attack of Seasonal Affective Disorder" and she'll incorporate all these invigorating light opening poses and bang! I feel better. Ms. M is a Brennan method healer, and does some incredible work with using energy and vibrations to heal physical injuries. I am sitting comfortably now because she did some work on a horrible tailbone injury I had for no less than five months. She also teaches a very athletic class that pushes my limits every time. And she gives assists to make it possible for me to achieve new poses that I didn't think I was strong enough for. Mr. D is a classically trained western personal trainer, and approaches yoga as our cheerleader. He's so much fun, and teaches in a way that makes me feel like he's on our side, rooting for us the whole way.

So I have favorites. Three favorites. They're all my favorites.

So far I've practiced at a little studio in the suburbs of Philly, but come January I'll be practicing at a big studio in Center City Philly where they have class on the hour and where one of my teachers took her training. I am a bit intimidated. Do I have the right thing to wear? Will they think I'm fat? (probably.) But one thing I've learned from yoga is: just do it. Just be there. I was at my worst, my near lowest point, when I took up yoga and a week later I felt like a goddess again. Let it take you where it takes you. Somewhere between you and it, somebody knows where you need to go.