New York air makes me want to take a deep breath and hold myself still so I can capture it all into my body. In yoga today, I let go. I let go of my stress. I went into the downward dog pose and child pose and hugged my knees at the very end. I let go, or so I thought. I cried and the tears mixed with sweat.
I need more time. I need more time to finish things. I need time to write. I need time to describe things, to reassess them, to break them a part for further examination.
New York is exhausting. It is demanding and time-consuming and loud. It gives me a hard time. It gives me a good time. It makes me feel fantastic. It makes me feel like shit. It makes me feel high. It makes me feel like a failure. It makes me feel sexy. It makes me feel used.
This yoga instructor has lit candles. The windows are closed. There is no air. Bodies are inches a part; everyone’s breath is on my shoulders. Breathe in, take it all in, then exhale and let go. Do what feels good for you. Smile. Smile and thank your body for getting you here.
I thank my body. I drift into oblivion for a mili second, then I am back into the abyss in which all my nightmares come to life. The bad dreams that wake me up and make me cry, the fears that take hold of me, the rotten guilt that turns into knots at the pit of my belly.
I ask for my mind to let go, but it doesn’t. Yoga ends. I roll up the mat. I put my shoes back on. I head out on St. Mark’s street, into faces I have not seen before. I hop on the train. I think. I get off to buy groceries. I think about the money I spent. I hop back on the train. I watch my feet and the bags of groceries. I get home. It’s cozy and warm.
This is a cycle I like. This is a cycle that may need more time to get used to. This is my life going onto its next chapter.