Women’s History Month.

A five year anniversary.

The return to community.

It was a big day, today.  I usually wonder all day what I’m going to write about and then —somehow— get divine inspiration right before bed (usually while meditating… go figure).  Today, I have had so many thoughts in my head about what I want to say all day that I’m paralyzed in a different way — one of indecision.

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A month dedicated to the history of women.  A history woefully lacking in substantial texts, recognition and dignity.   I was raised by a fierce, smart, strong woman who instilled in me a healthy dose of feminism and the drive for equality.  I didn’t think there was far to go when I was helping collate newsletters in the 1980s as a child.  Now, as a bonafide adult (usually), I have learned – painfully – how very far we still have to go.  And how far apart women exist in the struggle for equality … white women and black women and brown women and trans women and poor women ….. The fight for equality looks different for all of us.  And we should work harder to make it look the same.  To make it no longer exist for everyone across the board.

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Five years ago, recently returned from a trip to Italy during which I did infinitely more walking than I thought I could, I began my love affair with stationary bicycles.  I’d heard (during a work seminar) about the theory of 66 days vs. 21 days to form a habit.  I decided — perhaps somewhat flippantly — that I was going to ride our stationary Schwinn bike (currently serving as a glorified clothes hanger in our spare room) for sixty-six days and see where it led me.  And here I am now, devoted (deeply) to my Peloton.  Riding miles every day.  Sixty-six days worked.

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After five months away, I returned to yoga today.  And as my forehead hit the mat in child’s pose to begin practice, I felt overwhelmed with emotion.  For nearly three years I spent multiple mornings a week in that studio with women who have become my friends, my community.  To be back, to be surrounded by these humans who share my love of Baptiste yoga, was stunningly powerful.  And even though we all practiced six feet apart wearing masks and there was no cold, sweet-smelling towel to reward us at the end of class, it was still a holy experience to share those seventy-five minutes with people who have become my people.

Today was a good day.  A powerful day.  The beginning of the rest of 2021.

Xoxo, g