The Daily Grind

Surely, I jest.

I commute to work and the drive is roughly 30-45 minutes, with traffic for the first half only and c'mon, I'm driving to the beach. Not a bad gig, right?

When I arrive at the studio, I unlock the building and roll out my mat. Then it's time for my first morning break.

I begin my 'round the corner' walk to the beach and start the time when my feet hit the sand. I like to give myself a solid 30-40 minute wake-up walk.

I am in awe of the crashing waves before me, the smell of the ocean hanging heavy in the air and the feel of the sand on my bare feet. It feels like freedom and salvation all at the same time, it feels like hope and promise.

I think I stopped loving the beach a couple of years after I moved here--a single gal of 18. Where it had once represented escape and refuge for me, after my first child it represented sand in my car, sand in her diaper, a mad supply of towels to keep wet butts off my car seats, a thousand supplies stuffed into an over-capacity diaper bag equipped to anticipate 2,000 different scenarios but never actually prepared for one, watching and waiting for her to dash into water with a mind and strength of its own, the salt water in the eye cry and if her dad came along, his sandy feet in my car too and another towel for his wet bum because we know who cleaned it up after every beach outing.

I'm falling in love again. As I walk there 3 mornings a week, alone and free, I am drawn back into the refuge of this place and I know I am blessed to be here for, of all things, my 'job'.

Once I'm down the beach about 20 minutes, then I turn around for the journey back so I have time to prepare for class.

Soak it up, take it in, watch for shells under my feet but also scope the vitality of the water--the time passes like a vapor dissipating before you have any real sense that it was there.

I turn for one last look out over the beach, one last contemplation of the vast ocean and I turn to leave.

Back in the studio, I unlock the doors, light the incense, start the music as the gentle chants fill the space and then I wait.

I wait for my students and I smile because I know how lucky I am--how right I am for this.

They trickle in, we greet each other and I'm so glad they've come. I'm glad that they want this as much as I want to offer it up

We move through our practice, we breathe, they make it their own and all too soon, it's over.

I lead them into relaxation, mist their space with lavender, prepare a reading and wait for their bodies to rejuvenate in Savasana.

We close our yoga circle by coming back to the seated position from which we started, holding the final moments of inwardness. Eyes open and we bow, Namaste.

They trickle out and I walk across the street to get a cup of coffee for my drive back home from a morning's work--ah, the daily grind. Thank goodness.