Me, alone. Life after loss.
In our unique human capacity of connecting movement with breath and spiritual meaning, yoga is born. ~ Gurmukh Kaur Khalsa
As the diabetic neuropathy in my legs and feet gets worse, my balance suffers also, which is a bit disconcerting for me. I will need a cane soon. I'm actually looking for one, but I want one of those cool, old fashioned, gentlemanly canes. Not the kind you get in a medical supply house. Something along these lines:
I haven't pursued it as I don't want to order it online. I want to see it, feel it, the height and grip. Around here I use one of the antique golf clubs Errol inherited from my friend Fran's father-in-law. It's the perfect fit, but not sure if I should take it to town or not. Maybe, yes? Still, a cool cane would make the transition easier for me (the one to wobbly old woman, yes).
I'm a firm believer that there's usually something you can do to help yourself get better. In my 30s and 40s, I did a lot of yoga. I loved it, I loved the spiritual aspect of it, I loved the peace of a yoga class ending with relaxation like none you would ever feel anywhere else.
Then I stopped. I have tried many times to pick it up again, but I've never overcome the initial hurdles of my inability to do things correctly, my lack of balance, my general stiffness, my breathing issues even.
Tired of excuses, I used the last money on the Amazon gift card I got for Christmas from my friend Judy to buy a yoga mat, much like the one above. Determined to do yoga again, I tried for a while, then stopped. Again. Why I don't know.
I want to promise myself, here and now, to begin again. Once a week, is all. Sunday mornings would be perfect.
Will let you know how it goes.
Will let you know how it goes.
