A few months ago, a very good friend asked me, “but what are you reading?” It wasn’t the usual casual conversation starter but a true probe to the heart. We had been talking about our yoga practices. I may have been a bit smug about finally building a daily meditation practice, about my mantra practice, all in addition to asana, which was my usual go-to yoga practice. At the time, I felt slightly wounded (but didn’t admit it) that my friend hadn’t first celebrated my achievements. I had been working my lotus blossom off on my practice and my teaching. My friend had been doing the same, but I was needling him for not coming to class with me. He was biting back, referencing one of the many parts of yoga, the study of knowledge and spiritual books. He was spot on, piercing right to the place where I wasn’t. The truth is I wasn’t really reading much of anything, beyond a book here and there, but mostly a wide array articles and the beautiful blogs that appear in my daily feed. I come from a literary family. We are big readers. I almost got my masters in English Lit until life took a different turn. I am a big reader. Yet, here I was, not reading. Not even fiction. In fact, I hardly read at all in 2013.
I know there is only so much time. And I was doing a whole lot of other things, including becoming a yoga teacher and writing a lot more than I ever had. Both huge. Yet. Reading! Me and a book of any flavor. The joys of it. The fruit and fodder of it. The need for it. For my life and my practice.
So, as I have been loitering in child’s pose assessing the new year, moving slowly into 2014, with no vision board or precise plans for where I am going, I know one thing. I am going to fill myself up with the words and wisdom of others. I am going to read. In addition to all of those other things. Somehow.
Do yoga. Today.
From my mat to yours,