Yoga used to be way too slow for me. Actually, it was more like I was way too fast for yoga.
Back in the early ’90s, yoga hadn’t really hit my city yet. Oh, sure, some choice women friends were in the know and tried to get me to partake. But I was moving too fast at the time. (No, I don’t mean drugs.) But I was on a high, newly having found a self I could connect to after a childhood being the “dutiful daughter:” that of a loving but anxious mother.
I was flitting around playing in bands, finding my voice, finally — here as a violinist who had been raised on classical only. Of punk rock spirit and artistic mindset, I could barely slow enough to even learn of other ways of feeling fulfilled and satisfied and at peace at the time. It was a great time for me. I needed to go at the speed I was going, for I finally had found my peace and joy.