Here’s another deleted book excerpt, with notes. In this chapter, I discover new things about myself and adapting to life with a disability and living it like I want to. I discovered yoga, something I never thought my body good participate in–another unexpected part of my journey.
A New, Intriguing Discovery!
January 1996, Milwaukee
Ner, my walker, helped me maneuver around the Aveda store at the mall on a Saturday afternoon. Glass shelves lined the walls with perfect rows of tan-and-brown bottles of soldiers in the army against split ends. Everything seemed to be bathed in a tranquil blue light. The music sounded soft and melodic. The brand’s signature scent—a mixture of lavender, eucalyptus, and ylang-ylang put me in a trance as I scanned the space.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a small stack of books. I wondered why they sold books in a beauty store. I came closer to the tiny library and spied a sign that beckoned me to “Discover Ayurveda.” I had no idea what “Ayurveda” meant or even if it was in English.
Close enough for a hands-on investigation, I discovered books written by Dr. Deepak Chopra: Quantum Healing and Perfect Health. According to the back covers, Ayurveda had the potential to heal heart disease and cancer. I gasped and wondered if Ayurveda would fix me. Traditional medicine seemed to have no idea what to do with me—at least no idea I liked. What did I have to lose? The further I read, I learned that yoga was part of the ancient practice. I let out a heavy sigh, knowing my body was neither bendy nor balanced. How could I do yoga?
What came next, further fascinated me.
The words ”chair yoga” popped from the paper. I tore the yellow flyer off a bulletin board in the bakery and shoved it in the basket of my walker. I chose my baker’s dozen of bagels at the counter and scuttled outside the shop under the ashen morning sky. The thirty-degree air made my lungs feel hollow.
When I settled in my car, I took a closer look. My pulse rose. The paper indicated “for all levels.” I turned down the chatter on the radio. The class started at 1:00 p.m.—right in the middle of my workday. My heart sank a little, yet an idea flashed through my brain.
A plan emerges.
“I brought bagels.” I announced to the office. The morning commotion of the maintenance and cleaning staffs arriving filled the room. On the way to their work assignments, people stopped to grab snacks. Everyone seemed happy to get something in their stomachs. The bagels were now my bribe.
About an hour passed and all thirteen bagels had been taken. The space was silent. I got up from my desk and knocked on the open door to my boss’s office.
“Jim, can I talk to you?” I asked. My voice wavered more than usual.
Jim invited me forward. I stumbled in and sat in his single guest chair.
With my wet palms, I reached into the basket of my walker and pulled out the crinkled paper advertising the yoga instruction.
“I would like to try this class.” I handed Jim the flyer. “It’s just down the street, and I’ll make up the time.” I didn’t look him in the eye.
Putting Ideas Into Action: Could I Do Yoga? I Was Going to Find Out!
February 1996
I sat in the front row of folding metal chairs, giving myself some room for my first yoga class. Ner was to my side, waiting to be used for stability, if needed. As I listened to the women coming in behind me, I hoped I’d be able to do yoga and heal myself along the path.
“Good afternoon,” a thin short-haired bohemian woman said as she walked to the head of the room. Her wrinkles divulged her age while the large dangling earrings completed her beatnik style. She carried a gigantic stuffed tote.
“Hi, Joyce,” the crowd sang. They all appeared to know the once-upon-a-time hippie.
Joyce walked to the front of the room and let gravity tug the bag to the floor. It spilled open, revealing small brick-like objects, straps, and a few thick pillows. She proceeded to hand everyone two of the bricks and a strap.
“Welcome,” she said to me. “I’ll let you know what to do with these when we get there,” she assured me. “What’s your name?”
“Jennifer.”
“That’s my daughter’s name. I’m Joyce. Okay, let’s get started.” Then she whispered, “Let’s be quiet and close our eyes.”
As class moved along, the students utilized the tools Joyce had handed out. The bricks, made of a sturdy foam material, gave support, and the straps helped us twist and stretch. We did lots of slow, deliberate breathing. After, we all sat at a place on the floor next to a wall.
Joyce said, “With your right shoulder, gently touch the surface and stretch out your legs in front of you. Once settled, turn to the right and bring your legs up the wall as you lay your head and back on the ground.” I followed her serene voice. “Let your arms rest open at your sides, palms facing up, and lower your eyelids.”
When my eyes shut, a wave of contentment draped over me. I felt supported but weightless at the same time. I had never reacted quite like this to anything. It felt familiar yet new, as if I had found a different way to relate to myself. Tears were on the brink of releasing.
Joyce continued reminding us to breathe slowly and deliberately. She also instructed us to direct the flow of air to our ribcage, our chest, and our back. Her voice soothed my tight muscles.
Yoga provided gentle movement with a spark that my body had withheld from me since my teen years when I discovered I could no longer do a cartwheel. The use of my breath brought me to a place of peace within my body. I had lost that tie after watching the telethon with my mom.
My spirit opened and soaked in connection. I never thought my broken body would ever feel so right just the way it was. Maybe I didn’t need to be fixed.
Who, Me?
After discovering yoga, and understanding I could do it, a new opportunity came my way. I was so excited about the possibility of making this new activity a part of my identity.
“Oh, Jennifer,” Joyce said a month later, after class. “Do you have a minute to talk?” Faint streams of incense hung in the air. When she opened the blinds in the front of the makeshift yoga studio, I could see snow falling.
My face went slack. We hadn’t spoken much beyond my first class. I had a feeling she wanted to tell me yoga wasn’t really going to be possible for me and that it was just another dream, like radio, that wouldn’t work.
“How are you liking class?” Joyce asked.
“I love it.”
“I thought so. Whenever you leave, you are glowing.”
I jerked my head back. “I am?”
“Very much. I think you should consider becoming a teacher.”
My palm felt compelled to touch my heart, “Really? Me? I’m disabled.”
Joyce waved my argument off. “So?”
My jaw dropped, and my heart opened as I listened to this person who didn’t see my disability as something that would hold me back from doing something that I loved.
Had I Found a New Path in My Life? And Was it Yoga?
I wondered if I had found my calling. Yoga was accessible. It made me feel good to be able to do something I loved, and to be good at it. I also didn’t feel judged. I felt part of a community. So…
During my prevalent downtime at work, I scoured this new thing called the Internet, looking for yoga schools. The result overwhelmed me. The variety and popularity of yoga surprised me. I thought yoga was yoga, period. Words like Kundalini, Integral Yoga, Bikram, and Iyengar confused me. I didn’t know who or what made these apparent different kinds of yoga better or worse than the others.
That night, I flopped down onto my couch and sifted through the pages of options I had printed at work. I was intrigued. Was Joyce right? I and the body I had always been told needed to be fixed could teach yoga?
I reasoned with myself out loud, “I don’t think my parents will be supportive if I go become a yoga teacher. I mean, they’re gonna think I’m nuts for even considering it.” But I wanted to do it. I babbled on, now imagining a life I had never considered. Was it a reckless choice? One with no stability and perhaps no future? “Maybe I should go to grad school to be an activities director at a college. That’s safe. Practical.”
And that’s what I did.
I was a little disappointed in myself for not taking a chance. I had done all of these things no one expected, but yoga instructor was one risk I was not prepared to take.
Despite the Fact That Yoga is Accessible…
Yes, maybe this is not where you thought this would end up. Despite the fact that yoga is accessible, and my love for it exists, I’m a more practical person at heart. But I recommend it to anyone who is curious. It was part of finding myself. And teaching it may have come back into my life later–long after I thought it was even possible.
Until the next…
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