Another Year, Another White Woman Makes Going to Yoga Her Resolution

I'm doing the #52essays2017 challenge. Here's Essay #1. (Which is really more like a blog post, but I'm not beating myself up about it.)

Every year since I've lived in Austin, I've gone to a yoga class on New Year's Day.

This isn't to say that I go to yoga regularly. In fact, before today, I hadn't been to a class in months. Usually, I do some halfhearted sun salutations a few times a week and call it a day. But, there's something about going to yoga on the first day of the new year that makes you feel deeply good. Also, I'm addicted to fresh starts. I can't tell you how much it makes my heart sing to write in a new journal for the first time, to start a new blog (I have at least a half-dozen by now), to begin a new year. 

Normally, when I'm trying to be a yoga-going person, I go to Black Swan. Today, though, I tried out a new studio: Wanderlust Yoga, downtown on 4th and Congress. It was the kind of class that's so satisfying that random people were giving each other sweaty, starry-eyed hugs afterwards. (Our savasana was accompanied by a fellow yogi's a cappella version of "Imagine", for crying out loud.) 

I make bad choices, sometimes willingly, sometimes only in retrospect. I drink too much wine and I almost never send thank-you notes and I tend to dive into life without much foresight. But, going to a yoga class is never a bad choice. And when I practically skipped out of Wanderlust today, the Frost Tower was outlined in dimming sunlight, and a pinkish haze had begun to envelop the city, and it felt good to know that, for 90 minutes, I'd done something decent.