Read Online On Grace by Susie Orman Schnall - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susie Orman Schnall
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always warm.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“It’s my first time in a very long time doing yoga. So don’t laugh at me,” I say with a smile. I’m relieved that I’m next to someone I like. The thought of doing yoga next to someone like Lorna, who would undoubtedly wear fuchsia Lululemon, have a perfect pedicure, and be able to effortlessly reach the floor in the forward-bend pose (my Sanskrit is dusty) is too taxing.
“I promise, I won’t. And Willow is an amazing instructor. She comes around a lot to make adjustments, and she’s great and patient with beginners.”
On cue, Willow enters the room. She looks like a sixty-year-old woman who can pass for forty, but you can tell she’s really sixty. Her black hair is long and curly and streaked with grey, and her blue eyes are shiny. She strikes me as the kind of woman who is proud, not ashamed, of the lines on her face. Over the next hour, Willow leads us in a yoga routine, er, practice, that is tough but not impossible. She dispenses clear instructions and poignant nuggets of wisdom.
“Sometimes when things seem really hard, just breathe, give in to the struggle, and open your heart to the possibility that the hard parts can be overcome,” Willow says in her soothing alto. She has a gift for making everything she says relate to both yoga poses and life. My life. I pay really close attention to her messages. I forget to breathe half the time, I feel nothing like a warrior despite all the poses done in a warrior’s honor, and I can’t “grow my tree,” but I listen. And Callie’s encouraging whispers throughout the class really make it the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had with yoga. I pledge to myself that I will do this every Friday.
After class, as we’re rolling our mats and refolding our blankets, Callie asks if I would like to join her and her friends for coffee.
“We go to Le Pain Quotidien in town. It’s a really nice group of women from this class. You should come. We can catch up.”
“Sure, I’d love it,” I say, before I can decide if I really want to. But I’m glad I blurted that out. It will be nice to get back in touch with Callie. Plus, I love Le Pain Quotidien, or LPQ in local parlance. It’s an outpost of a trendy and healthy Belgian restaurant-slash-bakery. They have the most delicious chocolate hazelnut spread that I love to slather generously on their fresh baguettes, but I have a feeling that with this crowd I’ll not be having any of that.
As the SUV parade leaves the Wainwright House parking lot, I realize I actually feel happy. It’s reassuring to know that despite the stress I’m feeling about Darren, I have the capacity to feel happy. Hmmm, maybe the yoga works after all! During the end-of-class savasana , when I was supposed to be thinking about nothing, I thought about some of the things Darren said last night.
I appreciate how kind and honest he was. It doesn’t change the fact that he did a really shitty thing, but he has said and done all the right things since he told me. I’m incredibly angry at what he did, although I’m not angry at the way he’s handling it. But yogic chanting or not, I still have no idea if I can remain married to a man who has the capacity to do what he did. Or am I just making a bigger deal out of something that may have been nothing? Would a divorce be like killing an ant with a sledgehammer?
I find Callie and her friends at the restaurant right away. They’re easy to spot by their hip after-yoga wear and glowing faces. Callie introduces me around and tells the group where I live, how old my kids are, and where they go to school—the standard mom CV. And by those three facts alone, these other women can surmise a hell of a lot about me. Or so they think.
After we place our orders, Callie asks about the boys and Darren and then fills me in on her kids, her husband, and her latest endeavor, which is designing and installing residential organic gardens.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“It’s my first time in a very long time doing yoga. So don’t laugh at me,” I say with a smile. I’m relieved that I’m next to someone I like. The thought of doing yoga next to someone like Lorna, who would undoubtedly wear fuchsia Lululemon, have a perfect pedicure, and be able to effortlessly reach the floor in the forward-bend pose (my Sanskrit is dusty) is too taxing.
“I promise, I won’t. And Willow is an amazing instructor. She comes around a lot to make adjustments, and she’s great and patient with beginners.”
On cue, Willow enters the room. She looks like a sixty-year-old woman who can pass for forty, but you can tell she’s really sixty. Her black hair is long and curly and streaked with grey, and her blue eyes are shiny. She strikes me as the kind of woman who is proud, not ashamed, of the lines on her face. Over the next hour, Willow leads us in a yoga routine, er, practice, that is tough but not impossible. She dispenses clear instructions and poignant nuggets of wisdom.
“Sometimes when things seem really hard, just breathe, give in to the struggle, and open your heart to the possibility that the hard parts can be overcome,” Willow says in her soothing alto. She has a gift for making everything she says relate to both yoga poses and life. My life. I pay really close attention to her messages. I forget to breathe half the time, I feel nothing like a warrior despite all the poses done in a warrior’s honor, and I can’t “grow my tree,” but I listen. And Callie’s encouraging whispers throughout the class really make it the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had with yoga. I pledge to myself that I will do this every Friday.
After class, as we’re rolling our mats and refolding our blankets, Callie asks if I would like to join her and her friends for coffee.
“We go to Le Pain Quotidien in town. It’s a really nice group of women from this class. You should come. We can catch up.”
“Sure, I’d love it,” I say, before I can decide if I really want to. But I’m glad I blurted that out. It will be nice to get back in touch with Callie. Plus, I love Le Pain Quotidien, or LPQ in local parlance. It’s an outpost of a trendy and healthy Belgian restaurant-slash-bakery. They have the most delicious chocolate hazelnut spread that I love to slather generously on their fresh baguettes, but I have a feeling that with this crowd I’ll not be having any of that.
As the SUV parade leaves the Wainwright House parking lot, I realize I actually feel happy. It’s reassuring to know that despite the stress I’m feeling about Darren, I have the capacity to feel happy. Hmmm, maybe the yoga works after all! During the end-of-class savasana , when I was supposed to be thinking about nothing, I thought about some of the things Darren said last night.
I appreciate how kind and honest he was. It doesn’t change the fact that he did a really shitty thing, but he has said and done all the right things since he told me. I’m incredibly angry at what he did, although I’m not angry at the way he’s handling it. But yogic chanting or not, I still have no idea if I can remain married to a man who has the capacity to do what he did. Or am I just making a bigger deal out of something that may have been nothing? Would a divorce be like killing an ant with a sledgehammer?
I find Callie and her friends at the restaurant right away. They’re easy to spot by their hip after-yoga wear and glowing faces. Callie introduces me around and tells the group where I live, how old my kids are, and where they go to school—the standard mom CV. And by those three facts alone, these other women can surmise a hell of a lot about me. Or so they think.
After we place our orders, Callie asks about the boys and Darren and then fills me in on her kids, her husband, and her latest endeavor, which is designing and installing residential organic gardens.
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