After a long hiatus, I was back at my restorative yoga class this afternoon.
Thankfully, it is still being taught by Michael, because in my books, he’s the best. Not only because he has oodles of patience for the yentas in the class, that squeeze as much socializing time between asanas as Michael will let them get away with; but also because he is an oasis of calm amidst the whines and sighs emanating from different points around the room.
Full disclosure: I have a personal reason as well for being one of Michael’s fans. He still remembers me, asks about my recovery, offers a solution to a newly-diagnosed handicap (related to my accident) and while still tending to the rest of the flock, he continues to swing by my mat to suggest a modified stance.
So here’s to Michael, a former ballet-dancer-turned-yoga-teacher, who without fail eggs on even the most awkward of students; who is inexplicably tolerant towards those flagrantly ignoring his requests for silence; and who continues to instill a sense of peace and grace into his class.
I am so grateful to be back in that 90-minute (semi-chatty) cocoon of breathing space.