The Gift of Savoring
Guest blogger and yogi Leah Silverman shares how her yoga impacts her life on and off the mat.
Starting this month, Leah will be writing a monthly piece for Mary Liwanag Yoga. She has a keen eye for connection, a deft turn of phrase and an open heart. Welcome!
My son turns seventeen this month. I look at him—this tall, handsome, astonishingly competent kid (when he’s not leaving his socks on the coffee table)—and sometimes it’s hard to believe he was once so small I could carry him like a football in one arm. I am so happy to see him blossoming into an incredible young man, and so excited for the potential of his future.
Mothers hold her their children’s hands for a short while but their hearts forever.
Author Unknown
All the same, I wish he could take a moment from his headlong, eager rush into adulthood to realize how even with the stress of school, his job, and the occasional drama among his friends, he will never have as much freedom as he does now in his last years of childhood. My kid has wanted to be a grownup since he was ten, but he’s never quite understood he will be an adult for decades longer than he’ll be a child. The full weight of responsibility will settle all too soon on his shoulders, capable as they are. I wish I could give him the gift of savoring what he has, along with the gift he asked for.
Being in the moment is something I’ve struggled with as well. I’m very good at worrying about the future or regretting the past. I’m not great at savoring the now.
The point of power is always in the present.
Louise Hay
Yoga has helped me with that. You can’t just throw yourself into a yoga pose then get on to the next one; you have to build each pose with careful, precise movements. You have to be aware of your body and where it is in space, take deliberate breaths, focus your gaze. It’s hard to let your mind wander when you’re gently forced to stay in the now, to contemplate the process and not the result. I’m learning not to anticipate my instructor, but wait until she tells me the next movement. I’m learning, slowly, to feel my body and breathe. To be in the moment and savor what I have.
One day, maybe, my beloved child will let me teach him how to do that. But I can wait.