Music

Certain songs carry me back.

Without a second thought, a song can make me remember a time, a place, a person, a feeling.

Music does this.

It brings memories to mind in an instant, measuring out segments of times long thought forgotten. 

I think music is what got me hooked on yoga in the first place.

Not every yoga class has music, but I was fortunate enough to start at a studio that was somehow plugged into my playlist. 

Elton John. Van Morrison. Bob and Damien Marley. Eric Clapton. The Beatles. Seal. And more.

Since the time I was little, I have always loved music, and I have never really started a day without it. Like most of us, I seem to have a soundtrack that marks time from my childhood into my adulthood.

In elementary school, I would put my transistor radio in the basket of my bicycle and spend hours working on drawings of the album covers of Elton John and the Beatles. I awoke to music every morning on my clock radio and, every night, I played records on my stereo, a gift from my parents for my eleventh birthday.

My first loves were Michael Jackson and Donny Osmond, both of whom I plastered on my walls before graduating to David Cassidy whose picture I proudly carried on my lunch box.

In one of my yoga classes early on, one song played, and I called out, Fifth Grade!

Led Zeppelin, The Who, Queen and Peter Frampton formed the backdrop to my middle school years and boys and dances, and songs from Chicago, Boston, Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles are forever embedded in my brain from my time on my high school Pom Pom squad.

Cat Stevens and Jimmy Buffet joined me at the beach during my college years; Diana Ross was the envy of all my sorority sisters, and I remember exactly where I was when Michael Jackson did his moonwalk. There was never a time that we got ready to go out without Michael, Earth Wind and Fire or the Commodores on the turntable.

Early on, I did some public relations for the yoga studio, and I was putting pen to paper for a press release. As part of this, I asked my instructor what would appeal about yoga to those who might not buy into the spiritual side.

Don’t you feel good from the workout and the music? That feeling is spiritual, too, he said.

My children grew up listening to so much of my music, and me to theirs. 

My son had his tonsils out, and we all were in the house for a week during his recovery with Hootie and the Blowfish playing every day for seven days straight.

We called Van Morrison our company music, and played it every time we had people over for dinner. It was such a staple that I sent my daughter to college with the soundtrack in case she got homesick.

I still make my kids crazy with $20 bets to see if they can guess the artist playing on the radio and even made one such bet with my daughter during our first private yoga session when Into the Mystic came on by Van Morrison.

We spent hours and hours listening to music while doing arts and crafts at the kitchen table and, to this day, Paul Simon’s Graceland CD is forever linked to my daughter’s first store order when we played it repeatedly while beading 90 necklaces by lantern light during a storm when the power went out.

My son seems to have my same love of music but has a playlist 100 times longer. Often, I call to tell him what song is on the radio, and he sends me names of songs and singers he thinks I will like.

Check out Michael Franti, one such text said.

Already familiar, I just texted back, Say Hey, I Love You!

And when Michael Jackson died, I was overcome with a surprising sadness, because it was larger for me than just losing him. He had lost me for awhile, but once I lost him, I returned, buying up a bunch of his music. It was like part of my history was gone, and I wanted it back.

These days, if I try another yoga class, something is usually missing, and it is often the music. 

To begin our yoga class, my instructor turns on the music and announces the opening pose. 

The other morning, it was Child’s Pose. I placed my knees on either side of the mat, put my forehead down and stretched my arms forward, dropping my heart. He lowered the lights, and the music began to play.

I cannot really explain it further, but my mind instantly settled as the music filled the room.

I inhaled deeply and let it fill me, too.

Movement

From one day to the next, I look forward to yoga.

It has been more than a year since I first stepped into the studio, and I never tire of it.

I like preparing to go. I like being there. I like the workout.

And, in turn, I like whatever it is I am doing afterwards. 

The after effects of each class stay with me until the next class, and so I go as often as I can. 

It is a good place, and it puts me in a good space. 

I cannot exactly pinpoint what it is about yoga that clicks with me, but something about it definitely does.

And, it is not something new in me to which it connects but rather something seemingly age old.

In yesterday morning’s class, we were in a flow, moving amongst many different poses.

We flowed from Warrior II to High Lunge to Warrior I. We swept our arms down and back and raised them up again. We leaned back and spread our arms open and then swept them down again.

The music played, my body flowed and my mind did, too, back to when I was six or seven or eight years old in ballet class.

We moved into Standing Split and then brought our feet together for a forward fold. We lifted halfway and folded again and then flowed into Warrior II once more. We straightened our front leg and flowed into Triangle pose.

My body reached forward and my mind reached back, and I so vividly remembered myself in my black leotard and pink tights doing The Fun Step.

This happened at the end of ballet class when the teacher would map out a pattern of steps across the room and change up the music.

We would skip and hop, one at a time, traveling from one corner to the next on a diagonal.

I loved it.

I remember always looking down to see my feet but not being able to find them because my little girl’s stomach blocked the view of my toes!

We flowed back to Warrior II and then sailed right into Half Moon. I bent my back leg and grabbed my ankle for a sideways backbend.

As a little girl, I never wanted to go to ballet.

It was scheduled on Saturday mornings when I was allowed to watch TV, and I did not want to do anything but watch H.R. Puff and Stuff.

But, I was always happy at the end of class when the good music played, and we flowed freely with The Fun Step.

After class, I would always hang back to watch the older girls dancing jazz, wishing to be one of them, dancing more freely and always to better music.

Ultimately, my mother caved, and I left the ballet scene only to wish in my teenage years that I had not.

I filled in the gap with other dance classes and dance squads throughout my middle and high school years. In college, I fulfilled my physical education requirement with a dance class, too.

We moved through our Vinyasa and repeated the flow on the other side, moving from one big motion to the next.

There has always been something about movement and music that works for me, and somehow, yoga brings me back to it.

The music and the movement take my body and mind through a moving meditation, and this is what keeps me coming back.

The good music plays, and I sail freely between the poses as I follow the instructions that make up the flows of the first part of the class.

It is like doing The Fun Step all over again, only this time I can see my toes.