Life on the Mat

It was 20 years ago this month when I first hesitantly rolled out a mat and settled into the unfamiliar position known as downward facing dog.

A resting pose, the instructor called it.

Yea, right, I thought.

My second daughter had arrived about four weeks earlier, and I was taking one of my first breaks away from the demands of diapers and feeding and figuring out how to be a mother to two tiny, very demanding people.

Yoga had always intrigued me. But while it sounded good on paper, it was one of those elusive ideas that never took hold in real life.

I must have mentioned my interest more than a few times, however, since, for my 29th birthday, my husband presented me with a gift card for a series of classes at a local studio.

I was seven months pregnant at the time.

“You can use it after the baby comes,” he said.

The follow-up “obviously” went unspoken.

It was, in fact, a very thoughtful gift. Five yoga classes would give me a good idea of whether or not the practice was something I would actually enjoy. It also gave me something to look forward to amidst the chaos of caring for an active 2-year-old and her newborn sister.

And, although I didn’t know it at the time, it opened a door I needed to go through.

The next few weeks marched on, the baby arrived and I waited the requisite time to recuperate. Then, one evening, I kissed the girls’ foreheads, waved goodbye and made my way across town to try my hand at something new and unfamiliar.

Little did I know I would still be at it two decades later.

The class was large, with probably 25 people lined up in rows facing the front of the dimly lit room. They all looked like yoga veterans, sporting the right clothes and the right mats and the right physiques.

I signed in, took an open spot toward the back and tried my best to blend into the woodwork.

That didn’t last long.

“Which one of you is Susan Van Dusen?” the instructor asked after she stepped to the front of the room.

I glanced around, clinging to the unlikely possibility there was another woman in the crowd by my name.

There was not.

I hesitantly raised my hand.

As every eye in the room shifted in my direction, the instructor pronounced matter-of-factly, “Your husband must really love you.”

And then, as if she said that to every first-time student in her class, she took a deep breath and began.

I don’t recall if I asked her about the comment after the class ended, or if I waited to ask Tim when I got home. Either way, the story went something like this:

Tim called the studio to purchase a gift card. He paid over the phone, but never received the letter in the mail. When he asked about it, they said they mailed it and wouldn’t issue him another gift card. So he paid for a second one and picked it up in person.

Great customer service? No.

Great husband? Yes.

That series of classes led to another, which led to another, which led to another. Over the years I made several dear friends thanks to our shared love of yoga, including a wonderful instructor who encouraged me to consider teaching.

After getting certified in 2014, I found a couple of gigs in the evenings after work, and tried my hand at being the one in the front of the room.

While my classes were fine and fairly well attended, I quickly discovered that teaching was a job, and that wasn’t what I needed yoga to be. I didn’t want to prepare in advance and stress out over whether I played the right music or showed all the correct modifications for both beginner and advanced students.

So, after earning enough money to fund a family vacation to the Pacific Northwest, I turned in my resignation and returned to the back of the room, where I truly belonged.

My teaching career did live on to a certain extent, though, as for several years I led a weekly class for friends at work. Somehow teaching a class for friends (who weren’t paying) never held the pressure of leading a class for strangers (who were). I didn’t have to prepare in advance, since the poses came naturally after all those years of practice. And no one complained when I messed up, because, well, they were getting free yoga classes, so what’s there to complain about?

So, what is it about yoga that keeps me coming back after all these years?

There are, of course, the health benefits. I’m flexible, have excellent balance and possess more upper-body strength than you would suspect by looking at me.

Yoga doesn’t give you bulky muscles, but it does make you strong, both inside and out.

It also helps control my TMJ, which flares up with its familiar jaw and neck pain anytime I go more than a couple weeks without attending a class. While there are now an abundance of articles about the ability of yoga to alleviate TMJ symptoms, I discovered this connection years ago and have used it to my advantage ever since.

Even more so than this, yoga gives me a sense of calm, which is something I’m often lacking in day-to-day life. By leaving my brain at the door, so to speak, I reenergize my spirit and honor what my body can accomplish when breath and movement work in complete unison.

Sometimes, during a class, I remember things I had long forgotten, as if taking my mind off the present opens it up to the past.

But as is supposed to happen, those thoughts quickly float away and the act of being in the moment, breathing and moving simultaneously takes over.

It’s true that yoga means different things to different people, and on different days it means different things for me.

One day is a tranquil escape. Another day it is an energetic workout.

But everyday it is a gift that continues to hold value far beyond the cost of two gift card 20 years ago.