EXTENDED SIDE ANGLE POSE VARIATIONAfter my mom died I wrote a book about her, so
I lived with her death as a central character in
my personal and professional life for three years.
I made an inward promise to her that once the
book was done, I would find a way to let go of her
death. When the book was published, though, it
was: full stop. You’re writing it, and then you’re
doing talks about it, and then it’s over. I had a
void in my life, but I had to make good on this
promise, and I became very depressed.
I had done some yoga before; it was when my
mom was sick, actually. I’d wanted to like it then
but didn’t. I could not stand the quiet. At that
time yoga was not an escape for me. It was too
emotionally, physically, and spiritually intense.
But after the book came out, I had gained a
little weight and felt sedentary. I heard about a
hot-yoga studio near my house that played really
good music, so I went to a class and stood at the
back of the room.
It was hot, it was dark, it was loud, and I loved
it. Since then I have never not had a regular
practice. There’s no style of yoga that I won’t try.
My mom did yoga sometimes, but Pilates
was mainly her thing. Long before Pilates was
in vogue, we had a reformer machine in our
house. I thought it was so embarrassing—my
mom and her Pilates. My sister and I have pic-
tures of her doing Pilates outside. My mom and
stepdad would go to the beach for the summer,
and she would schlep the reformer to their little
rented condo, put it on the deck and do Pilates
out there every day. She would want us to take
pictures, and we’d be like, “Ugh, Mom!” It was
so annoying. Now, when I make my husband
take pictures of me doing yoga, he says, “This is
exactly what you used to roll your eyes about.”
My mom was the original exercise show-off.
In some ways I feel like yoga is time with
my mom. I feel like she’s with me when I do it,
that she’s so proud of my fitness and my grace
and my commitment to it. We didn’t share it
together in real life, but I know we are sharing
it now. It’s amazing how something can con-
nect you to a person who died before you even
started practicing it.