Every Breath You Take

It was far too cold today to ride my bike to work, and because I had to be in for a training at 9am and I don't drop my kids off until 8:30am, the bus wasn't an option either. My favorite mode of transport is definitely my bike -- built in fresh-air time, exercise, emotional and physical release -- both before and after work. I like the bus too, for other reasons -- I get the New Yorker read, and I feel connected to other people in a way that I don't when I'm alone in my car.

But there's one thing the car is best for -- hearing tunes and singing my little heart out. This morning on my way to work I cranked it up and belted out The Police's classic version of this song. These lyrics felt particularly satisfying in the below zero temps with my man many states away:

Since you've gone I've been lost without a trace

I dream at night

I can only see your face

I look around but it's you I can't replace

I feel so cold and I long for your embrace

I keep crying baby, baby please

And then on the way home from work, I heard the-then-Puff-Daddy's tribute version to his fallen friend(s), and this time, I really heard the title lyric:

Every breath you take...

And I felt gratitude for every breath I still get to take, along with gratitude for the yoga that, by both practicing and teaching it, helps connect me to each breath on a deeper level. Things are heating up at my job, and today was the first yoga class I've made it to (as a student) in two weeks. This wouldn't be such a big deal if I were practicing at home, but that's fallen by the wayside too during the adjustment to my fast-paced full-time work.

Yesterday during a particularly busy day, my cell phone rang, and I looked at it and saw that it was a fellow yoga teacher and decided to answer it. She was calling with a question about a student who had a stiff neck and limited range of motion, and she was wondering how to help her. Get her to breathe, I told her -- exhaling out that tension is the surest way to regain flexibility. Same goes for me -- and that phone call was just the reminder that I needed. To exhale. Fully and completely. With every breath I take...