downward facing dog.

I'll be doing a lot more of those from now on--along with some planks, trees, baby cobras, and savasanas. Today, I just closed my eyes, handed over my credit card, and joined an amazing yoga gym where all the women look like they don't need yoga. It's okay, if all goes well, I'll be there soon enough. But, it's about mental well-being, right? Riiiight. No really...I'll explain.

Several months ago, I "dumped" my therapist. I'd learned so much from her, like how to identify patterns--the negative, self-sabotaging kind. But there came a point when i felt the learnings slowing down, and that was my cue to move forward. At times, while I appreciated her insight and understanding, I really needed some instruction, someone to tell me not to jump off that bridge. Like many relationships, this one ran its course, and ended.

Several times since the "break up," I've given thought to what I'd do if I needed to resume therapy sessions again. Looking for a new therapist in New York is a daunting process--there are so damn many, and they've all written books on "loving YOU more," "winning at love," or "getting the love you want." Time was when it seemed all my friends here had therapists...now not so much. People don't have jobs, so they don't have health insurance, or maybe they're just finding other ways to cope with anxiety, addiction, loss, painful childhoods, and love woes.

It turns out my "other way" is yoga. Nothing new there really...I've always loved to practice, but after trying a week at this new-ish yoga/pilates/full-body-conditioning "ahhh come in, we love you here" studio in my neighborhood, I felt something different. Not sure if it's the lavender-scented mats, the huge multi-purpose rooms (lotsa props), or the super-human instructors, but I've felt this tangible sense of all-consuming happy energy after each class. I think they call it a "high." The type that you want to break in half and share with someone you know could use it. This must be how my-friend-Mer feels about her daily run, or another dear friend feels about ballet. Whatever it is, I feel good all over (channeling Stephanie Mills), and less inclined to run down aisle-hogging shoppers in Trader Joe's with my cart.

Another thing: During yoga, I don't think about my workday, or bills, or even what I'm going to be when I grow up. I'm in the moment...completely. And of course, trying not to focus on what the guy behind me thinks of my bum (which is also, by the way, very excited about the weeks ahead).