Sharing the start of my essay about the recent yoga retreat in Sayulita, Mexico. Our instructor was Jen, from Seattle. I had never taken a class with her, but got a thumbs up from my therapist, who is also a yoga instructor.
I missed out on a local retreat last August because of moving and the thought of a break in February, with a trip to warm Mexico … since I had never been there … was mighty appealing. I’m so glad I went.
Wrote this start to an essay on the plane on the way back home. Old school, hand-written in my reporter’s notebook. Yes, I sometimes play a reporter even if it’s not my day job.
Thirteen of us sat in a circle, some of us perched on little Native American-ish rugs. Wendy, sitting to my left, went first. She said she got the strength to ask her husband to leave six months ago. Lydia, sitting on my right, said her husband died suddenly last year from food poisoning. “I’m just trying to make it through this year,” she said, holding back a sob. Colleen wanted to start living life, while Jill was there to be reminded of a time when she didn’t feel sick. Donna, halfway across the circle from where I sat, said she had been a “displaced” worker for the last two years.
Group therapy? Sort of. I was on a yoga retreat in Mexico. Most of the yogis on the trip were disciples of Seattle yoga instructor Jen. I had never taken a class with her before, but she looked good on paper and a work acquaintance said she was a fabulous teacher.
We all trekked down to Sayulita, Mexico for a week-long vinyasa yoga retreat. Classes were held twice a day: 8 a.m. and 4 p.m., and were scheduled to last 90 minutes. Group outings might include dinners, a walk through the nearby jungle and surfing.