On New Year's Eve the inhabitants of The Coffee House sat down to write their New Year's Resolutions. They were the usual handful of getting more fit, eating more healthily, keeping bedrooms tidy, getting more sleep. You know.
I had some nebulous yoga-y goings on thrown in there, but I didn't really know what they meant other than Do More Yoga. Because it helped me recover from illness, and because it makes me feel better.
Last night was my first yoga class of the New Year. Our winter sequence, the teacher explained (I have searched this place for a good teacher. And she is a Good Teacher) was about conserving energy, keeping in step with the seasons. She seemed particularly impressed that I had done precisely nothing with the Christmas holidays. Winter, it seems, is a time for sleeping, for saving energy.
Well, thank goodness for that. Because I am very much enjoying going at a snail's pace. And I knew deep down that I wasn't going to be doing any running any time soon, whatever my ambitions. It's not a time for salad and activity. I don't actually have the energy, and I was feeling bad about that. But no more.
And it's no time to give up cake, especially when the oven warms the kitchen up so nicely. (This is my decision. I didn't need a yoga teacher to tell me that. I can freestyle when it comes to this kind of thing.)
So I shall abandon all ridiculous ideas of self-improvement, and aim for my two yoga classes a week, some quiet, some care, and some very early nights.
Now if you don't mind I have some sitting down to do. I've been very busy rewinding the Christmas ribbon, and it has quite tired me out.