I’m a writer/wordsmith by trade and have been throughout my long life. I began to practice at the Studio in 1994 when I was immobilized by an acute case of carpel tunnel syndrome—the consequence of a 12 week, 12 hours a day, 7 days a week marathon maniacally pecking on a keyboard to meet a do-or-die deadline. My physio said if I ever wanted to recover use of my hands without pain, I must learn how to continuously relax my neck and shoulders. This wisdom came as a shocking revelation. Who knew? Certainly not me!
A friend pulled me to the Studio. At first I found the classes both annoyingly long and slow but I couldn’t deny that being immersed in language and poses that offered an embodied experience of relaxation felt pretty sweet. Before long I was hooked.
The great attraction of this Studio for me is the excellent teachers who refuse a one-size-fits-all approach to yoga. Their assumptions about teaching and learning empower each of us to discover and honour the singular uniqueness of our body’s strength and potential for wellness. Every teacher demonstrates a sophisticated knowledge of anatomy, physiology and movement which may explain why they are such intrepid explorers too, ever curious to understand more deeply the wonders and mysteries of the dynamics of body, breath and ground. Students are always invited to join in this open exploration. This is why after 25 years of classes, I’m still learning. This is why a class often leads me into the delicious delight of discovery — as if I were an absolute beginner again. This is why I keep returning.
Finally, this story as illustration: years ago when I was a ‘new’ regular at the Studio, I slipped on a patch of ice and fractured a bone in my elbow. The orthopaedic surgeon grimly pronounced that I’d never again have full mobility in that arm. When I phoned Monica to withdraw from class, she said, “No, come. Just lie on the floor and relax. Let’s see what happens.” So, I went as she suggested and within three weeks I had partial mobility. I continued to lie and relax. A few weeks later I showed off my arm’s almost full range of motion to the (ever-gloomy) surgeon. He sniffed and said that I was just lucky. Alas, he had no curiosity.