Yoga as an Antidote to My Anxiety of Belonging
How the consistency of my practice is a confrontation with the reality of the inconsistency of my own being–and perhaps the only true solace to the woes it brings.
My whole life I’ve questioned where I belong.
In recent years, I’ve come to embrace that I am a creature of movement and change. I have people and places scattered across the globe that make me feel at home, all in their unique ways. And this shifting between worlds—exploring and deepening my connection to not one, but many places—makes me feel alive.
And yet, within all this movement, there are many days (perhaps most days) when I still wonder where I will finally come home to. I yearn for the ease of settling, for the comfort of knowing where the light switch is, even in the dark.
And this, this is why I practice yoga.
Every time I step onto a mat, arriving into the field of practice, it feels like I’m walking through the door of my own home. My yoga practice isn’t just about movement—it’s about settling into the one space I can truly call my home, the one place that is certainly mine to belong to: my body.
Yoga for me, has always been a practice. Not a workout, not a stretching session, and not a 'skill' to get better at.
It is a practice field, a map for exploring the territory of my own body and mind, in any present condition. To observe the ever-changing and maturing being of my existence, and to move in.
I’m talking about the physical yoga asana practice. With the initial gross, physical, large movements of my body in the asanas, it is as if I am putting on my body, pulling the sleeves, fitting in, moving into the present vessel of my being–the vessel in which I navigate the world.
Moving in, to the one home I was born into and will leave this world in.
Moving into my home.
It is in the consistency of this practice, that my senses sharpen as to how subtle and magnificent this vessel changes. I can observe in embodiment that my body matures; every single moment. I am faced with the seasonality and mortality of my ever-changing (is it too morbid to say ever-dying?) home.
Sure, as morbid as this may sound, it is in this practice of observation and curiosity, that I am able to explore how to make myself at home, free from the demands of temperamental senses and thoughts of the given conditions. This is where I can touch true freedom. And this is why I practice. To expand in my territory of freedom, regardless of–or rather in tune with–outer changes.
Yoga is my practice of moving in. Each practice is an opportunity for me to choose how to walk in the door, to turn on the lights one by one, and to explore the rooms. Moving things around, tidying up so everything feels just so. Making sure everything is in its right place.
When I practice, I'm moving into my home. Settling in, belonging, no matter where I may be.