Thursday, October 16, 2008

I'll never forget the first tai chi class I checked out. We had just moved to Columbus, Ohio and my husband was kinda getting on me for not finding a local sensei to keep up with my karate.

I was also pregnant with my first child.

And emotional.

And not always patient.

Or nice.

Which is why my husband wanted me to leave and go to karate class.

His eyes pleaded with me: "A little break from your mood swings...please?" they pined, hoping that I was going to drop the newspaper I was currently looking at and check out the yellow pages for local dojos.

I couldn't really picture myself doing a round house kick with mother earth sticking out of my uniform. It also didn't seem natural for me to spar with a young fetus growing inside me. It just felt...wrong somehow. Like when I go into a girls clothing store and see skimpy, low cut tops for 8-year-olds. It just feels...wrong.

So, karate...didn't feel natural.

I sat there with the newspaper, avoiding my husband's longing stare when a little article grabbed my attention. It was just a simple listing for a tai chi class. I tore it out and showed it to my husband.

He sighed in relief.

In retrospect, I think at that point, he would have sighed in relief if I had shown him an ad for wrestling boar goats.

Anyway, I don't actually remember the class. I just remember the feeling I had afterward: I was home.

Just watching tai chi dissolved my tension. It created space where I didn't see any before. There was more of an area to breathe into. I was mesmerized by the class as they flowed in and out of one movement to the next. I didn't know where one posture began or ended and I liked that. That felt right. There was no beginning or end. There just...was.

And I was home.

And my husband was happy, too.

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