I love you, Mom.

My mom is a freak-of-nature. She’s got guns like Michelle Obama (and our very own WYC mom, Frances Murchison) and she slings dirt for a living at a mom n’ pop business called Garden Supply Company in Cary, NC. She’s not just packing heat in her upper body from gardening, she’s also sweeter than Tidal Creek’s Vegan Chocolate Peanut Butter Cheesecake (is that possible? #nomnom).

Even though my mom (or mama as I call her) is both fit and spiritual, she was intimidated by yoga before I took her to her first class.

“What should I wear?” was her first question.

“Mama, you don’t wear shoes to yoga. Or socks. So don’t worry about your feet,” I began to explain. “Wear what’s comfortable for you. Something that’s not too tight and not so baggy it will fall off in downward dog. You know what downward dog is, right?” This is how our conversation began.

But her questions ran deeper. Inside she was pondering the idea of yoga. “What does the word “Om” mean?” She asked herself. “I don’t understand sanskrit, so how am I supposed to know what I’m doing? Do I have to be Hindu or Buddhist to meditate?”

Later, she learned that the term “Namaste” was not of a foreign religion. But that it recognized the light within me and the light within her. And that this light is within all of us. That we all have something pure and common between us. Something that connects you and I. My mom and I. My mom and I and the whole class full of people we may or may not know.

This is yoga.

And now I share this with her. She has a greater understanding of what it is I do every day (#yogaeverydamnday). She wants to practice more too–calm the mind and heal physical burdens as well. She gets it and for that, I love you, mom.

Flowers fade. (Well let’s be honest, they die.) Memories last forever. Sure, it’s cheesy and cliche. But it’s still true. So skip the bouquet this year. Plan a date to the studio and join us for Mamaste–a special 2 hour class for you and your mom.

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