Sometimes, Yoga Finds Us

I’ve always been hesitant to tell people of my very first chance encounter with yoga, mostly because it’s largely based on my unreliable memory of being 5, or 6, or 7 (you see my point).

As I mentioned in my yoga journey, I randomly found a book with yoga poses on the book shelf in the house that I grew up in. I did what kids do: I immitated the illustrations, then I forgot all about it and moved on. Something more interesting probably came along.

I recently received a copy of Yogi Bare: Naked Truth from America’s Leading Yoga Teachers, and reading the interview of Rod Stryker struck me (ha) with a chill in my spine. He mentioned that he had a mystical introduction to yoga. He was five years old, pulling a book off the shelf at his granduncle’s house. It was a yoga book.

Now, I don’t know if I would call my experience “mystical”. Maybe it was just a random incident, happening without cause and effect. Besides, I don’t really know for sure if it really happened, or if my brain created a nice memory for me to complete the story now that I have found my passion.

But maybe it doesn’t matter if there was divine intervention or just dumb luck, and whether it happened or not. My brother and I often amuse ourselves with¬†Russian Reversal one-liners, and one is called for here: sometimes, we don’t find yoga. Yoga finds us.