This is written by guest blogger/yogini Erin Grotheer. She is my roommate and one of my very best friends.
I have been a yogi (yogini, if ya nasty) for two and a half years now. It was January of my last semester of college. I was smoking too many cigarettes and trying to use gin to fix a broken heart. I had a case of the “you suck Grotheer” that no amount of complaining could shake. In the midst of this self-indulgent shit storm I call “winter 09/10”, I met Cassidi Kay Stuckman. She was teaching yoga classes at the K-State Rec Center. She invited me to give it (yoga, dur) a go.
I showed up for my first yoga class, taught by my future soul sister, in a large maroon t-shirt I found at a summer camp and some old black sweatpants. I looked jaundice. (Disclaimer, I’m still a bit jaundice-y.) I don’t remember much about that first class, except that I left feeling light. I didn’t see God, or gods, or a god; I just saw myself. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t hate what I saw. It sounds sappy, and if you know me I don’t jive with “sap”, but I wanted to cry I felt so damn good. Cassi is now one of my best friends, through thick and thin, through yoga and not.
My practice has improved, so much so that I now don’t care if my practice “improves.” Funny how that works. You get a crazy arm balance for the first time and you immediately tell yourself “keep it grounded Grotheer.” Self-love wavers, it always will. But I will keep doing yoga for the rest of my life. Cassi will be a kindred spirit for the rest of my life. And I’m just so happy that the two (Cassi and yoga, dur) can share so much space together.