This is the time of year that I live for, which is made even better by two key things: festive food and drink, and the joy of having a small child. This year, I couldn't taste anything and had no appetite, and it was all I could do to make sure that Santa made it to our new flat. I got up in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve and looked at our super-small, non-Montana sized tree and the very few gifts under it, and just about cried.
I know, I know, it's not about how many presents anyone gets. But it was more than not getting to indulge my 5 year old the way I really wanted to; it was feeling like I had the holiday joy sucked out of me by stress and sickness. And then, she got up on Christmas Day and exploded with all the joy I had been missing, at the wonder of it all - Santa had been to visit us; he ate the cookies, left her a note and even gave his reindeer the snacks she had left for them. And after that lesson on joy, I did cry.
Now, I'm back on my feet and my mat; I've made it to yoga class at Jivamukti London two days in a row, and am utterly delighted by my new OM away from home. Like a dried-out sponge (which actually, is a fairly accurate description of the way I've been feeling), I soaked up the rich tapestry of all things yoga that these two classes poured over me. We began class yesterday with a chant from the Bhagavad Gita: If one offers me with love and devotion a leaf, a flower, fruit or water, I will accept it.
It may not have been the Christmas that I wanted to offer my family, but it was offered with love and devotion, and it was accepted with delight. Here's my girl at Trafalgar Square, Christmas Day.
Hope you and yours had a very Merry Christmas.