I knew it was time for a change when I passed a neighbor in Brooklyn recently and was unable to answer the simple question “How ya doing?” Yoga relaxes me, but it doesn’t always slow my brain down long enough for me to notice how I am. A little guided meditation seemed to be in order.
That’s how I found myself propped up on pink and purple velvety cushions last week in a candlelit Manhattan studio, where I was invited by a soothing voice to close my eyes and align my spine. I exhaled deeply, ready for peace and quiet at last.
Just then the distinct rum-pah-pum-pum of a drum leaked into the room. The teacher continued speaking calmly, but soon came the squeal of a horn section. It became clear that a full-on marching band was passing under the window.
