The Cannabis Yogi

The Beginning of the End

I grew up in San Francisco, where yoga was EVERYWHERE. A bustling city filled with excitement, noises, smells, and opportunities to lose yourself in ways unimaginable.

My first experience with yoga came from my high school. The Bay School, located in Park Presidio, was known for its progressive agenda and alternative thinking. It was the biggest blessing in my life. I studied music, jazz, dance, and YES - YOGA!

Still reminiscing on my teacher, Ms. P (Who knows if she still teaches there), who offered yoga as an alternative to sports or traditional P.E., which, let’s face it, is a ridiculous concept for artistic, introverted people (especially adolescents) such as myself at that time. My first class still haunts me to this day as the thought of focusing on my breath, feeling a stretch or asana as we say, and allowing distracting thoughts to fade away changed my life forever. Not because it was easy or pleasant, but because it was disturbingly hard.

I struggled through the opening breathing exercises, finding it near impossible to keep my eyes closed. I was the kid in the back, right hand class who couldn’t help but to compare myself with every other student in the room. Was I sitting up straight enough? “Why couldn’t my knees touch the ground in “butterfly”? How is _____ so pretty even when she’s just sitting there? What am I going to do if I get another D+ on my chem labs?”

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