Practicing with your partner – laughter, peace, and reconnection...
It’s evening. The sun is nearly setting, casting a warm, reddish glow as the light shifts from yellow. The backyard outside the house starts preparing for a cozy, pleasant night.
Today has been long for both of us—a tiring workday that seemed endless for her, and a reserve duty (as usual) for me. I can feel the tension in my body, but we’re here, barefoot on the grass with two yoga mats and smiles of “we have no idea what we’re doing” at each other.
I roll out my mat, and she’s already there, stretching a little and smiling at me. “Are you sure you’re not too tired for this?” she asks. I raise an eyebrow. “Tired? Me? I only walked a few kilometers in uniform with gear today. How about you?” She laughs, and I know we’re about to begin.
At first, everything flows. Deep breaths, sun salutations almost perfectly synchronized, and a bit of laughter when I mess up a movement and she never misses an opportunity to tease. But then, the real challenge arrives: the headstand.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I say. She already has her hand on my waist, looking at me like I’m a little kid. “Don’t worry, I’ll support you,” she answers confidently, with a mischievous smile, “and if you fall, we’ve got insurance.”
I get into the preparatory position, and she stands behind me, her hands ready to stabilize me. “Go ahead,” she encourages, “show me that combat strength.” I lift one leg, then the other, and almost... almost... but lose my balance.
“I’m not falling!” I shout, as she struggles to straighten me. “You’re not falling – I’m falling!” she complains, but not really. She manages to hold me up for a few seconds, at least, until I realize that stability is not our strong suit—and I slowly land on the mat with a victorious grin.
“Now it’s your turn,” I say, and she replies, “Oh, of course. Stand there and support me like an overturned cockroach.” She gets into position, and I stand behind her, hands ready. She tries to raise her legs, and I do my best to keep her stable. But then she starts laughing—and I have no chance against that.
“Don’t move!” I shout, trying to maintain my authoritative voice and keep her in the air. “I’m not moving—but you’re shaking like a leaf!” she responds with uncontrollable laughter, and in the end, we both crash back onto the mats, out of breath from laughter.
When we finish, we both lie on the mats for some relaxation practice, and the silence returns. I listen to her breathing next to me and feel that this connection—the funny, emotional, and oh-so-simple one—was exactly what we needed.
“Well, not bad for a couple that hasn’t done a headstand since school,” she whispers, and I whisper back, “Not bad at all.”
In this moment, on a calm evening after a day of tension and exhaustion,
I realized how shared practice can bridge anything.
In this moment, we are together again.
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