I recently returned from my first holiday in four years. As well as being long overdue, it came after an extended period of work cannibalising my nights, weekends and few remaining shreds of sanity, pushing me close to the brink of burnout. Which is to say: I really needed this. It was, predictably, wonderful. I went to Bali for a week and did blissfully little. I swam, read a couple of books, drank cocktails of varying quality and got a massage every day.
I also did a lot of yoga. On day two of the trip, a friend took me to a studio called Radiantly Alive (this is the vibe of Ubud) for a 90-minute hatha class. I had done yoga precisely once before, at a Fitness First inside a Canberra shopping mall. This was a very different experience. I stood in a large room surrounded by beautiful Balinese nature, sunlight and a gentle breeze filtering in through the open windows, some kind of chillout mix on the speakers. I didn’t know my happy babies from my downward dogs, but nonetheless emerged from the class limber and in a state of bliss. I felt … radiantly alive.
