My name is _____________, and I’m an underbreather

I’ve been practicing yoga now for almost two years, and I realize – for me at least – it’s all in the nose. Whether at a studio under formal, individualized attention, a more loosely structured fitness center, or here at home, my nose muscles are finally toned enough that I can begin to learn from the story that my own breathing is telling me. And for that I need air – lots of it. I had been on various breathing diets, as it were, in conjunction with meditation, spirituality, and even organized monasticism, but for reasons that I promise to honor but not discuss, yoga has somehow empowered me to admit that I, indeed, want more, much more out of air, and that I need to associate myself with others who interact with it proactively and in front of whom I can honestly say, “I’m Paul, and I’m an underbreather.”

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