We can do hard things.

I almost didn't make it to my regular Thursday morning yoga class last week. Sick kid, husband out of town, a to-do list that wouldn't quit. But the stars aligned and I made it.

I started going to this class during funemployment and have fought to keep it on my calendar. I'm a tough boss and it's easy to say I'm too busy. But the flexible schedule is supposed to be a benefit of working for myself — the trade-off for the late nights and weekend work. The business of building a business is no joke.

And yet there's an alchemy that pulls me back: the weekday mid-morning sun slanting through the windows, the kickin' tunes, our collective breath, our limber limbs.

It's different than a weekend class. It feels indulgent, but it's so basic and necessary. It feels like an act of resistance to our system of work.

My classmates and teacher are women of a certain age with the time to commit to a weekday morning. I want to be them; I am them, for an hour or so. I overhear conversations about kids at college, travels to far-off places, how they can't imagine juggling work with little kids. (It is.)

But this class is what I need — especially when I'm too busy. And my teacher's mantras are what I need to hear:

We can do hard things.

Don't talk yourself in or out of things.

Results will be better if you show up with some energy and enthusiasm.

Good job.

Breathe.

It's the armor and buoy I need.

In class, I often come up with new ideas, solve a problem, draft a LinkedIn post, find the closing line of an op-ed. I think in a different way — not too hard. Thoughts float in. The river water of my mind clears and the grit sifts to the bottom.

At the end of a recent class, my teacher said, "Now we have to go back out there." And yes, I always do return to my work, my responsibilities — but with a calm and power that makes me better at what I do.

As I begin a new week, this post is my reminder: the mat will be waiting on Thursday. Until then, I've got work to do.

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