Never thought I’d be writing about yoga, honestly. At sixty-seven, sitting cross-legged on the floor wasn’t exactly on my retirement bucket list. But here’s the thing – after Patricia died and I started decluttering our house, I found myself with a lot of empty space and way too much time to think. My daughter Sarah suggested I try some kind of exercise, something gentle, maybe yoga classes at the senior center. I went to exactly one class.
The place was packed with equipment – blocks, straps, bolsters, fancy mats that cost more than my first calculator. The instructor kept talking about “flowing sequences” and demonstrated poses that looked like they required an engineering degree to understand. Half the class was checking their phones between poses, the other half seemed more interested in showing off their expensive workout clothes than actually relaxing. I left feeling more stressed than when I arrived.
But something about the basic idea stuck with me. The breathing part made sense – Lord knows I needed help calming down during those first months alone in the house. So I started experimenting at home, just simple stretching and breathing on the living room carpet. No equipment, no classes, no pressure to keep up with anyone else.
Turns out that’s basically what yoga was supposed to be in the first place. Those ancient practitioners Patricia used to read about in her philosophy books – they didn’t have yoga studios and designer mats. They just found quiet spots and worked with what they had. Made sense to me, especially since I was already in the process of getting rid of everything I didn’t actually need.
I cleared out a corner of the living room, the same spot where Patricia used to do her morning stretches (though she never called it yoga, just said it helped her back). Moved the coffee table, got rid of the decorative pillows nobody ever used, kept just the basics. Found an old towel that worked fine as a mat – actually preferred it to those thick rugs that made me feel unstable.
Started with maybe ten minutes a day, just stretching and breathing. Nothing fancy, just paying attention to how my body felt and trying to quiet my mind for a few minutes. Some days I’d do the same three or four stretches, other days I’d try something different I’d seen on a library book or YouTube video. The key was keeping it simple enough that I didn’t have to think too hard about what came next.
You know what I discovered? Most of the complicated stuff was just… unnecessary. I mean, I’m sure some people love doing elaborate sequences and mastering difficult poses, but for me the real benefit came from just slowing down and being present for a few minutes. The breathing exercises helped more than anything else – gave me a way to calm down when grief or anxiety started overwhelming me.
My neighbor Bob saw me through the window one morning and asked what I was doing. When I told him it was yoga, he laughed and said “That doesn’t look like yoga, Frank. Where are all the pretzel poses?” That’s exactly the point, I told him. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone or achieve some perfect form. I was just trying to feel a little more peaceful in my own body.
The routine evolved naturally over time. I’d start each session by just sitting quietly and setting an intention – usually something simple like “be patient with myself today” or “remember Patricia with gratitude instead of sadness.” Then maybe five or six basic stretches, nothing that required balance or flexibility I didn’t have. Always ended with just lying on the floor breathing slowly for a few minutes.
Some mornings I’d only manage five minutes before my mind started racing about estate planning or home repairs. Other days I’d find myself stretching and breathing for half an hour, completely losing track of time. Didn’t matter either way – I stopped judging the practice and just let it be what it needed to be that day.
The physical benefits surprised me. My lower back, which had been bothering me for years from all those hours hunched over accounting ledgers, started feeling better. Sleep improved. But the mental benefits were even more significant. Those few minutes of focused breathing became a anchor point in days that otherwise felt shapeless and difficult.
Moving to the condo meant setting up the practice space all over again, but that was actually easier. Smaller space, fewer distractions, everything I needed within arm’s reach. I kept the same simple approach – just a small area with good light, the old towel, maybe a pillow if my knees were bothering me. That’s it.
My granddaughter Emma, who’s fourteen and somehow already stressed about everything, visited last month and found me doing my morning routine. She sat down and tried a few stretches with me, asked why I didn’t have “proper” yoga equipment like her friends’ moms. I explained that the equipment isn’t what makes it work – the attention and breathing are what matter. She seemed skeptical but kept doing it with me for the rest of her visit.
What I’ve learned is that yoga doesn’t have to be complicated or expensive or social to be effective. In fact, for someone like me who was dealing with major life changes and emotional overwhelm, the simpler approach worked better than trying to learn elaborate routines or keep up with a class. I could focus on what my body actually needed instead of what some instructor thought I should be doing.
The practice has become part of how I process everything else that’s happened. When I’m sorting through old photos or dealing with insurance paperwork or missing Patricia particularly strongly, those breathing techniques help me stay centered. The physical stretching reminds me that I’m still here, still capable of taking care of myself, still healing.
It’s not meditation in any formal sense – my mind wanders constantly and I’m not trying to achieve enlightenment or anything like that. But it’s become a reliable way to start most days with a few minutes of peace instead of immediately jumping into worry about everything I need to do. At this stage of life, that’s worth more than being able to do fancy poses or impressing anyone with my flexibility.
Sometimes I think Patricia would have liked this approach. She was always more interested in the practical benefits of things than the theoretical aspects. Simple stretching and breathing to feel better in your body and calmer in your mind – that would have made sense to her. It makes sense to me too, which is probably why it’s stuck when so many other retirement activities haven’t.
Frank’s a widowed retiree from Phoenix learning that less really is more. After decades of accumulation, he’s simplified his home and his life—sharing real stories about grief, gratitude, and living lighter in retirement without losing what matters
