The first time I took a yoga class. It was in Santa Cruz, in a beautiful, huge, wooden floored room. The instructor had a very airy, floaty voice, consistent with my imagination of what a yoga teacher might sound like. (Except for the fact that my real first yoga teacher, Lilias, who taught me yoga after Sesame Street did not talk like that.) During sivasana, final relaxation, we focused our breathing to all of the different parts of our bodies, and I found that I could really send my breath down to my toes. Prior to that, I had mostly thought of my breath as a tool for helping me sing, if I thought about it at all.