Tag Archives: Yoga

Past Lives: Lincoln Scholar

Studying yoga is teaching me to let go, to stop clinging to the past, to acknowledge but also to release old versions of myself. This mixed-media self-portrait is the first of a series I am calling Past Lives, representing identities that served me and shaped me, but no longer rule me nor define my inner peace. Through Svadhyaya (Sanskrit for self-study), I am doing the hard work of finding and speaking my personal truth.

I was a Lincoln scholar for thirty years, I edited his papers, wrote a biography of his wife, appeared in documentaries, served on boards, and delivered dozens of lectures and speeches. Studying Lincoln paid the bills, provided my growing family with health insurance, and allowed me to collect some of the best people. Studying Lincoln was a joy and a privilege.

Yet being a woman in Lincoln studies was not easy. I was unwelcome. My focus on the women in Lincoln’s life and my defense of his wife Mary Lincoln sometimes made me a pariah. There were painful experiences during my tenure as a Lincoln scholar and, in the end, when the Papers of Abraham Lincoln fell apart, it was devastating.

I have no regrets about any of it, because all of my experiences led to the publication of Loving Lincoln: A Personal History of the Women Who Shaped Lincoln’s Life and Legacy. Published in 2025 by SIU Press, it blurs the boundaries of biography and memoir, history and personal history. It was written straight out of my heart, the most creative project I ever accomplished and some of the best writing I’ve ever done. All of my experiences in Lincoln studies made the writing of such a creative work possible, and I am grateful for all of it. I am the woman and scholar I am today because of my imperfect professional relationship with Lincoln studies and my inspirational relationship with Abraham Lincoln, the second coolest American hero.

However, as I work to release my true self, live in the moment, and face a different future than I previously imagined, I need to let go. Now that I have published my book on Abraham Lincoln and given voice to my unique perspective of his life and his legacy, I am ready to move on, to turn my entire professional attention to Jane Addams, the coolest American hero.

More shedding to come, more identities to process and to release. More art and more writing, too. And, most importantly perhaps, more grace.

I Am Flexible

Yoga in the park this morning was all about the spine. My soft-spoken teacher stretched and twisted and cooed us into shapes that make the back-body purr. The rising sun cast majestic shadows on the concrete of the pavilion. Shadows of my body, reaching and breathing into beautiful movement in the already-warm breeze of a Midwestern day in late summer.

This stretching reminded me that I am alive, like yoga always reminds me that I am alive. These shadows made me grateful. I am able-bodied. I am here. I am breathing. Imperfect and grieving and uncertain, yes; but also accepting and peaceful and hopeful that life might still bring me gifts. That I am deserving of those gifts.

The mantra of my first yoga teacher, more than two decades ago, was: “You are only as young as your spine is flexible.” I didn’t appreciate her mantra back then, because my spine was flexible. It was also young and supple and strong. I was in my early thirties. I did not yet know that my body would change and that life would make me rigid. Back then, I could still do flips in the backyard with my daughters, the muscle memory of competitive gymnastics still lithe in my muscles and bones.

Not so much today, now that I know the weight of living. In my fifties, I am starting over and feeling green, despite my graying hair. I am unbending, even though life has done its damnedest to bend me. I am strong, in spite of all I have endured. But I know all of this, and that is the difference. Knowing is what makes me flexible.

And this is, precisely, the point of yoga. To practice. To learn. To bend. Not just in body, but also in spirit. To remind us to breathe. To make us sit in our moment with all of the crap life heaps upon us. To witness our shadows. To know the beauty of our bodies to bend without breaking.

Sometimes, I think I am old and inflexible. But in reality, I am young and bendy. I am strong. I am human. I am flexible.