A few weeks ago, while I was running errands in my neighborhood, I caught myself standing still to observe an everyday occurrence.

I felt an incredible shift in my body and in my perceptions, in my breathing and in my vision. Like the proverbial veil had fallen away, I seemed to see what was in front of my eyes with such sharpness of focus. I couldn’t explain what exactly what was different, but I knew it was more about me than it was about the position of the sun or absence of traffic.

I felt oddly touched by a scene that played out before me, an observation that probably took only a few seconds but totally changed how I felt about life.

I found myself In front of Bloom Yoga around noon. It was sunny but a little windy. A class must have just let out.

Pairs of mothers and daughters moved onto the sidewalk after they had put on hooded jackets and laced or zipped up the boots that occupied their cubbies while they were performing basic asanas and stretching.

I saw a young mother and her daughter, who I guessed to be around four. They had their mats, rolled in tight cylinders, under their arms. The girl’s mat was purple, which matched her jacket and plastic boots.

The young girl seemed to bubble with joy. As if the class hadn’t ended, she continued doing some stretches, interlocking the fingers of both hands behind her back and pulling her shoulders up and back, a kind of chest opener.

What a lovely thing, I thought, to introduce to your child to yoga; to take a class with them, to learn something with them, possibly to hear about their experience over hot chocolate at the coffee and bagel place across from the street from the studio.

It made me feel so hopeful.

When I was young I didn’t know about such things. I certainly couldn’t imagine my mother stretching in prescribed ways or performing conscious breathing. Such classes might have taken place at retreats or communes but weren’t mainstream in the early sixties.

There weren’t so many options in styles and classes then. No one heard of hot yoga. Mats were not sold in sporting goods stores or at big box retailers. I don’t think we thought about asanas and poses as something you might do with your family or as something that could so utterly change your experience of aging.

I grew up mostly thinking of “learning” as something you did with your brain. I didn’t think much about the wisdom of your body and what tuning in to what your feeling senses could point out to you.

I only thought of “practice,” as the time I spent learning how to read sheet music and improve phrasing on my instrument so I could prepare for a recital. I never thought of “practice” as an activity to commit to for my own growth, understanding that it is ongoing.

Learning about alignment, flexibility, the importance of having a good foundation and balance, the necessity of rest and deep relaxation — not as concepts but by experience — all these things can be learned at any age.

When we learn how to tap into the wisdom of our bodies, we learn a lot about self-acceptance and resilience. We can grasp the value of stability. We might just support development of empathy, seeing others proceeding at their own pace.

When we open and close a class with an invocation, a prayer for peace, we remind ourselves what is most important.

Our bodies can teach us a lot about how to love ourselves.

I can see why a child might relish learning yoga. They can see their own progress.

I can really appreciate how mothers or fathers or any adult can fall in love with life again sparked by a child’s enthusiasm for learning these ancient practices as something new. There’s so much in believing in the possibilities new understandings can spark.

As we embark on a new year, I like to think of possibilities.

Learning through a child’s eyes is no small thing.