I’m sitting in a café in Ubud, Bali, thinking about where we’ll go next. But then it hits me—we’re not traveling in the conventional sense. My husband, my partner in adventure, is working much like before, just with a changing backdrop and longer breaks. And me? I’m building something of my own that weaves all my passions: writing, photography, yoga, and meditation.
Lately, I’ve been asking myself the big questions: What is my passion? What is my value? What do I truly want to do? And how can I be of service to others? It feels ironic, considering this year is meant for rest and resetting. But those who know me understand—rest, for me, isn’t about stillness. It’s about direction. I need a driving force, something that not only engages me but also allows me to give back.
My journey isn’t unique. In the yoga world, it’s almost a blueprint—many of us arrive here after experiencing trauma, burnout, or what I call a “life frazzle.” It always starts with learning: learning to reconnect with our bodies. It sounds simple, but in reality, most of us have spent years caught in the machinery of daily life—expectations, obligations, endless to-do lists—so much so that we forget how to feel. We become disconnected, filling the gaps with distractions, self-doubt, and noise.
Reconnecting requires both unlearning and relearning. It means quieting the outer world and the relentless inner critic so we can finally hear ourselves. This is where yoga comes in. The practice humbles us. It starts with the body—with shaky planks and failed chaturangas—but we learn to breathe through the discomfort over time. We find calm in challenge. With each messy, sweaty attempt, we build not just strength but humility, focus, and resilience. And as the body grows stronger, so does our ability to be present with ourselves.
For me, this path naturally led to meditation, where I began unraveling years of self-imposed expectations.
Yoga doesn’t erase negative thoughts, but it creates space between them. It gives us a pause—a chance to widen the gap between self-criticism and self-acceptance. That’s why I want yoga to be accessible to everyone—not just as an “all-bodies” practice but as an “all-minds” practice. For the overthinkers, the perfectionists, the ones stuck in cycles of self-doubt.
Michael A. Singer illustrates this beautifully in The Surrender Experiment, where he describes how yoga transformed the lives of incarcerated men. It’s proof that no matter where we are, letting go of resistance can lead to profound change. We control so little in life, yet when we stop fighting it, things often unfold better than we could have planned.
Yoga teaches that every breath is a chance to start over. Some days, the practice flows effortlessly; others, it’s a struggle. But the depth of yoga lies in the commitment to return—to the mat, to ourselves—especially on the hard days. If we can let go of the belief that success requires constant busyness, we can begin to unravel into our simplest forms: body, breath, awareness.
The power of yoga is different for everyone. For some, it’s about feeling at home in their body. For others, it’s about calming the mind, shifting perspective, or carving out space in an overstimulated world. It might be about honoring an aging body or building strength—physically, emotionally, or both. There is no right reason to practice. Only your reason.
Lately, I’ve been more diligent with my practice—not just because I have the time but because being a student again has shifted my perspective. When I first started yoga, I gravitated toward teachers who pushed me physically. Later, I found value in slow, breath-centered classes with long savasana. Now, I appreciate the teachers who show up as their true selves—those who share not just to instruct but to grow alongside their students.
I used to think yoga teachers held all the answers, that they carried wisdom I needed to absorb. But now I understand: they, too, are on their own journeys. No teacher will ever know what it’s like to live in your body, just as you’ll never fully experience the world through theirs. But what unites us is shared experience—the understanding, the compassion, the lessons we pass on to one another.
Yoga humbles every teacher because it reminds us that we are all eternal students.
And in service to others, we learn and grow the most.
So, this is my offering. I am a teacher, a writer, a visual storyteller. But above all else, I am a student—of yoga, of life, and of all the lessons yet to come, one breath at a time.
