I want to tell my story. I want to share who I am, who I’ve been, who I’m becoming with you. I want to take a story that is complex, confusing, heart breaking, crooked, hilarious, strange and have it make sense, to flow, to move you. I want to share the wisdom, the missteps, the inspiration, the people, the places - the world I have seen - what I see.

In my yoga classes, in every one, I have at least one person who is taking a yoga class for the first time, an athletic person, a person with an injury, or many, a person young in years, a person older, a person thinking (or saying out loud) I can’t do this, I don’t want to be here. Someone comes late or leaves early or walks in and asks if this is kickboxing. A person who’s wondering if they are doing it right and one having their own experience completely unrelated to the cueing I am giving. I have the privilege of navigating all of this while I speak, move and read the room, looking for subtle cues and listening to what wants to come through me. I am both in control and completly not it control. I live in the tension between these two places.

I suppose this a very vulnerable place to live. Yet, when I teach, I feel alive. I feel all the insecurities of being human and all the magic of feeling connected to the Bigger Experience. Its joy inducing and terrifying and I love it. I learn, I practice, I try to apply and I have to trust the frustrating process of things happening in their own time. After years of teaching yoga, after years of mothering, what I can say is that perfection isn’t the direction I’m heading. In fact, I am not fully clear - today, what direction I am heading. If I’m improving or not. Or if that even matters anymore. What’s left when self-betterment is taken off the table, but the acceptance of what is. Gratitude for each realization. The strength that comes from vulnerability. And possibly Joy.