Look, I tried to pull off the whole “zen chick” thing and just got into a deeper spiral on how un-zen I actually am. 

My understanding of yoga and its impact on my mind and body is always in flux because the practice and what I get out of it shift each and every day.

First, a little background. I am a stickler for the basics. If you’re intrigued by Yogic Philosophy, follow that brain tickle. It’s ancient wisdom that still packs a punch. There’s a lot to be explored; if it feels overwhelming, check out this overview of the major texts as a place to land. 

The physicality of it all is just one part of the practice. When it comes to different lineages and styles, again, lots to play with. Here’s a speedy summary. 

In my personal practice, I have to break things down to the fundamental “I am inhaling, I am exhaling” level because I have a stream of consciousness that likes to travel to far and spirally places. Breath to movement, and keep the foundation simple. This is infused with laughter and stupid jokes and embracing my wholesome chaos and all of my bullsh*t I bring to the mat. It’s serious, but it ain’t that serious. 

Yoga is a space where I can show up grumpy, or tired, or enthralled, or titillated, or however the heck I’m feeling that today and just sit with that. And guess what, usually after moving and breathing for a bit, I feel even better than when I started. Funny how that works. 

It’s a container for this big brain to slow down for a second. It’s an opportunity to show my body some love and appreciate it. It’s community, it’s philosophy, it’s stripping back the unnecessary junk and focusing on the two tasks I am required to do for the entirety of my time on this floating rock in space. 

I am inhaling. I am exhaling.