In which I struggle to hold onto who I have chosen to become.

This is my intention for the year: presence.

Where does love go, when it goes away?

We, none of us, chose where we were born.

Belonging is not about possession. That is the hardest part.

Anchoring myself in a place through movement is not nothing. It took me a while to figure out that it is, in fact, yoga.

Our nervous systems were never meant to know about suffering halfway across the globe.

I have learned to ask for what I need. I have not yet learned to not feel silly or rude.

Our imaginations have to stay larger than reality. And yet, I long for certainty and calm.

Try as I might, I cannot practice detachment to the nth degree.

May we all have a family that never asks us to stop singing along.

Yoga teaches us that we only can know this very moment. We can feel our breath rising and falling with the rhythm of wherever we are.

Why is it so hard to love myself unconditionally? Even in this question I find remnants of the berating that is antithetical to getting there.

What would you do if you knew you only had six months left to live?

Some day we will return to ourselves and realize that war is wrong.

In which being (in) a body is complicated - and essential.

The difference between working and being useful is difficult to discern. Here’s how I do it.

The birds have been around for 23 million years. How did they do it?

What if color was more important than money?

In which I fear change, until I don’t.