happiness as a container

I taught my first yoga class last night. I was nervous I’d freeze, forget everything I know, shake, and feel outside of my body—but it couldn’t have been more different.

as I stood in front of the packed, hot, humid room full of people, I felt deeply connected—to their breath, to myself, and to the practice.

mom and I talked on the phone this morning. she told me that when I was 8 years old, I asked her, “mom, how do I be happy?”

I remember even as a child, I felt everything in layers. happy moments weren’t just happy, they were tinged with nostalgia and sadness. the mundane ones came with a strange sense of contentment. I didn’t understand happiness as a singular feeling. every time I caught a glimpse of it, it was quickly followed by curiosity, like it was something I couldn’t quite hold onto.

the past few weeks have been monumentally transformative for me. I’ve never really given myself space to be alone after breakups, but with each passing day, as I settle more fully into my own being and deepen a practice that has always been there for me, ready to catch me when I fall, I am beginning to meet genuine happiness.

yoga has become the most fulfilling kind of love. it’s teaching me who I am. It’s teaching me to stand in vulnerability, to connect without hiding, to slow down. It’s showing me that my mind can be a peaceful place to dwell, and that my mind and body are two distinct yet deeply intertwined vessels.

at the end of the day, I am the person I have to live and die with- what a privilege that is.

8 year old me would be proud (and probably still a little curious) about the healing and love ive given myself.