a space for listening.

my story.

i have always been someone who starts over.

different jobs, different studies, different cities. always with a feeling that the next thing would be the one that finally made sense. in my late twenties i moved to australia to study. different country, different language, a dog, a partner, a life that looked like it was going somewhere. eventually we ended up in paris.

i found yoga by accident in australia. i was doing my best to make a life far from everything familiar. yoga made me feel something i didn't have a word for yet. so i kept going.

something was knocking. i just didn't know what door it was at.

in paris, i went deeper. different teachers, different spaces, practicing outside when i could. i started to write, first just pictures and quotes, then more. i started working with coaches, trying to figure out what was pulling at me and why i couldn't just let it go.

i applied for a yoga teacher training in bali. i knew it was what i wanted. the timing wasn't right. i put it aside.

a few months later, he ended things. you have changed, he said. i don't see how i fit in your life anymore.

i was in my early thirties. no job, no home of my own, no money, friends scattered across different countries. luckily i had my dog. i moved back to my parents for the first time since i was sixteen.

i sat with friday the thirteenth on my calendar — the opening ceremony of the training i had put aside — and i got on the plane.

bali changed something.

i remember sitting one morning at 6am looking out at the rice paddies. complete silence. something moved through me that i had never felt before. i can still see myself from the outside and the inside at the same time. i just sat there.

on the plane home i listened to one song on repeat for the entire flight. i didn't sleep. i didn't talk to anyone. i just sat with whatever had opened.

i came home different. more aware that there was something underneath all the searching that i hadn't yet reached.