The yoga studio is my sanctuary. The other yogi, fellow parish-goer. I sit silent, in reverence for the simple act of taking time for myself, for honoring myself with my presence on the floor. In cat/cow breath, in the ringing of five om sounds, in every movement in every breath. I am nobody and everyone, I am no better or worse than those around me. We have all come to find that bit of grace tucked in the flow, the music, every sighing downward dog. And for that reason I feel an equal to those around me.

Around me I see my own struggles for balance and peace. I see women and men fight to stay upright during poses, or allow themselves child’s pose on the mat when tired. Every person is caught in their own little battle, and because of that we are one. This is why I make a conscious effort to practice yoga at a studio no matter what city I am in. It is a place where others are so honest about themselves. Where you can’t hide from who you are.

When I was studying abroad in London I found my solace in Catholic Churches grandly beckoning across western Europe. I liked the idea of people coming together to honor god. Now I have found my own way of honoring god, or the universe, whatever that force is that connects us all. It’s yoga. And in the studio I feel it most strongly.

That is why I want to share yoga with those I love.