I’ve been working at this for decades—breathing, yoga, meditation. I had small epiphanies here and there, but my biggest breakthrough happened on a random Saturday morning. I was charging my electric vehicle and thought, What am I going to do with these next 25 minutes?
I knew the usual: scroll my phone, respond to texts, maybe take a nap. But something in me said—No. Not this time.
I grabbed two gallon-sized jugs of water I had in the trunk and declared, “This is my scheduled yoga class. This is my meditation time.” That moment changed me.
The world turned purple. To me, purple means wisdom. It means mental calm. I dropped into downward dog, then just sat there. Eyes closed. Breathing deep. No plan. Just presence. I turned on every sense I had.
I heard planes in the sky. I felt oxygen pouring off the trees.
Birds were chirping. The sun warmed my skin.
My muscles were stretching, and my mind was still.
I saw my whole karma—past and present—like a wide panoramic lens. My past was still there, but it no longer defined me. It was my teacher, not my master.
That moment taught me something simple and profound:
I need a flexible, spontaneous practice. Because life is unpredictable, and the world isn’t pure.
The air isn't always clean. The water isn't always pure. Our diets are imperfect. Our thoughts can be toxic. Our nervous systems are constantly overstimulated—loud noises, bright lights, traffic, chaos, too many people, too much everything.
We forget the deeper self—the self that is safe. The self that is love. We wake up with a sore back or a headache, and we let that pain carry us away. We get hypnotized by anxiety, thought loops, guilt, and low self-esteem. We forget that the mind isn’t the source. It’s just a machine. Consciousness is observing.
And even if that idea doesn’t totally click at the beginning of your practice, just keep hearing it. Eventually, it’ll land.
We’re so entangled in our identities—how we look, how we feel, how others see us. We forget we are more than our form.
But the form itself? It’s a miracle. We are walking, breathing, self-healing machines—divinely engineered by millions of years of evolution to survive, adapt, and evolve.
Other species need 10,000 generations to change. You? You can evolve in this lifetime.
Not by changing your body, but by changing how you use it—and what purpose you give it.
A good starting point: Be a good human. Live with character.
Don’t cause harm. Help when you can.
Sure, it sounds judgmental. But maybe that’s okay.
Stop worrying about what other people are doing. Don’t hide behind righteousness or charity to mask guilt and shame.
Just keep working—on compassion, on steadiness, on forgiveness. You’ll change. As the wounds heal, the bitterness fades. As guilt dissolves, anxiety retreats.
“I caused no harm today.” That’s enough. I am sorry for my past mistakes. I ask for forgiveness. And I forgive myself.
Because beneath so much anxiety is often unprocessed guilt. Beneath that guilt, resentment.
Beneath resentment, humiliation. And beneath that, a wounded self-worth.
We all carry a little bowl of emotional garbage. It’s okay—laugh at it. Mine is comical. A little cute, even. I stay self-deprecating so I don’t fall into my own ego trap.
I know nothing. I’m not a good writer. But I’m organized. I work hard. And now—I’m a student again. Starting from scratch.
Except I love to meditate. I love to breathe. I love to watch the trees. That’s my foundation now.
So stop waiting for the perfect time. Stop waiting for the gym. Stop waiting for yoga class. Create spontaneous meditation. Anywhere. Anytime.
Breathe deeply. Stretch. Lift a jug of water. Move your body. Call it what you want: yoga, movement, prayer.
Who cares if people think you're a health nut? Better that than whatever else they were going to think.