70 Lessons from a 200 Hour Yoga Teacher Training

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A yoga teacher training (YTT) is a bucket list item for many. Whether the goal is to teach, improve your practice, gain more understanding of the underlying philosophies, or some combination of all of the above, a 200 hour yoga teacher training is the most prevalent path.

YTT takes many forms. At some studios, it’s a cram sesh with classes and discussions every day for a month or two. Some studios offer the training online. For me, YTT took place in person over a six-month span with 1 to 2 dedicated weekends per month. I found that format allowed for the ideal amount of learning and integration along with plenty of time to let my mind wander.

Read on for my week-by-week ponderings from yoga teacher training, documented in all of their vulnerable, distracting glory.

70 Thoughts from My 200 Hour Yoga Teacher Training

Stilling the mind may be one of yoga’s primary goals, but my mind was full of musings, judgements, a-ha moments, and observations throughout my YTT.

Yoga Teacher Training: Week 1

1. This is it—the moment that I finally dive fully into my spiritual practice.

I flip through The Heart of Yoga by T. K. V. Desikachar, struck by the way the Yoga Sutra addresses the same issues as every self-help book I’ve ever read but with such graceful simplicity. My spiritual journey has ebbed and flowed since I was a teen. Now, I’m ready for a tsunami in the hopes that, post-storm, I will be free to sip from this ocean of insight at my leisure.

2. I know nothing about my body.

Like, absolutely nothing.

Okay, this isn’t entirely true, but at this moment, it feels like it. I never played sports. I paid little attention in P.E. and any required biology. Sure, I love yoga, I’m a huge hiker, I even enjoy running. But I have minimal awareness and comprehension of what’s going on with me on an anatomical level.

The cognitive dissonance that I have enjoyed up until this point was for my comfort. As our yoga teacher training leader points to muscles, bones, and joints, I nod while internally recoiling. I prefer my meatsuit abstract, thank you. But if I want to live a long and healthy life, I need to release this inclination. My body isn’t a hypothetical, it’s here on Earth and it’s my vehicle. I can’t take care of it without understanding it.

3. These women are cool as hell.

Even if this entire training consisted only of hanging out with this group and chatting about life, I would still benefit immensely.

4. Warrior I is hard.

Considering that it’s technically the first in the Warrior series, Warrior I is incredibly challenging. It’s not a pose I can pop up into or exit quickly, especially toward the beginning of practice—I need a couple of beats to angle my foot and hips and actually sink into the preferred alignment.

In fact, I propose that this pose be renamed Awkward Warrior, so we can all share knowing smiles every time we take it. I move my back foot to the prescribed 45-degree angle and it all feels wrong. Widening my stance so that my feet are hip distance apart (rather than on a tightrope) helps, as does a back foot placed closer to 60 degrees.

Compared to Awkward Warrior, Warrior II is a comfortable breeze.

5. I don’t know if I like hot yoga.

This is a fun and fascinating fact, particularly as I am doing my yoga teacher training at a heated studio.

Historically speaking, one of my favorite aspects of yoga is the mental shift I undergo during a really good class. Fully attuned to breathing and finding myself in flow with my body, I can forgo grosser realities and get closer to something divine.

This does not happen for me in hot yoga. Or it hasn’t happened yet. The physicality of the practice is fantastic—I am paying much more attention to my alignment and staying strong in my body throughout. But the meditative escape I seek is kept at bay by the rivulets of sweat running down my face and body.

6. Geez, I still have trouble with authority!

An immediate tension ricochets through my body when I am told what to do. When a flight attendant tells me I can’t use the restroom on a plane, I have to combat my natural inclination to hop up and strut down the aisle, just to demonstrate my free will. (I am aware that this is not one of my better qualities.)

Even so, my inner 16-year-old is aghast at any and all of the kindly presented and very reasonable rules around timeliness and homework and presentations. I thought that I had mastered this irrational aspect of my personality, but I guess it has been a long time since I’ve been in an educational setting.

I’m also a triple Aquarius. So.

7. I need more yoga clothes. And a towel. And a bag strap.

My athletic wardrobe, like my fitness regimen, has always been pretty thin. I’m more of a tattered-sports-bra-and-pilled-leggings girl than an Alo ambassador.

The uptick in practice and the added sweat factor mean that my collection of yoga goods is about to grow. Plus, if I’m honest, I want to feel cute. It’s hard enough trying to remain comfortable within my body while pushing its limits and realigning some of its less-than-beneficial natural tendencies. I should at least be able to admire my outfit while I wobble in Half Moon Pose.

Gear that I’ve never considered is suddenly making sense. I leave class and use a paper towel to dab off my face, knowing the time has come for a towel. And the Tumaz bag strap that’s in the mail is sure to make schlepping my long-loved Manduka mat around town an easier feat.

8. Not so sure about the whole teaching thing.

Unlike many who pursue a 200 hour yoga teacher training certification, my goal is not to teach. The idea of teaching has always sounded nice—particularly during dryer bouts of my former life as a freelance writer—but the more I learn, the less qualified I feel.

This might be because…

9. I am not good enough at yoga to be doing this…

…and everyone can definitely tell.

Or I feel like everyone can tell. In reality, I’m almost certain that no one is paying all that much attention to me. If I can really let that reality in, that will be one of my biggest wins.

10. I’m proud of myself.

Still, I’m doing my best to commend myself for stepping so far out of my comfort zone. That’s what life is about, right? Finding your edge and then pushing, gently, until it isn’t an edge anymore—it’s a horizon. And I am so excited to be on this journey.

Yoga Teacher Training: Week 2

11. Meditation is rough.

This has always been the case for me, but it feels especially true now. My mind doesn’t quiet, even for a second. I grasp onto the thoughts I’m supposed to let float through the river of my mind with grubby, greedy fingers. Note: This will not be the last little kid comparison in this roundup, as I have temporarily reverted.

12. I do not know my left from my right.

I’m only sort of kidding. I rely on the L that my forefinger and thumb make (yes, like a toddler) along with certain tattoos to distinguish the different directions.

Unfortunately, these tricks don’t work as efficiently when you’re instructing another person. I stumble over my words as I try to guide a fellow student from Downward Dog into Warrior 1 (aka Awkward Warrior). Though I will eventually need to learn this very basic skill, I find that using alternative orienting strategies—the long edge of the mat, the short edge of the mat, the window wall, the mirror wall—to be a helpful substitute in some cases.

13. Grace? I don’t know her.

Balance poses, transitions,  even Chaturangas feel more clunky than ever before. I fall out of postures constantly, tripping over leaden limbs.

14. My breath has left the building.

My inhalations are short and staccato, my exhalations blustery huffs. My breath is an afterthought rather than the guide of my practice, meaning I’m not technically doing yoga at all. Yay!

15. Maybe I just think my hamstrings are tight.

I was eight years old the first time a P.E. teacher pointed out my tight hamstrings. My mom confirmed the condition the same day. That knowledge has lived in my body ever since. Splits are not in the cards for me. I can barely touch my toes. I am the least flexible woman you know, all because of my tight hamstrings.

Or rather, this is the story I tell myself, and I’m beginning to wonder if it’s actually true. When I stretch daily, my muscles begin to ease, and I find more space than I thought previously possible. (Groundbreaking information, I know.) Maybe by the end of all of this I will have slightly more flexible hamstrings. I like this goal.

16. My solar plexus chakra is definitely blocked.

Sure, more issues begin at the root chakra than anywhere else, and I can identify issues within all seven of my energy levels. But the more I learn about the solar plexus, the more I feel like this is the area that deserves my attention right now.

This chakra deals with self-esteem, power, and purpose. And while it’s no fun admitting that I am struggling with personal empowerment, something I believed I had fully mastered, it’s a necessary step. It’s time to get that shit back on track.

17. We are all just hoping that our pelvic floors are properly engaged.

…right? Please don’t lie to me.

18. There’s a place for my poetic brain here!

The actual teaching may be intimidating, but the accompanying storytelling is not. My creative brain is thrilled by the prospect of dreaming up themes and metaphors for  class. I have a long list of ideas, each more inspiring than the last.

19. This is my practice.

Whatever I am experiencing in each moment is my practice. Imagining some strong and perfect flow, a glimpse of nirvana, or even touching the floor with flat hands in Standing Forward Bend instead of embracing the reality of the present is avoiding the actual work of this yoga.

20. Have I ever been good at yoga?

I remember a time when I felt like I was good at this. I practiced with commitment and joy, unfurling my mat and stepping into each class with confidence and a quiet mind.

That woman (if she ever existed as I recall her) has disappeared. But maybe while I’m searching for her, I’ll happen upon a Me that’s even better. Maybe I’m building her right now.

Yoga Teacher Training: Week 3

21. I love my yoga mat.

No, really—we are in love. I’ve had my Manduka eKo in Purple Haze Marble for years, even replacing her once after she was stolen. She is lightweight and sticky and feels like a constant companion, accompanying (and physically supporting me) through class, again and again, as only a reliable bestie can.

22. Vulnerability is essential.

I’ve always considered myself to be an exceptionally vulnerable person. In relationships—whether romantic, friendships, family—I put it all on the line, holding nothing back. I show up as I am.

This doesn’t ring true in yoga teacher training. In group shares as well as physical practices, I keep holding back, and I’m not quite sure why. I signed up for this training with the intention of diving in deep, but here I am wandering around in the shallow end. On some days, only my feet are in the pool and I’d rather chill on the edge and observe than take a dip myself.

From staying in a deeply uncomfortable pose to sharing authentically with others, getting real with myself (and others) is an essential step in this process.

23. Eating matters.

Have you ever done a heated vinyasa class on a stomach filled with coffee alone? I have, and I would not recommend it. A weak body coupled with a fuzzy, unfocused mind that can only ponder what’s for lunch is not a formula for a rewarding experience on my mat.

24. Go off, yoga playlists.

“What song is this?”

“Cool! I know this song!”

“Ohh, what an interesting song.”

“Such a beautiful song.”

“Mmm this is the perfect song.”

Me and my chattering mind are all about the class playlists.

25. I’m so over my self-limiting beliefs.

A list of my current favorites: I am the least flexible person here. I’m lazy. I’m awkward. I’m not athletic. I will never be good at this. I can’t focus. I’m not taking this seriously enough. I’m taking myself too seriously. I can’t handle this. I’m not built for this.

My mind should be an ally, not an enemy. Still, knowing this fact and acting from this place it are very different things. There’s a comfort in aggressively underestimating myself—it gives me room to not show up. More on that later.

Suffice to say, I’m tired of treating myself this way. I want to get to a space where I’m more romantic and delusional than cynical and pessimistic about all of the amazing things I can (and will) do.

26. Why is there never enough time?

I’m so sick of being busy. This is less of a YTT-specific thing than a general life issue. Properly scheduling myself is a skill that ebbs and flows for me. I find myself resenting commitments that cut into my free time—and the last thing I want to do is slog through yoga teacher training because instead I could be, what, chilling at home?

This “problem” becomes even more ridiculous when you look at my circumstances. I work from home. I don’t have children. What am I complaining about? Theoretically, I am swimming in an ocean of time.

27. I miss my dedication.

Not my ambition—that’s still present. My dedication. My willingness to move out of a pose is a sign of strength when said pose feels incorrect in my body—I won’t force myself to stay when something feels wrong. But more often than not, I use it as a crutch.

My internal permission structure is too lenient (see above note around responsibility). This was not always the case. I have written a book. I’ve worked seven days a week for most of my career. I burn midnight oil. I’ve commuted hours to get to jobs I love. I’ll hike for miles and miles to get to a spectacular view. I want that drive back.

28. (I think) I feel stronger.

The fact that I feel the need to couch this statement with a caveat is a whole different story, but it’s true. My body looks and feels ever-so-slightly different. I’m moving through the world differently (aka actively correcting my anterior pelvic tilt). And many of the poses that I do hold come with more stability courtesy of my core, my engagement of the bhandas, and a better understanding of what’s happening anatomically.

29. Embodiment is my ultimate goal.

With an astrological chart that’s dominated by air signs and a career as a writer, I can confidently say that my experience of the world is much more emotional and mental than grounded and physical. That’s one of the reasons I’m here—in this YTT and, likely, on the planet—to get into my body in the literal sense.

While many of these thoughts have to do with my inner landscape, I do hope to shift the bulk of my focus away from my mind and its many, many workings and toward asanas (physical poses) and breathing in the coming weeks. This means more classes, more commitment, and more trust in my physical abilities. With a little more practice, I’ll be free to attend to all aspects of me (and my yoga practice).

30. Sometimes, showing up is enough.

Something in me always unclenches when a yoga teacher tells the class that just making it to the mat is a win. Although any sort of learning comes with the requisite curve, I’m trying to remind myself that the reason I’m having this experience is because of me. I can pat myself on the back for creating this opportunity for growth—even on the days that said growth seems stunted. Especially on those days.

Yoga Teacher Training: Week 4

31. Oh, there I am!

Or rather, here I am. I’ve undergone a great deal of change over the past couple of years, the kind that tilts your external access, forces you to settle deeper into an inner identity, and ultimately defines this wild human experiment. This was the first weekend of yoga teacher training that I fully showed up as me, and the difference in my experience and practice was palpable.

32. I’m a kneeler.

I am not bendy. Like, at all. I can barely touch my toes, though my abilities do shift and expand when I’m practicing regularly. I have been used as an example of a non-flexible human being more than once throughout training, a reality that challenges my ego and invites me to accept my body (and myself) as is in the present moment.

A seated meditation is meant to be a comfortable one. I discovered during our last module that, for me, that means I’m kneeling. Not muscling my way into Lotus Pose, not perched on a block, but kneeling. And you know what? I’m cool with it.

33. Yoga classes sound different now.

As I learn more about grounding, cueing, and sequencing, yoga classes take on a whole new kind of learning. I find myself listening to and observing teachers in a new way, and feeling even more respect (and awe) as they navigate and guide the room.

34. Ugh…I talk like a California girl (that I am).

This is especially true when I’m nervous. I find myself dropping into vocal fry, or upspeak, or a fit of giggles when I’m practicing teaching in front of my cohort—or even just one or two members.

35. I need to work on my core strength.

I have long suspected this fact, mostly due to my lack of defined abs, but it becomes more evident—and essential—in the yoga studio. My beginner-to-moderate core strength means I tend to load weight into my wrists and ankles, which is painful and not at all sustainable. When I bring my core online, my entire practice is smoother, stronger, and more enjoyable.

36. Myofascial release HURTS.

Who knew a well-placed lacrosse ball could elicit such agony (and, after that, such relief)?

37. Hot yoga may not be for me.

This thought has been plaguing me since weekend one. I’ve been countering the urge to blame the heat for my lack of presence by reminding myself that I wasn’t practicing as regularly as usual prior to this training. But when a teacher hosted a non-heated class for a series of flowing Sun Salutations, I dropped into that same space I thought I had forgotten. When the class was over, I was able to revel in Savasana in a way I just can’t in a heated room.

38. That said, it definitely has its benefits.

I envy those who can reach a meditative state in the heat because the benefits to one’s flexibility, both short- and long-term, are tangible for many. Including me.

39. The vulnerability is real.

Perhaps it’s the comfort that comes with four weekends spent as a group. Or perhaps it’s my own spirit being emboldened. But I’m getting very real. Everyone else is, too. This applies to my YTT cohort as well as other areas of my life. It’s becoming sillier and more boring to be anything less than entirely vulnerable—aka the strongest me possible.

40. Maybe teaching isn’t as scary as I think.

Given how many yoga classes us trainees have attended, it seems like the teaching part would come naturally. It doesn’t. Still, I’m finding more and more moments where confidence displaces fear and I’m able to step into the role of teacher, if only for a beat.

Yoga Teacher Training: Week 5

41. Are these…friends?

Given that our training cohort meets for one weekend a month, relationship building has been slow going—but perhaps all the more authentic. Rather than jumping into a convenient rapport based on first impressions, we’ve actually gotten to know each other through shifting seasons, both of the year and of life, at least in a micro way.

My initial assumptions around and designations of each of these women was total projection, a lesson that I have been learning over and over again. You don’t know someone until you know them.

42. We should all be talking about the gunas.

Naming energy is such a helpful approach. Just as identifying our emotions (what they are, where they are in our bodies, and what they’re telling us) can help us move through them, energy becomes easier to navigate and manipulate when categorized.

This is why I love the gunas. The three energetic states, tamas (stability), rajas (activity), and sattva (consciousness), are all essential, and work best when in balance. Whether you’re assessing the quality of your energy throughout the day to planning a yoga class, the gunas are a useful tool.

43. Learning is everything.

To me, learning is an essential part of being a person. I chose a profession that comes with constant research, ideation, and curiosity. Still, it’s been a long time since I’ve found myself in a real education setting, one that finds me completely vulnerable and out of my depth. Each time I push myself to really learn something, rather than give up when I don’t immediately master it, it’s like unlocking a new level of self.

44. My trap issues may be tied to my heart chakra.

The world’s knottiest, ropiest, tightest upper trapezius muscles belong to me. I have always assumed this is because I work at a desk all day, but it seems there might be more to it. From a chakra perspective, my tendency to hunch could be a subconscious protecting of my heart chakra, which breaks my other metaphorical heart a little bit.

45. I can be picky about my practice.

Talks around sequencing have opened up an entirely new (and liberating) conversation: just as you should be creating the kind of classes you like, you should like the classes you take.

As previously discussed, hot yoga is not my go-to practice. I’m rarely relaxed by the time we get to Savasana—ergo, hot yoga is not for me! And that’s okay! If your teacher’s gong is grating on you, or you don’t resonate with the playlist, or the vibes are just off, that just means it’s not your class.

46. The way we talk about yoga matters.

During a discussion around arm balances, the word “fitness” keeps coming up. As in, some poses require more strength, or fitness, than someone may currently be able to  access. At least that’s how we all interpret it.

The minute our teacher changes the word to “activation,” as in “you have the strength you just need to activate the muscles in a potentially unfamiliar way,” all of our brows unfurrow and the poses feel possible.

47. I love Sun Salutations.

I once tweeted something about mandatory Sun Salutations making the world a better place. As I no longer have access to my Twitter account, I can’t confirm the exact wording, but I stand by the sentiment. If I could just do Sun Salutations, aka Surya Namaskar A, over and over, that would be fine with me.

48. I can (sort of) sequence!

Okay, not really. And not well yet. But the fact that sequencing is making any sense at all is a win. Structuring a class used to seem abstract. Now, it’s challenging but logical. There’s a narrative arc. There are vignettes. We are building up to things and then coming down from them, moving into areas of the body and then countering the movements for balance. It’s not so mysterious after all.

49. Micromovements make all the difference.

Whether we’re talking about yoga poses or everyday posture, micromovements are so powerful. As one teacher puts it, these small adjustments keep the poses (and our bodies in general) alive rather than stagnant.

50. It’s all about embodiment.

To that end, I think my favorite thing about yoga is that it’s basically living art. It’s taking our emotional and spiritual and energetic landscapes and expressing them through movement. It’s pressure free. It’s not performative. It’s just about how you embody your practice, and that changes all the time.

Yoga Teacher Training: Week 6

51. I’m a big fan of breathwork.

I’ve written about my struggles maintaining a steady meditation practice in the past, and will probably write about it again. Breathwork is such a different experience. It’s active, and I can feel it working through me, my body buzzing and filled with oxygenated bliss. I know that traditional meditation is essential, but right now, me and my Open app are having a moment.

52. I also enjoy hanging out with cool women.

There’s nothing like a deep discussion—whether around relationships, politics, spirituality, travel, pop culture—with a group of like-minded women. Even women who disagree! (Respectfully, of course.)

53. I don’t love chanting mantras that don’t deeply resonate with me.

The co-opting of ancient practices from cultures around the world is a reality that demands awareness, particularly in the yoga space. This is one of the reasons I tend to be a bit weary of chanting mantras in a group setting, particularly ones that are new to me.

Sometimes, a mantra, prayer, or practice from a different culture comes my way and just lights me up; something within me recognizes and resonates with it. In those instances, I take the time to learn about the origin and translation before incorporating it into my practice. But when it comes to sitting in a circle and chanting whatever mantra is offered, spinning up an energy that, though beautiful, may not come with full understanding, I usually opt out.

54. I’m not sure I should teach what I can’t do.

Another reminder from past revelations: I am not flexible. There’s a school of thought that believes one should not teach poses that they cannot fully embody themselves, and I’m beginning to agree. I can learn about the nuances of a pose, but if I haven’t fully felt it, how can I capably explain how it feels in the body?

55. Regardless, I like my lane.

Creative meditations, anyone? I will write and lead those all day.

56. Moon salutations exist.

The fact that I wasn’t aware of Moon Salutations speaks both to the breadth of yoga and how much I still have to learn. The series of poses is done facing the long edge of the mat, and comes with some major goddess energy. (This is one variation.)

57. Holy crap, I still have my Wheel!

I used to pop up into Wheel constantly as a kid. The muscle memory still lingers somewhere in my body, the ease with which I arched up, the freedom of looking at the world upside down. Still, whenever the option for Wheel Pose is offered in yoga class, I refrain out of fear—until this week. Surprise! I still have my Wheel. I only held it for a short beat, but I’m excited to work the pose into my daily practice, the better to strengthen my arms and open my chest (and heart).

58. My body hasn’t transformed. And I’m not sure I have, either.

At the beginning of this journey, I imagined I would reach its end as a wholly different person. I’d be a woman who practices nearly every day, her body stronger than ever, her time spent deep diving into spirituality the way I have in years past. An elevated version of me.

A lot of life has happened in the past six months, events that have encouraged immeasurable growth in me and my world. But I’m still very much me: my practice comes in and out, I meditate for a bit and then fall out of practice, I still have trouble touching my toes. Rather than turning me into someone new, YTT has served as a reliable rock in an ocean of change, and I am incredibly grateful for that.

59. I want my practice back.

I have not been attending yoga classes. Between monthly weekend-long training sessions, scheduling time with my group to plan and practice our teaching sequence, yoga homework, readings, and home practice, the last thing I want to do with my free time is hit the studio. This is a shame, as it would obviously contribute greatly to my experience if I was truly immersed. But both the rebel and protector within me insist that I nourish myself and my body in other ways, too.

Still, I miss going to yoga! I look forward to a time when attendance doesn’t feel obligatory, or like an assignment, or even tied to some outcome—when it’s just mine again.

60. I’ll miss this when it ends.

Like I said, YTT and everyone and everything in it have served as solid ground for me. Though my footing feels more stable than it did at the start, I know that I’ll miss all of this when it ends.

Yoga Teacher Training: Week 7

61. Welp, I made it.

It’s honestly all kinds of anticlimactic. We’re all exhausted and hyper-focused on teaching our classes. We are already nostalgic for the experience and thrilled to have our weekends back. We are like flowers blooming with spring after a long winter quietly building our blooms.

62. I’m excited to practice elsewhere.

My yoga teacher training is associated with a specific studio, which means that is the studio I’ve been practicing at exclusively for six months. This is great because it’s created a holistic experience and a space that feels like home. But as it’s a hot yoga studio and I prefer a non-heated class, I am so, so excited to take my practice outside of the container—and to a far less sweaty room.

63. I’ll miss this team.

I didn’t play team sports growing up (unless you count my single season of rec basketball in third grade), so my experience of teams is limited. Instead, as a theater kid, I understand the camaraderie and trust that develops in a cast. Our cohort took on both shapes. As things wrap up, “team” starts to feel the most fitting, which is a surprise given that I considered this to be a deeply personal, individual journey.

64. Yoga continues to elude me.

I understand why teachers never stop training. I am not emerging from this YTT as an expert. I still fumble through certain poses and transitions, get confused by my own body and anatomy, struggle to recall Sanskrit names, and need refreshers around philosophical principles.

Instead of a training that can be completed, I’ve taken to thinking of this 200 hour yoga teacher training as the beginning of a lifelong education—one that can take on an endless number of forms.

65. Music matters.

I never paid that much attention to the soundtrack of yoga classes I attended. This is no longer true. After dissecting the format of a yoga class, the accompanying music has become such an integral element of the experience. I need an arc. I need a narrative. I need a mix of spiritual and funk and lo-fi, but nothing too clubby or gym-inspired. Creating the perfect yoga class playlist is an art form, one that I will be respecting in the future (even if I keep my opinions to myself).

66. No one notices anything. This is a good thing.

As our cohort moves through our public classes, it becomes clear that any missteps—missed cues, short holds, long holds, same sides—are really only noticed by the teachers themselves. If students do notice, they have enough grace to keep it to themselves.

67. Hey, I can touch my toes!

My lack of natural flexibility has seriously humbled me throughout these past months of teacher training. Rather than blending into the back row of a yoga class, teacher training put my non-stretchiness on full display, causing me to feel a specific sort of embarrassment that I haven’t experienced since fifth grade P.E.

Stepping into the boundaries of my body, accepting them, laughing through them, and acknowledging when a certain pose just isn’t going to happen for me has been incredibly liberating. Another silver lining? All of this consistent practice has brought my hands closer to the floor, allowed by knees to bend a bit less, and made flowing through class even more fun.

68. Teaching came more naturally than I expected.

The prospect of guiding my first-ever group through an opening meditation, floor poses, and a series of standing poses—my portion of a shared public class—has caused me anxiety for the past month. This is probably a good thing, as it made me practice and recite and take it all seriously. But when the moment came, it felt slightly nerve-racking but incredibly natural. I recognized faces in this class. Eyes were closed. The (very important) music was a comforting friend. And, strangely enough, I sort of knew what I was doing.

69. I wonder what these women will do.

Our group is small, but varied. No two women entered this training for the same reason, and no one path forward will apply to any of us. I, for example, don’t intend to teach, but rather use my knowledge to become a better editor—and perhaps guide some loved ones through a creative meditation or two.

Our last unit comes with conversations around future plans and suggestions to help those who want to teach get started. Some may partake in another training, teach at community centers or gyms, host classes ahead of weddings or other events, or simply gather friends for classes in the park. I look forward to watching what everyone does with this foundational knowledge.

70. I surrender.

I surrender. This is my yoga.

I surrender to what is. I surrender to the universe. I will keep trying to surrender control. I surrender to the not knowing. I surrender to the mystery. I surrender to the magic. I will continue to surrender and I let go, over and over and over, for the rest of my life.