Every class ends the same way.
After Savasana, I invite everyone to curl onto their side into a fetal position. A posture of rebirth.
Before anyone sits up, I ask a few questions.
Who is about to come off this mat?
How will that person feel?
How will they speak?
How will they move through the rest of their day?
How will others experience them?
I remind them that yoga doesn't end when we roll up the mat.
That's where it begins.
Our practice isn't measured by how present we were for sixty minutes.
It's measured by who walks out the door.
Lately, I've been noticing what happens in those first few moments after class. Students roll up their mats, walk the short distance to the lobby, and sometimes it's remarkable how quickly the old story rushes back in.
Within seconds, conversations often shift to things that went wrong that day. The difficult family member. The frustrating conversation. The endless to-do list. The thing that didn't happen. Even the, and I quote, "shitty weather."
It's as if the nervous system receives one last deep breath in class, and then the mind eagerly grabs the microphone again.
Sometimes I simply listen to the hum of conversation in the lobby.
Other times, I'll gently interrupt – not to redirect anyone or insist on positivity, but to remind us that we always have a choice. Before we open that door and step back into our day, we get one more opportunity to notice where we're placing our attention.
How often do we do this?
We meditate. We spend time in nature. We journal.
We finish a yoga class feeling great - lighter, clearer, and more grounded.
And then...
A familiar conversation begins.
Someone cuts us off in traffic.
The grocery line is too long.
Someone says something we don't like.
Ohh, how quickly an old version of ourselves can return.
It's incredibly human.
Within moments, we've stepped right back into the version of ourselves we've rehearsed for years.
The anxious version. The rushed one. The frustrated, short-patience one.
The one carrying the weight of yesterday.
It’s not because we want to. It’s because it's familiar.
Our habits don't disappear in an hour on the mat. They patiently wait for us at the door – or in the lobby.
This is why I believe one of the most important parts of yoga isn't what happens during class.
It's what happens in the first few minutes afterward.
The conversation you choose to have.
The thoughts you choose to revisit.
The energy you decide to carry into the grocery store, your home, your workplace, or around the dinner table.
Transformation isn't found in the poses.
It's found in the next choice.
Every moment offers us another opportunity to become someone new.
The question isn't whether your practice changed you.
The question is...