A reflection from my last day in Rishikesh
It’s my last morning in Rishikesh.
My bags are mostly packed. The sound of scooters and horns honking drifts up from the street below, and somewhere in the distance I can hear the bells from morning puja along the Ganga.
Three hundred hours of training are behind me now.
New friendships have been made. Old relationships have deepened. And my heart somehow feels even more open than when I arrived.
Now, as I sit here trying to understand what actually happened over these last few weeks, I realize something surprising.
This training wasn’t really about yoga at all.
Returning for the 300-Hour
My second visit to Rishikesh for my 300-hour Yoga Teacher Training was different than the first.
I studied at the same school as my 200-hour, but this time I tried to come in with no expectations or attachments. Honestly, I just wanted to learn. To become a better yoga instructor. To understand it all more deeply…to feel it in my bones.
And simply coming to Rishikesh will do that to you. But immersing yourself in the education of it all really does take you to another level.
Some of you may have read my first wrap-up of the 200-hour course I took here two years ago. It was life-changing. It rocked me to my core and cracked open my spirituality in a way that I was completely unprepared for.
A Different Kind of Learning
This time was different.
More subtle.
Less mind-blowing.
Maybe because I have been teaching now for two years. Maybe because I had an inkling of what to expect. Maybe because I’m older and wiser.
I’m not sure.
But this time felt less like a spiritual explosion and more like a refinement.
Detailed anatomy.
Understanding the intention of the pose, not just how to get there.
Learning the why behind every movement.
Fine-tuning.
How do you feel the posture?
How do you explain that feeling to your students?
Going deeper.
More methodical.
Less whimsical.
And I feel better prepared to go back out into the world and continue teaching. I know I learned a lot. I know I’m not only a better practitioner, but also a better teacher.
Practice in Rishikesh — where the lessons extended far beyond the mat.
Something I Didn’t Come Here For
But something else changed in me here.
Something I didn’t come here looking for — something bigger than the training itself.
Something I have been grappling with over these last few days, and something that feels extremely vulnerable to share — but also important.
Because the truth is…
This training wasn’t really about yoga.
Not entirely.
It was about people.
While here, I met so many incredible humans.
Teachers.
Students.
Passersby on the street.
People from India, Europe, Australia, America.
People who had traveled halfway across the world because something inside of them whispered that there had to be more.
And the more time I spent talking with these people, the more I realized how similar we all really are.
Underneath the roles.
Underneath the accomplishments.
Underneath the identities we present to the world.
We are all just trying to make sense out of this life.
And trying to live it as fully as we can.
But the question that kept coming up again and again was:
How do we do that authentically?
I saw a lot of insecurity here.
A lot of imposter syndrome.
Fear.
Sadness.
Worry.
Frustration.
People questioning their path.
People wondering if they were brave enough to change their lives.
People wondering if it was already too late.
And something interesting started happening.
The longer I stayed here, the more the masks people were wearing began to dissolve.
People started confiding in me.
At first casually.
Then deeply.
The Conversations
One morning after breakfast I realized there was an entire group of teachers and students gathered around me at the plastic picnic tables outside the dining hall. Chai cups half-finished, plates still scattered with fruit and chapati… At first it was just the people I was eating with, but gradually we were moving chairs and making room for more people to gather around.
And suddenly everyone was asking me questions.
I felt like I was in the hot seat — the whole table had suddenly turned toward me. But it also felt natural, inviting, and comfortable. And at some point during that conversation, I had a strange realization.
I looked around the table at these people — some younger than me, some older, some from halfway across the world — and I suddenly understood that we were all sitting there for the same reason.
Not really because of yoga.
Not really because of Rishikesh.
We were there because something inside each of us had quietly whispered,
there has to be more than this.
And somehow, in that moment, my story had become proof to them that it was possible to listen to that voice.
“How did you do it?”
“What was the moment that changed everything for you?”
“Weren’t you afraid?”
“How did you leave your life behind and start over?”
I answered as honestly as I could.
Sometimes fighting back tears.
Sometimes wondering if I was sharing too much of my life with people I had only just met.
At one point I paused mid-sentence because my voice caught in my throat. I hadn’t expected to get emotional talking about it. But there I was — sitting in the morning sun in Rishikesh — realizing just how much my life had changed.
But as I spoke, I watched their faces.
Something was landing.
You could see it.
And then something beautiful happened.
They started sharing too.
Yoga teacher training students gathered together in Rishikesh
When People Started Sharing
One woman spoke about how trapped she felt in both her professional and romantic life…how there were so many obstacles, and how difficult it was to stand up to her father and brother who were pushing her down a path she didn’t want.
Another student confessed that he felt like he had been living someone else’s life for years.
A very successful woman confided in me that she didn’t really want the career that she was currently in, but that she didn’t know how to get out of it now that she was so deep in.
Another night, someone else shared with me how they felt stuck by cultural, familial, and societal expectations. It broke my heart to hear how this person just felt like there was no other way. Despite what they really wanted for their life — and what their true purpose might be — they had accepted their current reality as it was.
One afternoon, I was working alone on my laptop at a café when I noticed someone watching me. We had seen each other around many times but hadn’t gotten to know each other well. I had noticed him staring at me before. It wasn’t a romantic stare. He was watching me with purpose and intention.
He had very steady eyes. Like he had something he wanted to say.
Although it was a little off-putting at first, there was something sincere about the look in his eyes.
That afternoon he approached me and sat down.
He looked me dead in the eye and revealed some very personal things he had been wrestling with — big questions about purpose, identity, love, and whether he was brave enough to follow the path he felt inside.
I felt so honored that he would share such personal information with me.
Almost out of nowhere.
And I did my best to listen, and to reflect back what he was sharing with me.
When we finished, he seemed relieved — and maybe just a little bit lighter.
It filled my soul to be there for him.
I enjoyed that conversation so much.
And again and again, my classmates would pull me aside and say things like:
“You’re inspiring me to make changes in my life.”
“You make it feel possible.”
“I want to be brave like that.”
Each time someone said something like this, I almost didn’t know what to do with it.
It was a bit overwhelming.
Because in my mind, I’m still just the girl figuring it all out as I go.
The Realization
But the more these conversations happened, the more something started to dawn on me.
And then one night, walking back from my meditation on the Ganga, I realized something that stopped me in my tracks.
I wasn’t here just to learn yoga.
I was here to hold space.
To listen.
To reflect.
To share honestly.
And somehow, through that honesty, help other people believe that maybe their life could be different too.
I still don’t know why these people trusted me with their stories.
But they did.
Whole-heartedly.
And I could not have been happier to sit there with them — in between the tears, the doubts, the frustration, and the hope.
Because this is where change begins.
In the difficult stories.
In the uncomfortable conversations.
In the courage it takes to say out loud:
“I think I want something different.”
What I Finally Understood
People have told me for years that I have a gift for holding space.
I remember once, my step-dad asked me if it was exhausting to always be holding the line for everyone.
I looked at him with surprise and asked, “I do that?”
He just started laughing softly and said,
“Of course you don’t even realize it. But yes, you do.”
I never fully believed it.
But here, in Rishikesh, something became very clear to me.
This is part of why I’m here.
Not just to teach yoga.
But to inspire people to truly live.
To hold a mirror up.
To shine a light on both the struggles and the possibilities.
To remind people that they don’t have to walk through this life alone.
If I learned anything here, it is this:
I am here to listen.
To reflect.
To be me.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Unapologetically authentic.
Life is too short to walk around wearing a mask.
It’s heavy.
It’s hot.
It’s uncomfortable.
I want to be light.
I want to be free.
And I want to soar with the cool breeze on my fully exposed face for all the world to see.
The curtain was drawn back – finally.
And for the first time, I fully stepped forward.
Leaving Rishikesh
As I leave Rishikesh this time, I am beginning to realize something important.
The journey I’ve been on these last few years — leaving the life I knew, traveling the world, diving deeper into yoga and spirituality — was never just about transformation for myself.
It was about learning how to help others remember what is possible for them too.
And the conversations that happened here — around breakfast tables, in quiet corners after class, walking along the Ganga — reminded me that sometimes all people really need is someone willing to listen, to share honestly, and to remind them that they are capable of so much more than they believe.
And honestly?
As much as I love yoga,
I now know that’s the real reason I was meant to be here.
