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For more than three decades, I’ve told tales about “the old Tift charm.” Its origins remain uncertain, but I know the people I associate with it. These family stories explore their dedication, humor, and encouragement, and what I hope to pass along when I teach yoga.

For most of my life, I said I didn't like doing dishes. Recently, I've noticed I don't mind them. That small change reminded me of care, the last of Patañjali's three conditions for steady practice, and the value of giving familiar experiences another look.

I’ve tried meditation groups in different places and formats. Attendance ebbs and flows. Lately, I’ve been learning to value a smaller measure of practice: a few minutes together, and a reason to return next week.

One number on Marnie's six-month test moved by 0.1. After two weeks of diet, shots, and waiting, we sat down for the results. Patañjali's short list of how we know anything helped me sort what I knew from what I was feeling.

I subbed an early class at The Marsh last week, and afterward, couldn't resist a gluten-free banana chocolate chip muffin. A lot of yoga teachers would tell me not to get attached. This post is about the difference between paying attention to something you enjoy and gripping it, and why that difference can be harder to notice than it sounds.

I stood in front of a glass case holding Swami Kripalu's folded orange robe and worn sandals, under a quote about self-observation without judgment. The quote didn't square easily with what was written next to it about a man who practiced ten hours a day for almost thirty years.

On Saturday, twelve people joined me at Lake Fellowship for gentle yoga, meditation, conversation, food, and time outside. The day had structure, but no one needed to perform it. We practiced steadiness and ease, and discovered how much room a pause can make.

Someone in class asked whether there is a good kind of wanting. The answer is yes. For years I assumed it was no, that "let it go" covered everything, and I pictured an advanced yogi who wanted nothing at all. I could never work out how that person got out of bed. Patañjali is more useful than that. He sorts mental activity into two piles.

In high school I told my mom that if I just had a CD player, I would not need anything else. I meant it. Thirty-some years later the sentence is about a harmonium, or one more tweak to my website, and the reasons seem better now. That's the part worth paying attention to.

Episode 100 of Pretty Good Meditation has no intro music, no episode number, and no mention of my website. It's three minutes and forty-seven seconds. I'm starting to prefer minimal episodes. They align better with the yogic idea of non-stealing.