I’ve learned it’s wise to wait a bit before writing about retreat experiences.
Silent meditation retreats, 10-day yoga trainings, and long immersions tend to work on me slowly. Sometimes the effects fade quickly. Sometimes they linger. Every now and then, something changes in a way that can’t be undone.
The two weeks I spent at Kripalu after Thanksgiving, serving as an assistant for part one of a 200-hour yoga teacher training, ended up being among the happiest weeks of my life. It did not necessarily feel profound. I just knew I felt steady, clear, and joyful.
It took a little distance to understand why.
For those two weeks, my yoga practice was so much more than what I did on a mat. It was supported by how my days were structured, how I related to other people, and how little I asked myself to perform or optimize anything.
At Kripalu, we talk about the “three supports”: practice (sadhana), service (seva), and community (sangha). I’ve heard that framework, and have taught it, too. But during my recent trip I was living these three supports, day after day, without having to hold it all together myself.
I practiced in the morning and again in the evening. I helped the people around me. I spent long nights talking and laughing with the other assistants. Nothing dramatic. Nothing flashy. Just a lot of steady, ordinary moments lining up in the same direction.
Oliver Wendell Holmes once wrote, a “mind is stretched by a new idea or sensation, and never shrinks back to its former dimensions.” That’s how this experience felt. Not like an escape, but like something expanding that won’t fully contract again.
What surprised me most is how much of that life is already available at home. I already practice most days. I already try to be of service. I already have people I talk with. What’s different now is my attention. I’m more interested in supporting practice than pushing it.
Train. Serve. Belong.
That rhythm supports strength, mobility, and mindfulness over time. It supports aging with grace. It supports showing up with care.
Everything beautiful already lives here. Practice helps us notice.
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