As we approach the threshold of a new year, it's an opportune time for reflection, renewal, and setting intentions for the journey ahead. For many of us, practicing yoga transcends the physical; it's a gateway to inner peace, mindfulness, and spiritual alignment. An integral part of this practice is creating a sacred space—a yoga altar—that serves as a sanctuary for setting intentions, fostering gratitude, and manifesting our aspirations.

This past week, I celebrated my climbing birthday. Or in other words, it’s been exactly one year since I took up rock climbing as my new hobby. Naturally, I started thinking back to where I was a year before that. The answer? On my couch.

As I anticipate heading to Stanley, Idaho to spend another summer at Idaho Rocky Mountain Ranch (where I’ll be teaching yoga), I thought it’d be fun to reflect on three of my favorite hikes in the Sawtooth Mountains, a range that is a part of the Rocky Mountains in Central Idaho.

When I tell people 90% of what I own in the world is parked right outside, I’m not kidding. Aside from a few boxes at my dad’s house and some items friends are caring for, everything resides in my RAV4 that I live out of. When I sold my house in May of 2021, I also got rid of a four-bedroom house plus basement full of things.

It makes you really think about what you need and what you use. It makes you think closely about every new item that you bring into your life—is it worth the space it takes up?

When I think back on my week in Arizona, I think in terms of numbers. Miles hiked, vertical feet climbed, pints of ice cream, and, had I counted them, number of tissues used. While the first part of my trip involved rejuvenation, the second half found me with strep throat and a cold virus. I got a whole new experience while living on the road: traveling while sick. Those that know me best, however, will know that this couldn’t possibly slow me down.

Most people go to Las Vegas to gamble, drink, or see a show. But there’s also a big population of us that go there for nothing the city can offer: rock climbing. While I was able to climb a couple of different places during my week in Vegas, my favorite by far was the day I got to sport climb “Big Bad Wolf.”

You’ve heard it said before that you’re the star of your own movie. But lately, I’ve been thinking about the different roles we play in each other’s movies. In some people’s story, I’m the hero. I’m the best friend, the inspirational one. In another person’s story, I’m the villain. I’ve made the wrong choices; I’m not worth the time. And in another’s, I’ve barely made it to the credit scroll at the end. Most likely credited as “woman on social media” instead of a character name.

The year of 2020 was very transformational for me, and the year of 2021 was more than I could have ever imagined. We are always growing, adapting, changing. The you of the previous year isn’t you anymore. Here at the end of the year, I chose to write about my previous self in the past tense, because she is no longer me. She did the best she would with what she had, and I send her all the love.

Southern Utah is filled with people who like to adventure and don’t let the early sunset or occasional cloudy day stop them from exploring the great outdoors. I typically enjoy the wilderness in my hiking boots, but in St. George, I tried new things and explored in a completely different way. Although I still fit in some beautiful hikes, I mostly spent time on, in, and in between rock.

A lot of people don’t understand what I’m doing on my travels. They don’t understand why I don’t have a plan, or an end date, or the desire to settle down and start over. Life has thrown me some curveballs lately, but what I need you to know is that I’m not running away from my troubles, my grief. I’m running toward it. What I need you to know is that this isn’t a joy ride (though it is very joy FULL). I’m not on an extended vacation. After a lifetime of busy, I’m trying to step away from all these barriers I put up for myself to really experience life in front of me.

Last Sunday, I sat perched on rocks, the cool surface chilling my back as the sun began to set behind the mountains, giving everything a soft orange glow. To my right, the guys I had traveled up there with were working on a boulder problem, helping each other out and encouraging each other to work hard. My shyness overwhelmed me that day, and I didn’t climb on the boulders or really say much at all. I remember being caught in one of those moments of “how did I get here?”

Assuming the mad rush in the grocery store doesn’t kill you first, we are often oozing with gratitude this time of year: for our family, our friends, delicious food, and the lives we get to lead. But giving thanks isn’t just for Thanksgiving. This year, I challenge you to start a new tradition that you can carry past the holiday.

When most people look forward to a national park visit or a vacation in general, there may be lots of time spent planning out the trip and booking accommodations. When my adventure buddy, Trelawney, and I head to the desert, no planning is involved. And the accommodations? It’s desert camping for us.

Perhaps it’s a new appreciation for the present moment or my practice in grounding techniques, but when I think about my first workaway experience, what I think of is pure sensory: the sound of my own breath, the taste of Indian spices, the feel of the earth in my fingers, the breathtaking sight of sunsets behind mountains, and the smell of . . . llama poop.

I’ve only got one under my belt, but I’ve got to say: seasonal jobs are rad. I’ve definitely been spoiled by Idaho Rocky Mountain Ranch (i.e.: incredible management, a relatively drama-free summer, and great accommodations) for future seasonal employment, but it was an experience I won’t forget—summer of 2021 is a summer to remember.

When I shed clothes of my past and dipped deep into your alpine pools, my body unwound after years of clenching. Every sensation lit up from tips of toes to that gentle pull deep in my belly—so cold I risked going numb if I dove too deep, stayed under too long. Yet each pinprick was a caress, a reminder I was alive. Where before I only got small sips, I now drank in with deep gulps.