There’s a moment in every practice—maybe after a long-held pigeon pose, or in the breath between one cue and the next—when everything feels suspended. Still. Undefined. A liminal space that asks nothing of us but honesty and presence.
It’s not quite the beginning anymore, but not yet the arrival.
This is the space of becoming.
Yoga invites us into these in-between moments—between inhale and exhale, between one phase of life and the next. Whether we’re stepping onto the mat for the first time or guiding others into it day after day, we all meet these thresholds. These soft edges. These quiet pauses where something deeper begins to stir.
And that stirring? That’s the invitation.
To stop reaching for the next big thing—and instead, to get curious about what’s already alive within us.
For students, that might mean listening more deeply to your own body’s rhythms. Asking new questions of your breath. Feeling into the subtle shifts of your nervous system, your energy, your intentions.
For teachers, it might mean unpacking old habits, tired language, or rigid alignment cues—and stepping into the wild, ever-evolving landscape of what it really means to teach from presence and care.
And maybe—just maybe—it’s time we all stopped measuring progress by how “advanced” a posture looks… and started sensing it in how intimately we understand ourselves, our patterns, our boundaries, and our ability to show up for others with clarity and compassion.
Advanced practice isn’t about performance.
It’s about embodiment.
And the only way to truly embody this path is to walk it—together, with curiosity, vulnerability, and the willingness to be changed.
What if the most profound part of your practice wasn’t the pose, the breath, or even the breakthrough—but the moment right before it?
That strange, silent beat where nothing is quite happening, and yet… everything is shifting. Not the start, not the finish. Just space. Waiting. Becoming.
We spend so much of life chasing the next thing—the next posture, the next training, the next version of ourselves that finally “gets it right.” But yoga isn’t asking us to get it right. It’s asking us to get real. To sit inside the spaces where clarity doesn’t come easy. Where growth isn’t a checklist but a lived, embodied process of remembering who we actually are.
The inhale doesn’t rush the exhale. So why do we rush our evolution?
Advanced practice doesn’t live in the shape of your backbend. It lives in your ability to pause, to notice, to stay. To meet yourself in the spaces between and ask: What’s here now? And how can I serve from this place?
This is the deeper work. The uncomfortable work. The honest, human, messy work of becoming. And it’s where true teaching begins.
This is the space between becoming and belonging—the tender, transformative terrain where we shed old skins and step into something more true. It’s not always comfortable, and it’s rarely linear. But it’s where the real work lives. Not in perfecting the pose, but in learning how to be with ourselves and one another more honestly. Our practice and THIS studio's community and culture meets us there—in the middle of the mystery—with tools, community, and the deep permission to evolve without needing to arrive.
If something in you is whispering, “I think I’m ready…”—then maybe you already are.
This space between becoming and belonging isn’t a detour—it’s the path itself. It’s where we learn to honor the process instead of the performance, to hold space for our own unfolding and that of others. It’s where we soften the need to arrive and instead root into presence, connection, and the truth that we were never meant to do this alone. In this in-between, we don’t just practice yoga—we live it. Together. Moment by moment, breath by breath, becoming a little more ourselves, and belonging a little more deeply, each time we choose to stay.
See you on your mat.
Onward and upward
Trish
