The not so little things

This morning in my yoga class, I spoke about waking up with heartbeats and breath—the not-so-little things. I guided my students toward santosha—that beautiful Sanskrit term for contentment that's etched not just in my practice, but quite literally on my wrist. The tattoo serves as a daily reminder that contentment isn't something we chase after or achieve, but rather a quality we cultivate by noticing what's already here.

As we moved through gentle flows, I invited everyone to consider how contentment is presence—not sitting in yesterday or trying to get to tomorrow, but fully inhabiting this moment. Santosha asks us to recognize the extraordinary gift of the ordinary: the miracle of breath filling our lungs, the steady rhythm of our hearts, the simple fact of being alive right now.

Santosha doesn't ask us to ignore our longings or pretend away our struggles. Instead, it invites us to find the place within that remains steady regardless of external circumstances—the eye of the storm, the calm center that holds even as life swirls around us.

Sometimes contentment arrives in grand moments—standing at the edge of the ocean or witnessing a child's first steps. But more often, it comes in the quiet noticing: the warmth of morning light on the kitchen table, the familiar cadence of a loved one's voice, the simple miracle of breath moving through the body.

This morning, my contentment came in the knowledge that my oldest—now 20 and navigating his own beautiful, complex life—was sleeping under our roof again. Waking up knowing my family was all gathered in one place brought a fullness to my heart that needed no embellishment, no enhancement. Just the simple recognition: this, right here, is enough.