My first yoga class took place in a living room, a favour to a friend completing a teacher training. At 21 years old, my response was “thanks, it wasn’t that weird.” A year later, faced with a moment of “change or be changed”, I took to the mat. This time for a much longer stay. A mix of desperation and intuition got me through the doors, a hard, hot workout enough to return. It would be some time before the depth of what kept me coming back would show itself. I would spend two years as a student before answering the call to teach.
A month-long immersive training in the spiritual Mecca of Las Vegas, blocks away from one of the most debauchery-rich streets in North America, would change my life forever. Two decades have passed since my barefeet first felt the gentle firmness of a mat beneath them, the place I would come to meet all of my pieces, for better and worse. Now a teacher, forever a student, I offer the greatest gift I’ve ever been given — proof of possibility.