This past month or so in my Sunday evening Candlelight Restorative classes, we’ve been exploring the idea of grounding.

Of course, Restorative yoga itself is inherently grounding – inviting the nervous system toward parasympathetic (settling, steadiness, and rest). Alongside that, we’ve also been exploring what it means to embody “earth energy”: to feel connected not only to the physical foundation beneath us, but also to a deeper sense of being anchored within.

We live in an attention economy. But it’s not just our attention, is it? It’s our consumption, too.

It’s invasive and ubiquitous – the music in grocery stores designed to make us want to shop, ads blaring at you from the gas pump, end-aisle product placement in big box stores for those impulse buys, billboards while you are stuck in traffic, the endless rabbit hole of social media, streaming platforms galore, algorithms feeding you sidebar ads while you read the NYTimes, “suggested” content, and the constant din of a 24-hour news cycle. On most airplanes, there are screens maybe 12 inches from your face, offering more things to consume. It’s all competing to keep us focused on whatever they are selling. And the cacophony continues to grow louder every year.

When I ask in class, “Any requests?” one of the most common answers is simply: “hips.” Which always makes me smile a little. Because “the hips” is such a broad, catch-all phrase for something incredibly complex.

The hips are, of course, where the legs attach to the pelvis. And the pelvis – as one of my teachers (Judith Hanson Lasater) says – is “the center of everything.” Its orientation influences how the spine and legs are positioned as well as how the body organizes itself.

This past weekend I spent some time with a four-year-old – the daughter of friends – and was reminded, again, of something we seem to forget along the way: how to play.

Young children live in a kind of effortless presence. There’s spontaneity. Creativity. Delight. Anything becomes a toy. Everything is interesting. They ask direct questions – simple, honest, without overthinking. Their expression isn’t yet filtered or constrained in the ways ours becomes over time.

And it made me wonder: Where does that go?

Lately, I’ve been sitting with this idea: a teacher’s role is not to hand you answers, but to slow you down enough so you can find your own. The teacher lights the path. That’s it. What you discover on that path is yours alone.

This is something I return to often when people ask what I do. Sometimes I just say: I teach people to slow down.

There’s a visual I find myself coming back to again and again with clients: a ship changing course by just one degree. It doesn’t look like much in the moment. But over time, across open water, that single degree sends the ship somewhere completely different.

That’s what I’m after in my work.

Spring has a sneaky way of disrupting our sleep. The daylight saving time shift alone is more disruptive to our nervous systems and circadian rhythms than we may realize – and that’s before we factor in the increasingly longer evenings, extra light, and general energy shift that comes with the body adjusting from winter into a new season.

Have you noticed something interesting? Relaxation has become almost cliché. It’s on signs, in ads – used to sell everything from manicures to pricey pajamas to luxury cruises. Somewhere along the way, rest has been repackaged as a product. Something to be purchased, curated, and (of course) posted.

But here’s the truth: rest is not a reward. It’s not a luxury. It’s a birthright.

A couple of weeks ago, I came down with a late winter cold out of nowhere. I went from feeling fabulous in the morning, to sneezing all afternoon, to that unmistakable sinking feeling of a sore throat by dinner. By the time I woke the next morning, I was unmistakably sick. Despite all the ways I genuinely take care of myself and my immune system, something got through. Bodies are humbling that way.

In class, I often invite you to take inventory when you arrive – body, breath, mind, heart, energy. Is there an intention for the practice? A quality you want to cultivate? A seed you wish to plant? And sometimes… nothing bubbles up. That’s when I remind you: presence is always enough.

One of the many gifts of pranayama (breath work) is that it offers us a break from the thinking mind. It’s not a perfect break – the mind is powerful, and it will tug us back into familiar loops – but conscious breathing patterns give the busy mind something to focus on. This gentle focus, paired with intentional breathwork, directly impacts the nervous system and can create a bit of space around whatever we’re carrying.

This is what I’ve been sitting with lately: how to tend my heart in the storm – what it looks like to call upon grace when the world feels upside down. Even if you’re only halfway keeping up with the news and current events – like me, because my nervous system simply can’t take more – it’s deeply upsetting. Heartbreaking, infuriating, disorienting, and so on. Do you feel it? I’m pretty sure I’m not alone, because many of you have been sharing similar sentiments.

Today, I share more than just the beauty of photography… but also some other delights that are bringing me joy, and might lift your spirits also. Enjoy!

Anger is human.

When anger flares, observe it.

Notice what happens in your physical, animal body – heat, tightness, restlessness, jaw clenching, racing heart, fists... what does it feel like in your body?

Compassion, at least as I understand it, is not about getting things right or feeling a certain way all the time. It’s about showing up with an open heart and honoring what is – even when what is feels unfamiliar, tender, or hard to meet. One form of compassion that feels especially alive for me lately is the practice of befriending my body.

If you’re new here – or maybe it’s been a while – I thought I’d begin the year with a brief reintroduction. I’m Nicole, a certified yoga therapist and registered yoga teacher. In the most fundamental nutshell possible: I teach people to slow down.

I hope you had a nourishing Winter Solstice. Now, slowly and incrementally, the light returns. I’ll be taking my annual solitude and screen-detox retreat a bit earlier than usual this year. I’m teaching a special Christmas Eve class today at noon, and then I’ll be fully offline through January 3.

Yoga Sutra 1.2 tells us that the ultimate aim of yoga is to quiet the fluctuations of the mind – to reach true clarity. The yogic sages described the disturbances that pull us away from that clarity as the kleshas. They name five of them: ignorance, attachment, aversion, ego, and the fear of death. Of these, I feel that the fear of death – abhinivesha – is often the least discussed.

Are you good at doing nothing? Even for just a few minutes? Most of us aren’t. It certainly doesn’t come easily to me. When were we ever taught how? Certainly not in school. Not in the productivity-focused culture we live in. Not on Instagram, where folks are always producing content on how to create, influence, hack, or improve something. Doing nothing is rarely modeled for us, let alone encouraged. So I wonder, could we get good at it?

Welcome to December. For those of us in the northern hemisphere, these are the days of growing dark and cold. I personally love these days, even with my S.A.D. tendency. I love to pull out my warm socks and sweaters, the fuzzy hand warmers, the knit hats. I love to dig out my favorite soup and chili recipes. I love the ambiance of our gas fireplace – it’s a magnet for my little, old dog, Dodge. I love my morning practice illuminated by only a candle and my fairy lights. I usually have a pile of books about a foot tall on my nightstand, and I actually make solid progress this time of year.