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.

As the gift-giving season approaches, many of us are craving something more meaningful than the usual holiday rush and flurry of Amazon purchases. Would you like to give the gift of wellness and vitality this season? Are you – or someone you know – hoping to explore yoga as a therapeutic and transformational tool for healing?

Do you get so-called S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder), too? While I had a lot of experience with chronic depression in my teens and 20s, I hadn’t experienced the general malaise of the winter blues until I moved to Seattle… where we get an hour and a half less sunlight in the depths of winter than in my previous home of San Francisco. Through the years, I’ve found out that I’m not alone – this seems to be a common state for many folks I’ve met.

Today is my sister Tracey’s birthday. Some of you are lucky enough to have met her. She’s a phenomenal human – and I could wax poetic about that – but one of the qualities that most comes to mind when I think of her is strength.

I sometimes attend a daytime gathering called Daybreaker – part yoga, part dance, part joyful celebration of community. It begins with a yoga practice, followed by dancing, healthy snacks, and connection. Each event has a unique theme – at the last one I attended, there were prompt cards scattered around the space, each with a quote on one side and a question on the other.

The card I picked asked: “How will you grow what is already good?”

Today, something simpler than the cacophony of never-ending info streams: a photo and a poem.