Returning to San Francisco: A Journey Back to My Heart

There are moments in life when the Earth quietly calls us back to ourselves.
A shift in the air.
A pull in the chest.
A sense that something inside is ready to open again.

Just like the seasons, we move through cycles — expansion and contraction, growth and rest, wandering and returning.
And sometimes, without warning, the heart whispers that it’s time to come home.
Not to a place, but to a deeper part of who we are.

This trip to San Francisco was that kind of homecoming for me.

After sixteen months on the road, sharing my wellness and mindful offerings, something inside me began to whisper.
It wasn’t exhaustion or burnout.
It was softer, more honest — a nudge from my heart saying,
It’s time to come home to yourself.

And I knew exactly where I needed to go.
Back to San Francisco.
Back to the yoga community that shaped me.
Back to the people who walked beside me on my early path of transformation.
Back to the practices that once taught me how to breathe again.

What I didn’t know was how powerful the return would be — or how deeply it would change me.

The Call to Return

I didn’t create a big itinerary.
I didn’t make a long list of people to see.
I simply felt called and followed it.

I arranged to stay with my friend Wren and trusted that the rest would unfold the way nature often teaches us to trust — quietly, organically, in its own rhythm.

My intention was simple:
Practice yoga with the teacher who had shaped me most, reconnect with the community that had held me for so many years, and allow my body to receive what it needed.

I knew the experience would be healing.
I just didn’t know how deep that healing would go.

Reunion in the Studio

On Thanksgiving Day, I walked into Rusty’s class — a space that has always felt like coming home — and within minutes, the universe placed Janel and Jonathan in front of me, two people with whom I have a strong, heart-centered history.

We practiced together that morning, and by the following day we were gathered in Janel’s home — me, Janel, Jonathan, and Wren — eating Indian takeout, sharing stories of our lives, our work, our heartbreaks, and our growth.

At one point, I asked everyone,
“What’s the biggest growth you’ve experienced since we met ten years ago?”

Every single person said the same thing:
“I learned how to love myself.”

The conversation was real and unfiltered — the kind where you speak from your heart and know you’re held.
We laughed.
We cried.
We shared honestly, gently, generously.
It felt like the kind of connection that nourishes you for months.

And then, in true magic, Janel and Jonathan pulled out their harmoniums.
We sang together — simple Sanskrit melodies that felt like prayers.
It was ordinary and sacred all at once.

When we parted ways, the hugs were real.
The “I love you” was real.
Everything about it felt like pure gratitude.

Returning to My Body

Practicing with Rusty again was like being reminded of a part of myself I didn’t realize I’d been missing.

He gave me the biggest hug when he saw me — warm, full, genuine.

His classes were challenging in all the right ways.
My body had been needing this.
Needing to move.
To open.
To express.
To release.

After sixteen months on the road, I didn’t realize how distant I’d become from my own physical self.
But after just three classes, I could feel my body waking up, softening, reconnecting.
I felt present again — deeply, fully.

On the final day, we took a photo together.
I was in my sports bra and yoga shorts, belly softer than it’s ever been — evidence of life lived, lessons learned, ages softened into wisdom.

And when I saw the photo, I felt love.
Not judgment.
Not comparison.
Just love.
Rusty helped me get there.

A Heart Opening

During the last class, two things happened that I will never forget.

I was in a backbend when one of Rusty’s assistants placed his hands behind my heart.
Something about the touch, the timing, the intention opened me wider than I expected — physically, yes, but emotionally too.

After class I went up to thank him.
He looked at me with grounded, steady eyes and said,
“You’re in a solid place right now.”

During savasana, Rusty played “Blessings” by Hollow Coves — a song we share history with.
As soon as it started, something inside me cracked open in the most beautiful way.
It felt like gratitude pouring through me — not a gentle drip, but a full flood.

Gratitude for my life.
My path.
My parents.
My cousins.
My dog.
My work.
My home.
This planet.
My community.
My body.
My healing.

Everything.

It was overwhelming and perfect.

A New Foundation

When the trip ended, I felt different.
Clearer.
More grounded.
More grateful than I have ever been in my life.

I told Wren,
“I feel like I’m standing on a new foundation — and I want to do everything I can to keep this momentum going.”

And I meant it.

My thoughts have been lighter.
My appreciation for community deeper.
My sense of belonging stronger.
My body more loved.
My heart more open.

It all happened because I listened — because I trusted the quiet pull to return to a place that once held me so deeply.

This trip wasn’t just a reunion.
It was a closing of old pain, a reclaiming of self, and the beginning of a new chapter.

Grateful doesn’t even begin to describe it.
I feel grateful for being so grateful.