Surrender to the Practice

What four weeks of Yoga taught me about my mind

“Practice becomes firmly grounded when done for a long time, without interruption, and with devotion.”
- Patanjali's Yoga Sutra 1.14 -

Returning again

Another four weeks of yoga are coming to an end, and once again I find myself changed.

Last year, I arrived at Agonda Beach carrying more than just my backpack. I brought with me a bag of feelings such as shame, guilt, and doubt, and a quiet fear of fully stepping into the life I knew I wanted.

Still, I signed up for an Advanced Yoga Teacher Training Course. I told myself it was to return to teaching, but in truth, something deeper was calling me. I remember the hesitation before I joined. Looking back now, I understand why: I wasn’t sure if I was ready for the inward journey.
Yoga has a way of revealing what we are not yet prepared to see.

Surrounded by like-minded people

It is not only the ocean, the rhythm of the palms, or the golden light that seems to soften everything it touches. It is the people. Places like these gather those who are searching, for growth, for healing, for clarity, for something they cannot yet fully name. When you are surrounded by like minded people, something shifts as conversations deepen and presence becomes natural rather than something you have to practice. In spaces like this, transformation does not feel forced, it feels supported. And perhaps that is why I keep returning.

Two active practices of yoga each day gave way to a week of active mornings paired with quiet Yin afternoons, before the rhythm shifted again toward active practice and meditation. I told myself I had come only for the physical movement, yet somewhere between the breath and the sweat I found myself once again facing parts of myself I thought I had already outgrown.

Yoga is for the mind

Patanjali, an ancient sage often called the Father of Yoga, said yoga is for the mind and described it as a method for calming the fluctuations of the mind. It is not merely exercise, it is a path toward inner balance, a union of body, mind, and self. And when you practice intensely, day after day, that meeting with the mind becomes inevitable. You can resist it or you can allow it to transform you.

Last year, I was working through shame about leaving my former career, guilt for choosing an unconventional life, and doubt about whether passion could truly sustain me. Today, I see clearly: I am no longer that person. I am no longer ashamed to say that I live my dream, currently by the ocean under the warmth of the sun, because I have built a way to support myself through what I love. I feel no guilt for leaving the office behind, instead I feel pride in having chosen courage over comfort. And doubt has slowly been replaced by trust.

I have learned that when we act wholeheartedly and with sincerity, devotion, and the best of intentions, we naturally attract the people meant to walk alongside us. The Shanti community is growing, gently but steadily, exactly as it is meant to.

Yet this year offered me an even deeper lesson: no matter how aligned we are, mistakes will happen. There will be criticism. Some seasons will overflow with abundance and others will ask for patience. Some guests will arrive carrying their own fears, expectations, and inner storms. On certain days, leadership will require reserves of calm I am not sure I possess, until I discover that I do.

And so I return again and again to my practice. Because yoga does not remove life’s waves, but it teaches us how to remain steady within them.

Shifting the mind

This year’s training leaned heavily into traditional Hatha and Ashtanga yoga, taught by Indian teachers whose approach feels vastly different from the fluid styles often found in Europe. There is no music, no choreography, no gentle transitions, only discipline, breath, and presence. Each posture is held for five counts, sometimes eight, sometimes ten.

In Ashtanga, the sequence never changes. Strength meets flexibility and effort meets humility. Hatha, though less rigid, invites you to remain, sometimes far longer than is comfortable. On good days, the practice was invigorating. On harder days, it was confronting. Last year, I resisted these classes. I avoided certain poses, shortened others, and often left the shala irritated, counting the minutes until it ended.

This time, I stood at a quiet crossroads. I could search for a more familiar practice, or I could stay. Very early on, I noticed something within me was different compared to last year. During one of the first Hatha classes, I became aware of a familiar inner dialogue. The judging mind was eager to label the experience as too strict, too traditional, too far from what I preferred.

And then a simple thought arose: What if you surrendered to the practice? That sentence became my companion for the weeks that followed. The moment I stopped resisting, everything softened. The poses did not necessarily become easier, but they became more accessible. Time seemed to move differently. Effort transformed into curiosity. Nothing outside of me had changed, only my perception. I made a conscious decision: instead of asking whether I liked the practice, I would allow the practice to shape me.

There is a saying that ten percent of life is what happens to us, while ninety percent is how we respond. I cannot prove its accuracy, yet in observing my own mind I have found profound truth in it. For three weeks, surrender meant releasing constant evaluation, whether a posture was pleasant or difficult, whether the teaching style suited me, and simply showing up on the mat exactly as I was. Adjusting where needed, breathing when challenged, and most importantly staying without judging.

Today, I can say with a smile that I have become a devoted admirer of both Hatha and Ashtanga. Nothing in my external world needed rearranging, only my mindset needed to shift. Perhaps this is the real practice, not mastering the poses, but having the courage to meet ourselves honestly again and again. To soften where we once resisted. To trust where we once doubted. To walk forward, even when the way is still revealing itself.

Shanti Treks is for the mind

This inner work is not separate from what I am building, it is the very foundation of it. Shanti Treks is growing from that same intention: presence, compassion, and authenticity.

Last season, I began teaching yoga and leading my first yoga and hiking journeys. I spoke about it softly at first, almost shyly, just as I once hesitated to call myself the CEO of Shanti Treks. One year on, something within me has matured. After weeks of deep practice, self inquiry, and evenings spent playing the ukulele as the sun melted into the sea, I feel growing excitement for what lies ahead: four of my own Yoga and Hiking tours, and another created in collaboration with my dear friend and wonderfully creative Vinyasa teacher, Mie.

More than ever, I feel ready to pass this practice on, the practice of surrender. Not as giving up, but as softening our resistance, trusting the process, and learning to remain steady amidst life’s inevitable ups and downs. Because when we surrender, we create space. Space for calm, for resilience, for clarity.

And what better place to begin this journey than in the peaceful mountains? Surrounded by nature’s quiet strength, far from the noise of everyday life, it becomes easier to exhale, to let go, and to return to what truly matters.

If this piece resonates with you and has awakened your curiosity about yoga, have a look at one of my Yoga & Hiking trips.

If this piece spoke to you or sparked any questions, ideas, or comments, don’t hesitate to get in touch. I truly appreciate hearing what resonates with readers.