As I begin another fall session of yoga, I find myself thinking about how remarkable it is that so many of us have been practicing together for so many years. Some of you have been coming to class for five years, some for ten or twenty, and some for nearly all of the twenty-five years that I have been teaching. We have, in a way, grown older together. And naturally, our yoga has changed along the way.

The image of Tree Pose feels like a beautiful metaphor for this season of our lives: rooted to the earth, lifted to the sky. A tree needs strong roots to remain grounded, but its branches must also be flexible. When the storms come, the tree bends and moves with the wind without losing its connection to the earth. Perhaps aging asks something similar of us. We want to become more deeply rooted in what sustains us, while remaining flexible enough to move with all that life brings—changes in our bodies, unexpected losses and joys, shifting circumstances, and the continual invitation to begin again.

At 75, I don't practice the way I did at 45—and I don't think I would want to. Our bodies ask different things of us now. We pay more attention to balance, strength, mobility, stability, recovery and rest. The growing research on yoga and aging supports much of what we have experienced firsthand: yoga can help maintain balance, flexibility, strength and physical function, while also offering benefits for our sense of well-being. But after all these years, I think the deeper gift is learning to listen. We learn when to make an effort and when to soften, when to challenge ourselves and when to accept what is. The point is not to keep our younger bodies. The point is to keep meeting the body we have with curiosity, care and respect.

And perhaps that is one of the gifts of practicing together for so long. We have witnessed one another through many seasons of life. We have seen bodies change, recovered from injuries and surgeries, celebrated new beginnings, and held one another through difficult times. We continue to show up—not to perform or to prove anything, but to breathe, move, pay attention and be together. Like the tree, we practice finding our roots while allowing ourselves to remain open and responsive to the winds of change.

This fall, our meditation book group will be exploring Mark Nepo's The Fifth Season. The title itself feels particularly fitting. It suggests a season beyond the familiar four—a time of life that asks us to see differently, listen more deeply, and perhaps discover what becomes possible when we stop resisting change. Our yoga practice feels like a companion to that exploration. We are not trying to turn back the seasons. We are learning how to inhabit the season we are in.

Thank you for practicing with me.
Namaste
Chris