When Connection Becomes Light

Happy December my friends!

As this year comes to a close, I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude to you — for showing up, for receiving, for sharing, and for simply being yourself. What began as a small dream has slowly grown into a community that feels rooted, intentional, and deeply human. Week after week, I’ve watched familiar faces return, new faces step in, and connections form in ways I could never have predicted. This community didn’t appear overnight — it has unfolded gently and I am endlessly grateful to be part of something that continues to grow with such care.

This year, I’ve felt a deeper connectedness with many of you. Not just practicing yoga together, but truly learning who you are beyond the practice; your families, what you cherish, the moments that have lifted you, and the moments that have brought ache. I hold each conversation with tenderness and feel honored to have your trust.

And it would be untrue to pretend that this year hasn’t been heavy.

With the ongoing genocide in Palestine and Sudan, mass layoffs across our country, and inhumane deportation impacting innocent lives, it’s easy to feel defeated, resentful, and even ashamed. These large, painful realities shape our emotional landscape, even when we don’t name them out loud. Many of us are also carrying personal struggles — health concerns, family dynamics, loss of friendships, unexpected challenges — threads weaving through our days, often quietly, but always present.

And yet — here we are. Together.

As Rumi so beautifully writes, “The wound is the place where the light enters you.”

Maheen reflecting in the light

I’ve found that it’s often in the small, vulnerable moments — when we let down our guard just a little — that connection begins and compassion arises. A soft conversation before class. A lingering pause after Savasana. An invitation to walk. A shared lunch. These small gestures have slowly woven something meaningful between us. Through connection and compassion, we begin to see each other’s tenderness, pain, and joy as our own, and our own tenderness, pain and joy become lighter because they’re carried by others. It’s through this interconnection that we can feel the softening and the light entering.  

In a season built around gathering and giving, it can feel overwhelming — especially when our energy feels depleted. But the connection that begins gently, without pressure — a smile, a warm embrace, a shared dish — feels spacious. It feels real. It reminds us that we don’t need to “be more” to belong.

When we soften towards our needs, compassion radiates outward naturally. Not from obligation, but from authenticity and presence. Stillness becomes an anchor, not as absence of movement, but as a presence of awareness. A choice to be here, in this body, in this moment, even as the world keeps spinning. In the darker days of winter, these tiny moments of connection and presence tend to the parts of us that feel tired or stretched thin. In this way, joy doesn’t have to be loud or elaborate. It can be quiet. A soft smile that brightens through the eyes is enough, reminding you that you’re part of something larger — something loving, imperfect, evolving, and shared.

As we close 2025, my wish is that we each find a pocket of softness to rest in — a moment to acknowledge how far we’ve come, how much we’ve carried, and how much we’ve grown. And as we look toward 2026, I hope we enter gently, with steady breath, renewed hope, and the understanding that we don’t walk into the new year alone. We walk together.

I’d like to share a poem I rediscovered in an old journal I once believed was lost. It always speaks to my heart—a reminder of our smallness, our connection, and the invitation to shine just as we are.

Shine

by Andrea Gibson

...Yes you are small

We are all as small

As a single breath

But tied to the rest

We are all the life of the world

The pulse that turns rocks to pearls

Inside the darkness

Of their shells

So become the well

Where wishes are born

Become the bell

That rings when even

The birds refuse to sing

Become the wings that fly

And every time you’re full of sorrow

Every time you wake up crying

Know that that day

Is a perfect day

To shine.

With love and hope,

Maheen