(If you missed part 1 of this story, make sure to read that here!)

A few weeks ago, I came across a journal entry dated March 18th, 2018.


Yesterday, Blaine and I signed up to take a 300-hour YTT in India! Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, we’ll be immersed in all things yoga. I’m nervous but excited.


I texted a photo of the entry to Blaine, and she replied, “This is such a sweet memory! I remember sitting on the couch at Yoga Hive Colorado talking about this and saying YES!”


It was a core memory for both of us.


What I didn’t know at the time was that saying yes would change the entire trajectory of my life. That trip didn’t just “immerse me in all things yoga” — it initiated me into the Himalayan Kriya Yoga lineage.

And yet, if I’m honest, my initial motivation for signing up wasn’t spiritual at all. It was rooted in personal growth, self-discovery and… achievement.


Below: Graduation day in India, 2018

As the owner of multiple yoga studios, with thousands of teaching hours and plenty of certificates already under my belt, I believed that becoming an E-RYT 500 — the highest designation on Yoga Alliance — was the natural next step. The top of the yoga achievement pyramid. (The ultimate gold star!)


That’s the way we’re conditioned to think as Western yogis in 2025. We love sequences and systems. We’re taught to “do it right.” From our earliest school years, we chase diplomas, degrees, certifications — all those shiny badges that say to the world: I did a thing. Look at me.


Don’t get me wrong: educational structures (Yoga Alliance included) serve a purpose. They provide accountability, consistency, and a shared language for students and teachers alike.


But here’s the truth that I know in my bones: Even with boundaries in place, anyone can teach yoga. You can earn a certificate over a long weekend, call yourself a “Yoga Teacher,” or pivot into “Breathwork Facilitator” or “Meditation Instructor.” Titles are limitless — and so is our capacity to chase them.
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Below: Blaine and I, in India 2018

After all these years of being “immersed in all things yoga,” here’s what I know for sure: All those certificates and titles lead me back to some version of the same familiar moment. I’m on a metaphorical meditation cushion at 12:45 AM, debating whether to fudge the time to keep an 85-day streak alive.


And in that moment, I face a choice: To achieve. Or to learn. My answer makes all the difference.


In the Himalayan Kriya tradition, we’re reminded again and again: real learning begins when achievement ends. In fact, that simple truth is what sparked the name The Yoga We Need — a space for remembering that yoga isn’t about doing more, but about coming home to ourselves. (See you live tomorrow?)


Stay tuned Sunday for the final story in my mini-trilogy on the yogic path.

In light,
​Mollie

I reluctantly arrived on my meditation cushion Monday night.

It was late. Sleep was beckoning me (loudly), but I was committed to logging my meditation before drifting off. I’d gotten so deeply entrenched in watching the sci-fi thriller, “Dune”, that I’d lost all track of time.


I swiped open my Insight Timer app for what would be my 85th consecutive day meditating. Not quite my all-time record of 154 consecutive days... but I was well on my way there.


A pop-up message interrupted my flow. “Did you meditate yesterday?” it asked.


Yesterday? I thought. Of course I meditated yesterday. And now I’m meditating today. There must be a mista-

I looked at the time: 12:42am. “Yesterday” had completely passed me by.

My brain instinctively went into troubleshoot mode. Technically, it was still the day before sleep. So I rationalized that if I meditated now, and then logged the meditation to the yesterday’s date, it would still count because I’d meditate again in the morning.


Just as I was about to click YES, I stopped myself.


This was the same scenario I’d been in years ago during my 154-day streak. (And consequently why I had to take a break from earning gold stars for meditation.) It starts by rationalizing one “missed” day for a “timing issue.” Then another. Before long, my meditation practice becomes a game to conquer versus a morning spiritual practice.


My deep desire for gold stars got me again.
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Chuckling at the ridiculousness of it, I clicked “NO” on the pop-up and crawled into bed. My cushion would be there for me in the morning. I did not regret watching “Dune”. I would simply begin again — and so I did.

If you’re anything like me, you know that the spiritual path goes in waves… and it’s deeply personal, by design. My practice held up a mirror for me in that moment of indecision — a mirror I’ve seen before.


There are no gold stars or achievement certificates on the spiritual path. There isn’t even an end goal or destination. It’s a never-ending road of ups and downs and lessons, and we are the solo hiker, making our way as best we can.


I think this concept can get a little murky when we’re balancing learning yoga, living yoga, and offering yoga into the world. So how do we hold all three?


Tune in tomorrow for the next part of the story...

In light,
​Mollie

Years ago, I was at a family reunion in the Midwest, surrounded by my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. We were at a family lake house, and half the crew was out on the lake, waterskiing and the rest of us were indoors, preparing for dinner. 


I can’t remember exactly what happened, but I do remember when the news reached the kitchen: One of my relatives had fallen, and needed to go to the hospital. 


After the rush to get him off the boat and en route to the ER, silence settled over the kitchen. I looked around and realized I was surrounded by the women in my family.


No one was talking. Everyone was cleaning.


It hit me: This is what we do. This is what we’ve always done. When chaos reigns and there’s nothing left to fix, the women in my family busy our hands and clean up the mess.


Despite the worry, I smiled. Somehow, I realized that  by cleaning the external mess, our collective mental (internal) mess seemed to ease as well.

As humans, we inherit coping mechanisms from our families. I count my lucky stars for mine — a family that’s always been a source of love and support. My mom’s side gathered for nearly every Thanksgiving + Christmas holiday while I was growing up. (Complete with matching embroidered sweatshirts, Tervis Tumblers and baseball caps!). Even though we see each other less now, that familial bond still hums beneath the surface.


As I get older, I see how much they shaped me: I’m competitive with board games, I show love through food, and a full day on the lake is my idea of bliss. And though I spent decades indifferent to hand-washing dishes, I’ve finally come to understand why the women in my family love to clean — it’s a way to move energy, to make space for what’s next.


This past weekend, when a bit of chaos hit our world, I felt heavy and slow. I couldn’t motivate myself to do much of anything... until I spontaneously remembered the Magic of Cleaning.


I marched up to our guest cabins, stripped the sheets, sorted the laundry, and remade every single bed. I knew exactly what I was doing: This is what we do.

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And it worked. Hours later, as I walked back to our house from the cabins, I felt lighter! The chaos of earlier hadn’t vanished — but I’d cleared enough space within to see the situation differently.
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For moments like this, I’m so grateful to remember the ancestral wisdom that lives in my bones.