(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. 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
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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. 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. 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. For moments like this, I’m so grateful to remember the ancestral wisdom that lives in my bones. I remember the day this photo was taken like it was yesterday… 
It was September 1st, 2020. I was exhausted — and elated at the same time. Sean and I had spent the previous year during fall 2019 and winter 2020 getting to know the Brooks Range from our igloo basecamp. I closed the doors of my four yoga studios — took everything online, and eventually made the decision to permanently close two. It was the year none of us saw coming — and it was the start of my becoming. With travel plans erased, we seized the extra time and got to work building three guest cabins. After the platforms were finished, we raised, roofed, and dried them in just nine days. Each morning during that whirlwind build, I’d sneak out of the igloo to meditate in whichever cabin we were working on. I’d sit on cardboard to keep the sawdust from sticking to my sweatpants, wood flecks clinging to my beanie, Kalhabuk Mountain framed in the doorway. I wasn’t consciously thinking about Future Mollie during those morning meditations five years ago… but I can speak on her behalf now: She is (I am!) stoked.  That 2020 version of myself couldn’t have DREAMED all the things we’d accomplish in the years to come. Now in the shoes of Mollie of 2025, I’m grateful that version of myself kept going. Even when she was exhausted, frustrated, and at times, defeated… she kept pursuing this wild idea in the arctic.
As I consider Future Mollie today — 2026, 2028, 2030 and beyond — it’s wild to imagine what will unfold. Even with all the chaos in the world right now (echoes of 2020 in many ways), I know that every action writes a new line in the story of my life. This is the path of kriya yoga. And that is really what Season 4 of my podcast, “The Yoga Of…” is all about — exploring the ways our actions shapes the future we’re stepping into, and how the practices and philosophy of yoga can ground us through it all. Yoga truly is everywhere. (Find Season 4 wherever you get your podcasts!) I’ve also been quietly building The Yoga We Need — my online home for kriya yoga practice, study, and community. Both the podcast and this platform were born from the seeds I planted back in 2020, and I’m so grateful to invite you into the fold. In light, Mollie 
I want to admit three things today, before telling a story:
But I haven’t always felt this way, and I know so many of us feel at odds with both "living yoga” and “showing up on social media.” Perhaps it seems like your friends are living gorgeous lives. Or your home feels messy compared to the perfect backdrops of others. Maybe it feels like every other yogi is *clearly* doing more than you when it comes to living a spiritual life. From this view of social media, it feels easier to just... abstain. But when I felt this way years ago, I went IN instead of checking OUT. Here’s when it clicked... I was nearing the end of my first trip to India — sitting under a Banyan tree, notebook in hand, furiously scribbling mind blowing realizations on the “Nature of the Self”. My curiosity was piqued — how could I integrate these ancient, time-tested spiritual teachings with my modern life as a yogini in the West on social media? His words stuck with me: “We show up on social media to make ourselves more available.” That was the reply I needed! I would add that the “we” who is showing up is important. Are we approaching social media as our higher self? Or are we scrolling aimlessly, avoiding life — as our ego self? This distinction matters — because these two versions of “Self” consume content in MUCH different ways. [Side note: If you’re curious about how to tell the difference between these two selves that goes far beyond the content of my newsletters, either — shameless plug! — take a yoga teacher training with me, and/or read my bestie Brittany’s new book, “Dancing with Our Selves” ... it’s a whole book about discovering who’s in your driver’s seat!]  *Photo Credit Above: Alec Sills-Trausch After I returned home, I noticed anytime Sean was on social media, he’d be laughing — like BELLY laughing. And of course, I’d get a ping a few moments later as the meme or reel arrived in my DMs. I remember thinking: I wish my feed made me feel like that. I recognized my typical ego behavior — an BOOM, like a bolt of lightening, I knew: The algorithm doesn’t live out there, somewhere. The algorithm responds to ME. If I want my feed to be different, I need to approach the feed as a different version of myself. The distinction is so subtle, isn’t it? And it worked. I’m going to detail the 7 actions I took below — as a yogi! —to revamp my relationship with social media:
In writing this post, I found this “yoga pose” photo shown below and it made me laugh remembering this day.  Sean and I were on a beach on the Kenai Peninsula, and I was in a “yoga pose everywhere” phase. This was how I communicated “I”m a yogi!” back then.
I got on this massive stump and didn’t know what to do — and I was scared to stand up at first because it was so tall, and uneven. So I tried cow pose… and it looked like I was doing... nothing! Sean had to confirm that I was, indeed, in position. We laughed at the ridiculousness of it all — which is the whole point, no? Sending love, Mollie PS — In case you’re content to keep staring at your phone (no judgement, I’m here for that too!), here are some random Instagram accounts I’ve been loving lately:
As I mentioned yesterday, as soon as I chilled out about this eulogy being “perfect,” the words flowed onto the page effortlessly. I truly feel like Dad and I co-wrote this together — in more ways than one. I’ll include the full sermon as I spoke it in the YouTube video (which I'll include at the bottom) — I said some things not mentioned in the written version. I’ll include the written version here, too. Enjoy :-)  Hi everyone. Thank you for being here. I’ll start the same way Dad used to start his graduation speeches at the High School: The great comedian George Burns once said: “The secret of a good speech is to have a good beginning, and a good ending; and to have the two as close together as possible.” As Dad would say: “Today, I will do my best.” Er, we both will… Dad kept most of the sermons and speeches he gave — so I realized I can lean on his words today — and fill in the blanks with a few stories. To inspire the graduating class of 2009, Dad said: “Each of you can be a difference-maker in our society or not… the choice is yours. The choice is also yours as to whether what you choose is: — for the good of all or, — only for you.” It’s no doubt that my dad made an impact here. My brother and I felt it growing up, watching him run his businesses, commit time and effort to so many organizations and individuals who needed help, and still carve out valuable time for us to spend as a family of four. He was the best dad, husband, brother and friend. Dad had another good nugget of wisdom for the graduating class of 2012. He said: “Whatever strong belief you now hold about what it means to be successful, I hope you will stay open to the possibility that you might have it all wrong and accept a new awareness when it comes to you.” I love this part of Dad— he was the best listener, to the point where he knew his principles, and yet he was always open to having his mind changed by present circumstances.. A quick story… Aside from a cat who was around for the first few years of our lives, Matt and I never grew up with pets. So when I met my – now – husband, Sean, who was the proud owner of two dogs, I wasn’t sure what to expect! In 2012, Sean and I decided to take a month-long road-trip to Alaska. Sean’s parents graciously volunteered to take one of our dogs, Daisy, in California. And Mom and Dad tentatively agreed that they’d watch Dexter. ONLY for a month… May, June and July cameand went… and in September I called up dad to tell him Sean and I would be driving out to Wisconsin to get Dexter, and I’ll never forget his response: “You know I’m not giving him back, right?” The rest was history Dexter was with us through the diagnosis, and through the last years Mom and Dad lived in our childhood home on Round Lake. That dog provided the levity our family — and Dad— needed through that time, and we’ll be forever grateful. I’m sure those two are reunited again. In 2010, Dad said to the graduating class: “It all comes down to one hope: that you’ll only do things that make you proud, so that when you look in the mirror the next day you can smile. If you can do that, you will be successful. You will be happy.” And to all of you who are thinking of the Steve Shambeau you knew and loved, I know you’d all describe him as a happy guy. He loved to laugh and he’d tell the best dad jokes I know. When a waitress at any restaurant would ask him, “How was everything?” He’d look down to his empty plate without missing a beat and say, “Didn’t like it at all! Send it back to the chef!” In terms of doing things that made himself proud, there was one thing Dad always wanted to do: Drive his boat from Naples, Florida six hours south to Key Largo.This was the longest journey he’d ever driven, and I just remember thinking he’d done so much to prepare the year we pulled it off. Four-ish hours in, the journey was going smooth — er, as smooth as ocean travel can be — until he spotted a bird just ahead, that appeared to be standing on water! How odd, to see it standing there — and before we knew it, our boat had beached itself on a small sandbar. We were stuck! His first words, no doubt, were probably: “OH SHIT!” And then he got to work… I don’t remember it taking too long to get unstuck, but we sure had a story to tell at the end of the day. That was the sort of guy dad was: Showing up to the present circumstance and ask: What’s needed? How can I serve? That trip was one the four of us will never forget. In another sermon Dad said: “So it is only through our relationships with others, that we can define who we are and who we are not. It is only through our relationships with others that we can grow and experience who we are and what we want to become.We must have those relationships with others, or we are nothing!” No pressure, right? But I love this sentiment, and it speaks so beautifully to the many friendships Dad and Mom maintained throughout his life. The neighbors and regular visitors to our Round Lake house, along with the countless parties they hosted played such pivotal roles in my brother and my worlds growing up. Especially after Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and life started to get confusing and riddled with change, friends and family stuck by us through it all and surely help us weather – what I can only describe as – the longest storm of our lives. Dad (and Mom) always taught us that life is too short to go to bed angry with a loved one. And though none of us in the Shambeau household prefer conflict, we all love a good resolution. This was made explicitly clear as I watched my mom stick by Dad’s side through the last decade. As the Steve we all knew withered away, she met each phase of his disease with courage and gumption. Alzheimer’s may be “the longest goodbye,” but I’ll tell you: My mom made the most of every moment. And that’s the reality Dad loved to speak about, especially in the later years of his spiritual life. He referred to Hell as not a place – so much as a way of existing. If we don’t take advantage of the fullness of life — pain and all, we find ourselves in a hell of our own making. Life sucks. I assure you, there were many moments in my own processing where I felt this way about losing my dad. However, Dad followed that up by saying that if we dive fully into life, relationships, and the experiences before us, and put our effort into “doing our best,” then life on earth looks as close to Heaven as we can imagine. And that outlook — that sweetness — is how I remember dad most. Not only did he LOVE sweets (especially Peanut M&Ms!), but he chose to focus on the journey. He advised the graduating class of 2012: “Take joy in the journey, rather than building your life around how good you expect the view to be when you get to the top.” Because as much as we want to control how life looks, we really have no control at all! Dad’s life — and death — was a testament to that more than anything. All we have control over are the actions we take in each moment. In closing, I leave you with one more quote from one of Dad’s sermons. “You see, I’m not afraid of death or what comes after. I believe we are all here by God’s grand design… to experience all the opportunities and — this is very important — we can’t mess this program up. We cannot lose this battle. We cannot fail.” So whether you believe in “God,” “Universe” or “Something bigger than yourself,” I — and my Dad, who’s here with us, no doubt — hope that you realize you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. You have everything you need to do what you need to do right now. And you cannot screw this life up. He sure didn’t :-) Thank you for being here. Love you, Dad. 
So many times during all the rituals and ceremony of Dad’s funeral and visitations, I thought to myself: This is living yoga. Not practicing yoga, or teaching yoga… but real life, putting the teachings into practice… yoga. I hope your future doesn’t involve a funeral of someone close to you… but, it is the inevitability of life itself, no? Here are some yoga tools I used to make it through: Just did my best— I initially put a lot of pressure on myself to write the best eulogy… but when I relaxed a bit, channeled my dad’s presence, and trusted in my ability to write (a trust in myself that I’ve earned over time), the words flowed effortlessly on the page. Can’t wait to share that with you, tomorrow.  Trust — To battles nerves before speaking, I said to myself: *I trust whatever words I say are for the highest good of all concerned.* And I believed it. Deep breaths — When I welled up with tears on the podium, I rode the wave and took a deep breath. I realized later that so many people in the crowd took that breath with me and needed permission from my tears to let their own tears flow. This is that — so many times I felt conflicting emotions. Anger at losing dad, and joy to relive a memory of him… I understand that both emotions can coexist. To allow anger to flow through is to make space so joy can bloom in its place.  “Let Them” — I used Mel Robbins’ principle from her book, “The Let Them Theory,” as I had to watch others struggle in their own experience of my dad’s death. I let myself have my own experience, and I let them have theirs without trying to fix, change or ignore. Moving physical tension — When I realized parts of my body were tensing up, or I slept wrong somehow, I took the time to massage those parts of my shoulders or move my legs on a walk to help the tension move. Stuck energy just leads to more pain over time. (And I didn’t need more pain that week!) Be present — I tried my best to be present with every moment. Every speech, every conversation, every tear, every moment sharing this experience with my family. I didn’t drink alcohol and I didn’t spent much time on my phone, either. As tough as it was to BE THERE, I feel so much closer to my mom, my brother, and my husband for weathering this storm together. That was a gift. Gratitude — I know for me, the sooner I move into an attitude of genuine gratitude, the easier life feels. I was grateful for so many things this week, and that made a huge positive impact on the entire experience.  I aim to move forward into this new chapter feeling spacious, grateful and… empty. And I’m in no rush to fill the void — just going one day at a time.
Living yoga starts by learning and practicing yogic concepts — that’s where we draw energy from the earth to the heart and our mind. In this initial phase, we remember and awaken dormant parts of ourselves… we have “ah-ha” moments with an upward flow of energy… ….but this is only part of the journey. The real work happens on the descent of that wisdom. We have a life experience — like a funeral, a birth, anything at all — where we can recognize and apply the yogic teachings in real time. In those moments, there’s not a mat, pose, or student in sight. Our only job is to put knowledge into action. Managing the descent and integration of the yogic teachings into life on earth is what it means to practice Kriya Yoga… the yoga of evolutionary action. And I am so grateful to be a yogi in this season of my life. Stay tuned tomorrow for my full eulogy with Dad’s words of wisdom. In light, Mollie 
I love to tell my yoga students: “Everything is only as sacred as you make it.” And every detail of my dad’s funeral earlier this month held deep meaning for our family… from the Egg McMuffins my brother and I got for breakfast (Dad’s bribe of choice to get us to Sunday School growing up), to this toast with frothy green drinks at the post-funeral celebration:  (And yes, the same frothy green drinks shown in the old photo of Dad at the top of this email) The “Green Drink Party” was as sacred as it gets to the Shambeau family. This tradition began long before my dad took it over in the 80s. My grandparents, Dave and Emilene used to serve this frothy mint-green concoction every Christmas morning (pictured below in 1973) at a gathering that could ebb and flow from a casual crew one year to a rambunctious party the next.  I remember Christmas morning so fondly from my childhood — before I was old enough to try the drink myself, and of course after I’d turned 21 and could indulge. Although if you knew the true recipe, you know full well that even a half glass was more than enough. I don’t have the exact recipe on hand, but I know what usually went into the blender was: Ice, heavy whipping cream, Crème de menthe, and another sneaky liquor I can’t recall. Laugher and conversation over green drinks and deviled eggs will forever be a core memory. And, the most special part is knowing that Mom and Dad first locked eyes at a Green Drink party at Dad’s house on Christmas Day, 1984. From his spot at the kitchen window, he watched my mom step out of her parent’s car in the driveway, wearing a mint green sweater, and instructed his friend Tom Karavakis to “follow that girl” and find out if she was seeing someone! Although he served Mom a green drink and some small talk, they didn’t connect much at the party aside from the sparks they both felt — and I’m not exaggerating! They both remember an instant connection. (Below is a pic of the two of them, during that first week together)  At 5pm that day, Dad called Mom’s parents’ house and asked her out on a date. A week or so later? They were engaged… just like that. I feel so fortunate to have deep love and partnership modeled for me in my life. To watch that love transcend disease and death was both gut-wrenching and beautiful at the same time. (Below, my brother Matt, Mom and I after spreading some of Dad’s ashes together in a place that was special to all of us)  I would wish my Dad back in a heartbeat if I could... but somehow I’ve found gratitude this past month, honoring his life, his stories, and his deep love for Mom, and for our family.
I know that’s a gift, and I won’t take it for granted. I am going to send y’all two more emails this week — one that details with all the ways I used yoga to help me through the funeral, and the other is where I’ll share the eulogy I gave for Dad. It was filled with nuggets of his wisdom and I would be remiss if I didn’t share it, far and wide. In the meantime, if you want to read a few other stories I’ve written about Dad throughout his journey with Alzheimers, here are a few memorable ones:
Until (part 2) tomorrow, Mollie  For years, I’d tell Sean I was considering enrolling in another yoga training and he’d ask, “Is this the last one?” “YES! This is it!” I’d promise. But over time, he stopped asking, because we’ve both accepted that my yoga training never truly ends :-) The full scope of yoga goes far beyond a physical practice, and has influenced all aspects of my life. Yoga shapes my mornings, how I approach challenges, how I care for myself (and my dogs!), and how I connect with the world. Yoga isn’t just something I “do” — it’s how I live.  Yoga flows through even the smallest parts of my day… I begin my day by boiling water for coffee and while I wait, I scrape my tongue — an Ayurvedic practice I picked up during my third yoga teacher training. When my coffee is brewed, I add some canned coconut milk — a habit I adopted years ago during a tapas practice. As a part of a training, I gave up dairy for a week to prove (to myself) I could live without half and half in my coffee. Turns out I could, and still do! Tapas, which means “intensity” or “discipline,” stokes our fire of change through life’s challenges, big and small. With coffee in hand, I scroll through emails and social media — a habit I’ve reframed thanks to wisdom from my yoga teacher in India. “We use social media to make ourselves more available,” he told me years ago. Instead of mindless doom scrolling, I view my presence on social as making myself available to those who want to learn from or connect with me + keeping up with friends, family and students.  I bring a yogic mindset to my writing, too. No monotony or strict content calendar — I am an Aries ascendent in Vedic Astrology, and I thrive on newness! I follow my intuition when choosing topics, like I did with this newsletter. When I pause and listen, ideas tend to surface. Morning also includes listening to my body. Sometimes, I’ll do quad strengthening or scrape my knee (physical therapy — a form of yoga! — I learned for healing my knee pain), nourish myself with a simple breakfast, and gear up for my “asana” practice: Dog-sledding! Mushing dogs requires preparation, from choosing the right team dynamics to layering up for comfort on the runners. The ride itself is my flow state — balance, core strength, and full focus. By the time we’re back and the dogs are unhooked, I’m brimming with gratitude — and so are they.  Afternoons are for creative projects and off-grid chores, evenings for nourishing dinners (intuition-led, just like my writing), and winding down. I might write, inspired by something from the sled, or pull an oracle card to reflect on the day.
Meditation comes last. While I used to feel pressure to meditate in the morning, yoga taught me to release resistance and find what works. Practicing at night feels more natural. My meditation practice (which I teach in my YTT's) has absolutely changed my life. Thousands of hours of training trickle into every aspect of who I am. I’m “practicing yoga” 24/7 — without ever rolling out my mat. And that fact has made all the difference in my life. If you haven’t yet taken a 200-hour YTT, I’m looking for just a few more Beta Testers for my self-paced, 100% online teacher training. If you have time to test and complete my 200-hour training on an accelerated timeline by February 15th, you’ll receive a special discounted rate. All the training details can be found here, or you can reply to this email and I can send you the deets. Sending you all lots of love, Mollie  My mind loves black and white. When I used to color as a child (which was OFTEN), I was ever-aware of the lines and how I needed to stay inside them... because that’s what looked best. Prettiest. Cleanest. Over time, despite a deep love of the outdoors and getting dirty, the need to be clean was ever-present. My yogic philosophy and practices have helped me curb my inner urge for “one” or “the other” ... and assure myself again and again that I can be both.  I am this: An outdoorswoman living off-grid in the arctic. In the photo above, I’m content to sit on a boulder (many days from my last shower, mind you!) at the edge of Wiseman Creek. This was during a hike with guests at our Arctic Hive Harvest of the Heart Fall Equinox hiking + yoga retreat a few weeks ago. And I am that: A modern business-woman connected to the world. I’m interested in supporting my family, doing good, and reaching more people with our message of community, sustainability and peace (especially through yoga!). In the photo below, I’m showered, clean and “put together,” sipping a ginger ale at a marketing conference in Anchorage last week.  I’ve been remembering lately that I exist perpetually between (and beyond!) this and that.
I turned 38 on September 9th, and instead of spending my time doing what I thought most important (posting a prophetic IG post about my “word of the year,” ha!)... I got slammed with a mystery illness followed by a straggling pneumonia that I’m still healing from today. Turning 38 proved anything but “in the lines” and I’m sitting with that — alongside all the other chaos happening in the world. The word that arose on September 9th is still ringing true today… so I’m going to stick with it for my 39th lap around the sun: Simplify. We can only understand things in life if we understand them simply... whether it’s our food, our life experiences, or our dreams for the future. And when things get complicated, it’s the simple things that bring us back to earth, and remind us what’s important. I’ve got so much I want to share and do and accomplish this year. AND, I’m slowing myself down so I can keep it simple, and focus on what truly matters. Life can be simple AND full at the same time. In light, Mollie |
MollieOriginally hailing from Wisconsin, Mollie is a cheesehead transplant to Northwest Montana, with degrees in Retail and Journalism from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Today, she lives off the grid, half the year in a Tiny House & half the year in a yurt — both of which she and her husband, Sean, built by hand. Nonprofit Executive Director by day, Mollie also owns and teaches at Yoga Hive — a chain of community yoga studios in the valley. Archives
October 2025
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