Some of the most meaningful lessons don’t happen under fluorescent lights or within four neatly defined walls. They happen beneath open skies, along winding trails, beside quiet water, or simply while standing barefoot on the earth. Not all classrooms have walls—and nature is one of the most patient teachers we have.

Spending time in nature doesn’t require an agenda or a destination. It asks only that we arrive. The rustle of leaves, the uneven rhythm of roots beneath our feet, the steady presence of trees that have weathered far more than we ever will—these moments gently draw us out of our thoughts and back into our bodies. Without trying, we begin to slow down. Our breath deepens. Our attention softens.

Yoga invites this same quality of presence. At its core, yoga is not about achieving shapes, but about cultivating awareness—of breath, sensation, and the moment unfolding right now. When practiced outdoors or informed by time in nature, yoga becomes a dialogue rather than a directive. We listen instead of push. We respond instead of control.

In nature, there is no expectation of perfection. Paths are uneven. Weather shifts. Stillness and movement coexist naturally. Yoga teaches us to meet these conditions with curiosity and adaptability. A pose might feel different today than it did yesterday, just as the same trail feels different depending on the season. Both experiences ask us to stay engaged rather than attached to outcomes.

Being in nature also reminds us that rest and productivity are not opposites. Time spent simply observing—watching clouds move, feeling sunlight through branches, noticing the subtle work of breath—is deeply restorative. It resets the nervous system and restores a sense of balance that often feels elusive in our structured, fast-paced lives.

When we allow nature to be a classroom, learning becomes embodied. We learn patience by watching growth unfold slowly. We learn resilience by noticing what continues to stand. We learn presence by realizing how much there is to notice when we are truly paying attention.

Gentle Roots Yoga is rooted in this philosophy: that awareness, connection, and engagement can happen anywhere. On a mat, in a chair, on a trail, or simply while standing still outdoors. The practice is not confined to a studio—it lives wherever we are willing to show up fully.

Sometimes the most powerful lesson is not something we do, but something we allow. And sometimes, the best classroom has no walls at all. 

🌿Lori 

I set up my first chair yoga class with a plan, a chair, and a quiet curiosity about who might show up.

What I didn’t expect was 29 people—curious, open, and willing to try something new.

I felt humbled in the truest sense of the word.

Chair yoga is sometimes misunderstood as “less than” or only for those who can’t do something else. What unfolded in that room told a very different story. The class was filled with individuals who are active, engaged in their lives, and deeply invested in staying mobile, confident, and independent. They weren’t there because they had to be. They were there because they wanted to explore a new way of supporting their bodies.

Chair yoga, when taught intentionally, is a full and thoughtful practice. It weaves together sitting, standing, balance, and functional movement, all supported by the steady presence of the chair. The chair becomes a tool—not a limitation. It offers stability when needed and confidence to explore movement more fully.

We moved through gentle standing poses to build strength and balance. We returned to the chair for seated movement to support the joints and connect breath to motion. We practiced transitions—standing up, sitting down, shifting weight—because these are the movements that matter most in daily life. This is yoga designed to help people stay agile, capable, and confident in their bodies.

What stayed with me most wasn’t the sequence itself, but the energy in the room. There was focus, laughter, effort, and ease. People encouraged one another. They asked thoughtful questions. They listened to their bodies. They proved—without needing to say it—that being open to something new is a powerful form of strength.

In yoga philosophy, humility is not about shrinking ourselves. It’s about meeting the moment honestly, without ego. That’s what this class offered me. A reminder that meaningful practice isn’t about complexity or intensity—it’s about accessibility, intention, and connection.

I left that day deeply grateful. Grateful for the trust of 29 people who showed up, pulled up a chair, and said yes to movement in a new form. Grateful for the reminder that yoga meets us exactly where we are—and often surprises us when we’re willing to begin there.

This first chair yoga class reaffirmed why Gentle Roots Yoga exists: to create spaces where people feel supported, capable, and confident—one breath, one movement, and sometimes, one chair at a time. 🌿

-Lori 🌿

There’s a photo of me standing in Mountain Pose beneath the Christmas lights inside the Wanamaker Building in Philadelphia. On the surface, it’s simple, feet grounded, posture steady, lights glowing above. But like many moments, what it holds goes far beyond what’s visible.

The Wanamaker Building has long been a place of tradition, wonder, and gathering during the holidays. And yet, there is uncertainty surrounding its future. Questions linger about what will remain, what may change, and what may be lost. Standing there, it would have been easy to let those unknowns take over, to grieve ahead of time, to rush past the moment in front of me.

Instead, I chose to pause.

Mountain Pose teaches us something subtle but powerful: to stand fully in the present, rooted and upright, without leaning too far forward or backward. It’s a reminder that stability doesn’t come from knowing what’s next, but from being here, now.

That moment beneath the lights was an invitation to appreciate what was unfolding while it was still unfolding. To let joy exist without immediately pairing it with worry. To experience beauty without asking it to guarantee permanence.

So often, we allow the future, its uncertainty, its demands, its “what ifs”, to pull us away from the present. We rush moments, dilute them, or carry the weight of what might come next into spaces meant for simple presence. Reflection offers us another way. It asks us to notice. To acknowledge what is meaningful right now. To let moments be complete, even if they are temporary.

Yoga mirrors this practice. Each breath, each posture, each pause exists only once. When we start thinking too far ahead, what comes next, how long it will last, we miss the fullness of what is already here.

This season, and always, there is quiet power in appreciating moments while we have them. In standing steady amid beauty and uncertainty. In allowing ourselves to feel grounded without needing answers.

May you find space to root into the present. To reset your relationship with the future. And to renew your capacity to simply be, right where you are.

Root. Reset. Renew.
Lori 🌿