i dreamed this moment so long ago

There’s a rhythm to life that feels so natural, so deeply connected, it hums like a melody beneath the noise of the day. And then there are moments that rise above the hum — moments that feel like whispers from a dream I had long ago.

This morning, as we sat on the floor, her tiny feet resting next to mine, we played the singing bowls together. I watched her little hands explore the sound and vibration, her face lighting up with curiosity and wonder. And there I was, chest tight in that delicious, unbearable way, the kind that makes you feel like this moment is already a memory.

I dreamed of this long before I ever knew her name.

Before she existed, yoga was my sanctuary, a space to find myself when everything else felt scattered. It was a place of healing, self-discovery, and connection. I spent countless hours on the mat, learning to hold space for myself and others. Somewhere along the way, I began dreaming of sharing that same connection with a family of my own. Not in a forced way, but in an organic one. The kind of sharing that just happens when you live and love with intention.

And now here she is. Fully her own person already, but somehow impossibly stitched into my heart. Watching her engage with the bowls, experimenting with the sounds and vibrations, it felt as though my life’s path, all the twisting and fumbling and planning and not-planning, had brought me full circle. This is why I do what I do.

For me, this whole deal of practicing is more than poses or breathing techniques. It’s a thread that weaves through my life, a tool for discovering strength without losing softness, healing alongside joy. It’s guided me through teaching, mentoring, motherhood, and all the messy expansions in between. And now, in this tiny ritual, it’s teaching me again: the most powerful lessons come not from instructing but from showing up. From being human, making mistakes, laughing, pausing, and letting the small moments speak louder than all the big plans.

I’ve tried to follow the pull toward authenticity, toward connection, toward a sense of purpose. Some days I fail spectacularly, some days it feels like pure magic, and most days are somewhere in that messy, mundane middle. But sitting here, on the floor, with her humming curiosity filling the space—it feels like both, all at once.

I dreamed this before it existed. Now it exists, and it’s loud and messy and perfect in ways I couldn’t have imagined. And for now, I’m just here. Watching her. Listening to the bowls. Feeling the hum. Knowing that maybe, just maybe, this is what it means to live fully, to co-create life’s melody, one tiny vibration at a time.