Not a fan of labels, but here we are. I twist myself daily. Ashtanga Yoga is what I do and it’s the way I navigate through this chaotic world.

So, what does it actually mean to be an Ashtangi?

It means waking up at 5 AM to sweat, stretch, and breathe going into inner peace and wrestling with your own ego. You don't control life, Ashtanga gently (okay, sometimes aggressively) rips the illusion that you do. And in return, it gives you... clarity. And most of the time, hamstring soreness that whispers, “You’re alive.”

Being an Ashtangi is basically joining an underground world. You ditch the mainstream, not to “be different,” but because not to be a sponge. No, it’s not about the designer leggings, vegan smoothies, or chanting “om” into the void. You don’t quit your job to save whales. You’re still in the grind. You’re raising kids, paying bills, surviving office meetings... but secretly? You're dissolving your entire identity, one vinyasa at a time.

You do yoga every day, and the more you do it, the less you know why. But somehow, it feels right.

You rebel by being radically you. You stop performing for your parents, your LinkedIn profile, or any social board of “how your life should look.” You roll out your mat and nakedly looking into yourself.

You become less attached to the chatter in your head. You see your anxieties, you realize your thoughts are indeed creating your reality and then, you aware, your mind is constantly catastrophizing your future. So you inhale, exhale, and hold that ridiculous pose with grace.

The mat becomes your therapist, your battlefield, your spa, your church.

Eventually, you meet your true self, the self that isn’t glued together by expectations, job titles, or needing validation from your crush. You may still feel lonely sometimes, but now you know you’re enough. Even if no one texts back. Even if your pose is not right. Even if life is messy.

To be an Ashtangi is to have that shiny twinkle in your eye while navigating this absurd, beautiful life. You’re not chasing enlightenment like a dog chasing a car. You’re... here. Breathing. Sweating. Smiling. Loving this weird life. Because nothing means anything.

And yet this? This practice? It means everything. So you keep doing it. What the hell.