I practiced outdoor yoga for 30 days. Here’s what I learned.

Long before climate-controlled studios and polished hardwood floors, outdoor yoga was the norm. Ancient yogis sought forests, mountains, riverbanks and caves for contemplation and contemplation. Same old texts, e.g Yoga SutrasDescribe quiet places where practitioners can observe the movements of the mind and the rhythms of nature.

So when my editor approached me about taking my practice abroad for 30 days and chronicling my experience, it made perfect sense.

As a Pacific Northwest resident, I live outside all summer. The sun is out. The air is dry. Life is good. I lie in the sun all day, reading, writing, or tending tomatoes. Then I leave it all behind to isolate myself in a dark, underground room at a local yoga studio. I’ve actually noticed that my daily practice is starting to diminish due to my resistance to staying inside. It raised the question why It wasn’t Do I actually exercise outside every day?

So I moved my yoga mat from the trunk of my car to my back porch. Then every morning, I let the morning sun shine on my face, whether in a local park or in my backyard, while practicing asana in the grass or meditating from my yard.

I admit it hasn’t been easy to maintain a regular practice without the set schedule and the looming threat of cancellation fees, but I think that’s part of what yoga asks of us. Not perfection, but sincerity. So, during those 30 days, I began to explore what could happen when I extended that same commitment beyond the studio walls and into the live world around me.

Here’s what I’ve learned on my mat, mostly in my backyard, over the past month.

4 things I learned from 30 days of outdoor yoga

Over the course of 30 days, outdoor yoga changed a lot of things in my practice, much more than just the background.

1. The world never stops moving, and neither does yoga

As I lay on my stomach, my nose pressed to the ground, I was overcome by a thick, heavy earthy scent carried by the sun, dirt, and rain of the previous night. I took a deep breath and pushed the petrichor into my veins. It was pure bliss. At that exact moment, my friendly next-door neighbor revved up the lawnmower, its mechanical drone slicing through the suburban air.

When you stop and listen, there is an almost constant noise. Birds chirping, planes roaring, construction workers screaming, cars approaching us. The world plays this complex symphony of life, growth, birth, death, and change every hour of every day. We have stopped noticing it. Or maybe worse, stop caring. I’m often so focused on my place in the world that I don’t take the time to appreciate the complexity and activity of the world around me.

This interruption would have bothered me, and perhaps I would have been disturbed for a moment. But yoga isn’t about eliminating distractions. It’s about learning to stay present among them. This is it Pratyahara– Do not close the doors of the world in front of you, but rather change your relationship with sensory input. When we see ourselves as an integral part of this cosmic song, rather than constantly trying to tune into it, these moments feel less annoying and more like what they are: part of being human.

2. Comfort isn’t always the goal

Outdoor yoga has made it impossible to just ignore How much? The energy I spend avoiding mild discomfort. A little cold. A vague feeling of malaise. The grass is a little wet. A little cooler breeze than I prefer. That’s usually enough to send me searching for temperature-controlled certainty inside, and I suspect I’m not alone.

We will do almost anything to protect ourselves from discomfort, even when it is fleeting and completely harmless. But after spending a month abroad, I began to wonder how much energy I was wasting trying to create ideal conditions, when it could instead have been spent adapting to less-than-ideal conditions.

Yoga calls this Tapas. It is the unwavering desire to stay present through challenges. It may seem trivial, but every time I’ve trained during unexpected winds or a cold, damp morning, I’ve been reminded that I’m more adaptable than I usually give myself credit for, and so are you.

3. My best teacher is my body

The lesson that surprised me the most had nothing to do with nature. It was about trust.

One of the reasons I find myself more drawn to studio classes rather than self-practice is that, even as a trained yoga teacher, I sometimes lack the focus or attention span to determine what I want my body to do. It’s easier said than done. As a recovering oldest daughter and a frazzled Type A personality, I feel relieved when I can outsource decisions. Someone else tells me what’s coming next, how long to stay, when to breathe, and all I have to do is follow along.

Practicing abroad on my own was different. Some mornings, I would lie motionless on my mat, wondering where to start or if I wanted to move at all. But if I give myself even the slightest bit of grace to delve deeper into my practice, I can always look like I’m identifying what my body wants. It’s no longer about doing yoga in the right order and allocating time, but more about listening sincerely.

It’s undeniable that concentration is harder in the real world, away from the cozy wombs of our yoga studios. But if we can cultivate it there, amidst the distractions of everyday life, it feels more real, liberating, and embodied. Yoga practice Self-study, Or self-study, it’s not always about reading ancient texts. Sometimes it’s as simple as paying enough attention so you can hear what your body is saying all the time.

4. Yoga was never meant to be separate from the natural world

At the end of the 30 days, I found myself training outside during the summer solstice. It felt very appropriate. The word Yoga It means “union”. We often think of this as a unification of mind and body, but I would argue that it also means remembering that we are not separate from the living world around us.

My practice didn’t become “better” because I found a nicer background. I like to think that things have changed because I stopped treating nature as landscape, and started allowing it to become part of the conversation.

Modern studios are beautiful spaces that provide access, community, and mentoring, for which I am endlessly grateful. But spending a month practicing yoga outdoors reminded me that yoga isn’t always best practiced when we’re cut off from the outside world. It often shines brightly when we are immersed in it.