🌿 ✨ END OF AN ERA ✨ 🌿

On the callings that ask us to begin, and the ones that ask us to let go.

🌸

There is something about November.

The light begins to withdraw, the trees stand a little more naked against the sky, and the world seems to be whispering that not everything is meant to continue.

I've been listening to those whispers lately.

A few mornings ago, I woke from one of the most extraordinary dreams. It was filled with people and places from my past, old familiar energies, and a song drifting through it all in an almost ethereal way.

Donna Summer's “She Works Hard for the Money.”

Of all the songs my dreaming mind could have chosen.

When I woke, I reached for my phone to record the dream before it slipped away. And then I heard something so familiar that I didn't question it for a second.

Banjo shaking himself awake.

That unmistakable little sound he makes in the morning when he realizes I'm up.

I instinctively reached over to pet him.

But he wasn't there.

I'd boarded him the night before.

For a moment, the sound had been as real as anything in the room. Somewhere between dreaming and waking, my mind had brought him home.

I lay there a little stunned.

And I remember thinking, “Well, this is going to be a unique day.”

It certainly was.

I've been contemplating the astrological weather lately, too. All these retrogrades, these symbolic invitations to revisit, reconsider, and reexamine the things we thought were settled.

I don't believe the planets make our decisions for us. But I do find something beautiful in using the heavens as a mirror for the seasons of our own lives.

And this season has been speaking rather loudly.

I've always recognized a particular pattern in myself.

I devote myself to something. A mission, a profession, a place, a calling. I pour my heart into it. I build it, nurture it, become deeply identified with it.

And then, eventually, another calling begins.

At first, it's barely audible.

A whisper.

Then it returns.

And returns.

Until one day, it is no longer asking for my attention. It has become impossible to ignore.

We often speak of a calling as something that asks us to begin.

To create. To leap. To follow a dream.

But sometimes the calling is asking us to end something.

To put down what we've carried.

To recognize that something beautiful has served its purpose.

To understand that devotion does not require permanence.

And perhaps most importantly, to trust that an ending doesn't need a villain, a catastrophe, or a dramatic explanation.

Sometimes, it is simply time.

🌿

WHEN WHAT WE DO BECOMES WHO WE ARE

One of the more curious things about being human is how easily we begin to identify ourselves through our roles.

I'm a yoga teacher.

I'm an alchemist.

I'm a creative cook.

I'm a business owner.

I'm a healer.

And while those things describe much of what I do, they are not the entirety of who I am.

The ego is such a delicate little creature, isn't it?

It loves its familiar costumes. Its titles, routines, responsibilities, and places in the world.

The spirit, however, is considerably stronger.

It can survive the removal of a title.

It can walk away from a familiar room.

It can stand in the uncomfortable space between what was and what hasn't yet become.

Yoga has taught me this again and again.

For me, yoga has never been merely a physical practice.

It is my church.

The mat is my temple.

A place where the noise of identity can soften long enough for something deeper to be heard.

And sometimes the deepest practice isn't learning to hold a difficult posture.

It's learning when to release one.

🌸

THE SERVANT IN ME

I have a rather amusing tendency that I've come to recognize over the years.

When something begins feeling out of alignment, I don't immediately leave.

Oh, no.

I apparently prefer an eighteen-month holding period during which I contemplate, reconsider, accommodate, make excuses, and occasionally attempt to resurrect something that has already begun its natural conclusion.

It's the servant in me.

The fixer.

The one who believes that if she just gives a little more, adjusts a little more, tries a little harder, perhaps everything will settle back into place.

But this year has been quite an education.

If it has taught me anything, it has rather thoroughly spanked the remaining people-pleasing fixer out of me.

And not particularly gently.

Life can be tough on the tough like that.

I've been learning that I can love people without being endlessly available to them.

I can honor a commitment without remaining in it forever.

I can be grateful without feeling indebted.

And I can recognize that something is no longer aligned without needing to make it wrong.

Sometimes we stay in a season long after it has ended.

We become rigid. Inflexible. Unwilling to acknowledge that the room around us has changed.

And before long, we're standing there like a magnificent avocado-green lampshade from 1974 in a room full of sleek Scandinavian furniture.

Still fabulous, naturally.

Just no longer quite belonging to the décor.

And perhaps that's all right.

🌿

EIGHT YEARS. A PERSONAL YEAR EIGHT.

I've spent eight years building and nurturing my work downtown.

Eight years of growth, extraordinary people, learning, teaching, creating, and becoming.

And here I am, in what numerology calls my personal year eight, contemplating the closing of certain chapters.

I find the symbolism rather poetic.

The number eight is traditionally associated with responsibility, power, material life, and the consequences of what we've built.

And I've certainly spent much of this year examining those very things.

What have I created?

What am I responsible for?

What do I want to continue carrying?

And what might happen if I finally put some of it down?

There is a curious freedom that comes with realizing you no longer need to preserve every version of yourself.

The woman who began this journey had her reasons.

The woman standing here today has grown.

Both deserve respect.

But they do not have to want the same things.

✨

THE ONLY TRUE CURRENCY

Lately, I've been thinking about time.

Perhaps the only truly irreplaceable commodity we possess.

We can earn more money. Rebuild careers. Create new opportunities. Reinvent ourselves a dozen times over.

But we cannot reclaim an hour once it has passed.

And I've begun asking myself a rather beautiful question.

How much love can I put into this space of time I've been given?

For so many years, I've poured that love into teaching, creating experiences, holding space, and building community.

And I have loved it.

But what happens when I reclaim some of those hours?

Where does that love go now?

What might I create with the time I've spent giving so freely?

What has been waiting patiently on the horizon while I've been busy fulfilling the responsibilities of the woman I used to be?

Perhaps into writing.

Perhaps into Ayurveda, therapeutic yoga, meditation, or intimate gatherings.

Perhaps into preparing a beautiful meal, walking through the woods with Banjo, or spending a Sunday morning without watching the clock.

Perhaps into something I haven't even imagined yet.

What we give up is not always a loss. Sometimes it is the space we must create for something greater to enter.

And isn't possibility a beautiful word?

🌸

A CHAPTER CLOSES, BUT THE LOVE REMAINS

On November 4, 2026, I made the decision to step away from teaching my weekly classes at the SOMC Life Center.

It is one of the chapters I'm allowing to come to its natural conclusion.

And I want to say something about the people I've encountered there.

I have loved every single person I've met along this journey.

Every student who walked through those doors brought something into my life. Some came for a season, some for years. Some arrived seeking strength or flexibility, others carrying grief, uncertainty, or simply the desire to feel a little more connected to themselves.

And every one of those encounters mattered to me.

There is something extraordinary about the collective energy of people gathering with shared intention.

One breath among many.

One part of the whole.

I've watched people grow stronger, softer, more courageous, and more comfortable inhabiting themselves.

And I've grown right alongside them.

That is the beautiful thing about teaching. If we're paying attention, we are never only the teacher.

We are students of the people who come to us.

To every soul who has shared that space with me, thank you.

For your trust, your kindness, your presence, and the beautiful community we created together.

An era can end without the love ending with it.

🌿

WHAT COMES NEXT

I'm not leaving yoga.

Quite the opposite.

I'm feeling increasingly drawn toward the therapeutic dimensions of the practice, toward the places where movement, breath, meditation, energy work, Ayurveda, and the wisdom of the body meet.

Toward smaller gatherings.

More intimate experiences.

Deeper work.

My Friday restorative practices will continue at my downtown loft, along with energy work, yoga teacher training, and the evolving offerings of Tina Chabot School of Yoga.

There will be thoughtful vinyasa, Yoga Nidra, seasonal workshops, Ayurveda, and perhaps gatherings around food, tea, conversation, and the simple pleasure of being together.

A sense of home.

I'm not particularly interested in chasing trends.

I'm interested in the enduring wisdom of the practice.

In movement that means something.

In the therapeutic value of attention.

In the sacredness of rest.

In remembering that yoga is not something we perform.

It is something we inhabit.

And I'm equally interested in discovering who I am when I'm not teaching, planning, organizing, or tending to something.

There is a whole life waiting in those spaces, too.

🌸

THE SPACE AN ENDING CREATES

As we move deeper into autumn, toward the winter solstice and the longest night of the year, I find myself contemplating the wisdom of the natural world.

The trees do not apologize for releasing their leaves.

The garden does not feel guilty for going dormant.

The earth does not insist on remaining in summer simply because summer was beautiful.

Everything has its season.

And when we insist on remaining in one season too long, we lose the flexibility that allows us to grow.

Perhaps that's what this particular ending is teaching me.

Not how to stop loving what I've built.

But how to love it enough to let it change.

I don't know exactly what every part of the next chapter will look like.

And for once, I find that rather exciting.

I know there will be more writing.

More creating.

More attention to the seasons.

More intimate gatherings.

More space to simply live.

And certainly more yoga.

But perhaps a little less of the woman who believed she had to be everywhere, doing everything, for everyone.

As for that strange morning, with Donna Summer singing somewhere in the background of my dreams, I can't help but smile.

“She works hard for the money.”

Yes, she certainly has.

But perhaps now she's learning that working hard and living fully are not always the same thing.

Perhaps she's learning that rest is not a reward for exhaustion.

And perhaps she's finally beginning to understand that her worth was never measured by how much of herself she could give away.

An era can end without the love ending with it.

And perhaps the greatest gift of letting go isn't what we leave behind.

It's the time, the energy, and the love we suddenly have available for whatever comes next.

And as always,

I will see you on the mat.

🌿 ✨ 🌸

With love,Tina

Tina Chabot School of Yogawww.tinachabotyoga.com