Human > autopilot
A thought to unfold…
Never underestimate the power of being human in a world running on autopilot.
It’s easy to get caught up just moving through the motions. Rush here. Answer that. Do more. Hold it together. Move to the next thing.
Many of us know this rhythm well. Days can become checklists. Conversations become quick exchanges. Meals are eaten while multitasking. Time with people we love gets shared beside glowing screens. Even joy can get rushed past.
But we are not meant to be machines.
We are meant to feel.
To breathe.
To connect.
To notice.
To live.
To be human.
Inspiration is everywhere…
People often ask me how I come up with the themes for my yoga classes. And typically, it’s something that comes to me as I move through life. A thought that lands. An a-ha moment. Something that creates a shift. Something that moves me.
And this one right here—this idea of being human in a world on autopilot—came to me while I had a needle in my arm getting blood drawn. Yep. Inspiration is truly everywhere, my friends.
Last week I was at the doctor’s office. I had an appointment with a new endocrinologist, and she wanted me to get bloodwork afterward. She told me I could head right downstairs to the lab on my way out.
So I get down there, already worried about moving to the next thing, and I ask the receptionist how long it would take. I was trying to make it to my girl Jess’s 5:30 class and wanted to see if I had enough time (ehem, autopilot). As if this receptionist would know, right?
She says, “Well, it’s not that busy. There’s no one else here because we close at 4.” I look down at my phone. 3:59.
I said, oh hell no. I’m not doing that to whoever is working back there. I’ll come back tomorrow. The receptionist laughed and said, “Girl, she is going to be THRILLED. Thank you so much, I’ll let her know you got her out of here on time.”
The sun was shining. The sky was blue. And I figured… yeah, she probably wanted to get outside and enjoy the day.
So I come back the next morning. The same receptionist is there, helping someone else, but she’s waving her hands in the air yelling, “Girl! I told her, I told her! She was so happy you came back today instead, so she could go home yesterday.”
I sit down to get checked in by someone else, and as I sit, that woman says, “I heard so much about you.” I’m like wait… am I the lore of the blood lab for the last 24 hours?
She laughs and says, “No, just that you were so nice and decided to come back instead when you could have made her stay.”
My name gets called, and I go back. It’s the same woman who was working the day before, the one who got to go home. She thanks me again for coming back, then she starts going through her own autopilot: name, date of birth, all the usual things.
I say, February 8, 1984. She stops, perks up, and says, “That’s my birthday!” Now truth be told, I’ve got a year on her… but still. Who doesn’t love a birthday twin?
She starts drawing the many vials of blood, and somehow, we start talking about hospital notifications. Text messages. MyChart alerts. Phone calls. Emails. They do not let you miss an appointment. She laughs and says, “Tell me about it. I’m helping my mom manage her care right now, and it’s constant.”
I said, yeah… when my dad was at Penn, it was next-level. Between Penn and Bayhealth, we were getting messages from everywhere. It was like a full-time job.
She looks up at me and says, “Penn? That’s where my mom is going next week.”
And in that moment, there was this really beautiful, deeply human connection. An understanding. Because we all know…if you’re headed to Penn, it’s probably not good.
Turns out, her mom has lung cancer, like my dad did. Her mom was just beginning the journey. My dad had lost his in October 2024. And while our stories are different, I think we both needed that moment more than we realized. That understanding. That connection. Her feeling lost on how to support her mom and where to begin. Me carrying all this hard-earned, now-useless-to-me knowledge from trying to save the person I loved most. And somehow, in that moment, we were exactly what the other needed.
With soft tears in my eyes, it hit me. It wasn’t because of the sunshine or the blue sky that she was so grateful to get home the day before. It was probably to go be with her mom.
My friends, we don’t know what people are carrying.
We are all starving for connection. For something deeper. We all want to be seen and understood. Yet we move through this world so fast. Distracted. Rushed. Numbed out. Making assumptions.
We treat people like obstacles or background scenery. We stare at screens, scrolling “social” media looking for connection while ignoring the very human connection right in front of us—maybe even the people we love most.
But when we step out of autopilot, we remember there are whole-ass human lives all around us.
Full of stories. Joy. Grief. Love. Struggle.
And even here on our yoga mats, it’s easy to fall into autopilot too, right?
We rush through poses. Ignore the breath. Judge ourselves. Think about what’s next. Half-listen to the body.
And maybe that’s the practice. An invitation to step out of machine mode and back into being fully human. Slowing down enough to actually feel this life happening. A place for a hard reset we can return to again, and again, and again.
Thoughts for practice…
Journal Prompts
Pick one or two that speak to you—or move through them all.
Where in life have I been operating on autopilot?
What helps me come back to myself?
Who in my life might need a little more patience, softness, or understanding right now?
Where am I craving a deeper connection?
What would it look like to be fully human today—not perfect, just real?
How can I slow down enough to make a genuine connection with someone I might otherwise pass by?
Reflections for your practice
The next time you step onto your mat, ask yourself:
Can I soften the urge to rush and instead fully arrive in this moment?
What changes when I bring more breath and awareness into the shape?
What would it feel like to let this practice be human, not perfect?
Your mat is always a place where you step out of autopilot and come back to yourself. A place where there is nothing to prove, nowhere else to be, and no version of you required other than the one who showed up today.
Use the rhythm of breath and movement as a way back: back to presence, back to honesty, back to feeling, back to now.
And each time your mind rushes ahead, judges, compares, or checks out, come back to your breath. Then begin again.
Again, and again, and again. Because yoga doesn't ask you to be perfect. It is inviting you to be fully human.
Take this with You…
The world will keep asking you to rush, numb out, multitask, and move unconsciously.
Your power is remembering you don’t have to.
Stay human. Stay present. It changes everything.
—this reflection comes from classes taught 4.22-27.2026—
Ps. Every volume has its own vibe—press play and let this one unfold.