INDIA

Ah, India…

A country rich in history, alive with devotion, and—let’s be honest—full of beautiful contradictions and big question marks.

People bow to each other, speak with kindness, offer you tea and flowers and blessings. And then, without hesitation, someone (usually a man) cuts right in front of you in line—like the universal “how-to-wait-your-turn” memo just never arrived.

And don’t even get me started on taxis.

Yes, Uber exists here (along with Ola and RedTaxi), but if you book a ride, it’s not uncommon for the driver to call and ask for more money—sometimes a lot more. Or they simply decide the trip is not for them, and you find yourself watching the little car on the app move farther and farther away… until you surrender and cancel it.

I’ve had some very colorful adventures trying to get around—especially when I booked rides outside the apps. But I’ll save those stories for another time.

Because what I actually want to talk about is falling in love.

Yes—I’m falling in love. With India.

But not in the way I expected. Not with the romanticized spiritual utopia I had imagined. I didn’t find the magical ashram that zapped me into enlightenment just by walking through its gates. I didn’t instantly feel cosmic connection pulsing through my being in every temple.

At first, I was disappointed.

There were too many people, too much traffic, too many apps. Everything felt loud, chaotic, overly modern. The rituals in temples were confusing. The spirituality felt both deeply embedded and wildly unfamiliar. I couldn’t feel what I thought I was supposed to feel.

But slowly—quietly—something shifted.

I began to realize that it wasn’t India I was struggling with. It was my expectations. Especially the ones I had about myself: how I should be feeling, how “spiritual” I should be, how quickly I should be transformed just by being here.

The turning point came when I let go of the script.

I stopped trying to feel something profound and started simply observing.
I let myself explore like a child—curious, unknowing, present. No need to understand everything. No pressure to “get it.” Just noticing, tasting, watching, breathing.

And somewhere in that quiet openness… India began to land.

Not in a dramatic, fireworks kind of way. But in subtle shifts:
I found myself with more vitality.
More desire to show up for my practices.
More joy in simple discipline, more presence in the smallest things.

There’s something about discipline and precision that carries its own kind of magic—not rigid, but intentional. It’s what makes a dance beautiful, a chant powerful, a ceremony alive. It’s the choreography of the universe playing out in the mundane.

So here I am, in India. Falling in love. Not with an idea of it, but with the experience of being in it—exactly as it is.

Even if I don’t fully understand it.

Even if I never will.