My relationship with movement began before I could choose it for myself. As a young child, I was immersed in dance and rhythmic gymnastics, attending rigorous training programs at one of China's state-owned sports universities that offered specialized youth classes. I grew up on that university campus — my father was a professor there, and our home was right inside the grounds. The gymnasium became my second home, and I spent most of my formative years training within its walls — building discipline, strength, and an intimate understanding of the body in motion.
When I eventually came to the United States, I carried that foundation with me. But it was yoga that gave it new meaning. I discovered that yoga offered something I didn't know I was looking for: a practice that could stabilize and heal my body after years of intense physical training. The rigor required in yoga reminded me of rhythmic gymnastics — the precision, the patience, the relentless pursuit of form — but it asked for something deeper.
Yoga demands a kind of total honesty. To practice well, you must be introspective and observant enough to penetrate beyond the surface of the physical body and find that subtle, energetic alignment within each pose. It's not about flexibility or how a posture looks from the outside. It's about what you feel on the inside — that quiet click when breath, structure, and awareness all come into harmony.
That alignment is what draws me to yoga, and it's what I hope to share with every student who steps onto the mat in my classes.
Yoga is the journey of the self, through the self, to the self.
Gallery
