The first time I tried to get “spiritual” wasn’t at some retreat in Bali or tripping on ayahuasca in Peru. It was in New York City. I wasn’t doing yoga because I had some deep, spiritual calling. I was just doing it because it was the thing to do. Yoga wasn’t about clarity for me—it was just another box to tick off in a city that never stopped pushing you to be more, do more, be someone else.

I ended up at a Pregnancy Yoga class on 85th and Lexington. I wasn’t pregnant. I was just another lost soul looking for something to hold onto. The instructor told me, “It’s all about energy.” But I wasn’t feeling much energy; I was just trying to stretch into shapes that didn’t feel natural, chasing some idea of spirituality that didn’t belong to me.

The more I chased spirituality, the more I realized it wasn’t something to be found outside of me. It wasn’t in perfect poses or rituals. It wasn’t in trying to be something I wasn’t, or trying to force myself into a life I didn’t connect with. Spirituality wasn’t something you could chase down or force to happen. It came when I stopped running and started listening. When I stopped caring about being “better” and started being myself.

It wasn’t about adding anything. It was about remembering what I already had. The part of me that had always known where I came from—the connection to my Jewish and Romani roots, to the earth, to fire, to stones, to wind. For so long, I thought I had to become someone else. But the truth was, I was already enough. I just had to reconnect with the raw, untamed parts of me that I’d buried under trends and expectations.

Yoga didn’t give me spirituality. It didn’t fix me. But in the space where I stopped trying so hard, I found something that had always been with me: the simplicity of being alive, just as I was. The noise of the city, the pressure to constantly move forward, to always be better, didn’t matter. It was just me, breathing.

There wasn’t a grand realization. No shift that made everything “clear.” It was just remembering who I really was. I didn’t need to be “evolved,” “perfect,” or some version of spiritual that I saw in others. I didn’t need to follow anyone’s path but my own. I just had to stop pretending to be something I wasn’t. I needed to feel the earth under my feet, listen to the quiet voice inside that had been drowned out by the noise.

That’s when I realized: spirituality isn’t something you chase. It’s something you return to. It’s about reconnecting with your roots, your essence, your truth. It’s simple. It’s not about fitting into some mold or following a trend. It’s about embracing the wild, free, unfiltered parts of you.

So, there I was, standing under a streetlamp with a slice of pizza in my hand. No yoga mat. No crystals. No incense. Just me, with nothing to prove, nothing to fix. Just me, right there, being. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be. No chasing. No running. Just living.

Spirituality is about being real with yourself. About returning to what’s always been inside of you. It’s about letting go of the bullshit, the pressure to be something you’re not. Freedom doesn’t come from outside. It comes from within—from the courage to be exactly who you are. And that’s enough. Always is,