I’m sitting here after a Sunday hot yoga class, my body still warm, my mind gently unwinding.
This winter, I found myself gravitating toward Pilates — a steady and structured practice, something that grounded me and kept me connected inwardly. Once or twice a week, it was enough. But now, as spring makes its quiet return, I noticed a pull toward something softer, more fluid. I signed up for a yoga package on a whim, without much thought, but perhaps my body knew something that my spirit had yet to articulate.
Yoga offers a different kind of nourishment. Yes, it strengthens, but it also softens. It invites. It expands. It allows me to settle into places that aren’t fully formed yet, places that can’t always be defined by the hard lines I tend to draw.
Today’s class was centered on the idea of expansion and contraction — how both are equally important in the process of growth. Our teacher asked:
“Are you willing to give up that one percent in order to grow?”
That question lingered in my mind, long after the heat of the room had faded.
As someone with a Stellium in Virgo, perfectionism is a familiar companion. I raise the bar quietly, constantly. And more often than not, I forget to pause and appreciate how far I’ve come because I’m fixated on where I think I should be. That “one percent”? It feels like surrender — a letting go that’s still difficult for me.
But what I’ve started to realize is that growth doesn’t always come through force or pushing. Sometimes it arrives when we release, when we allow a little light to slip through. It asks us to soften, to rest, to be held by the present moment rather than consumed by the relentless pursuit of expectation.
I tell myself I want to be happy. I truly do. But there are moments when I don’t let myself feel it — as though happiness is something I must earn. It’s a mindset I’m unlearning. Slowly, but surely.
These small reckonings are part of spring’s quiet unfolding. A season of birth, renewal, and soft emergence. A gentle reminder that even the most resilient blooms start in stillness. They are not rushed, not forced — they simply are.
Writing here feels like a return — a return to my early blogging days, to those quiet evenings spent journaling on Xanga, to the reflective moments I carved out as a teenager. On this space, I’ll share personal reflections, snippets of life between New York and Seoul, the journey with Superegg, beauty, travel, and the inner landscapes I continue to explore.
Thank you for reading. Until next time — be gentle with your one percent.
