The Courage to Begin Again: A Yoga Reflection

A reflection on returning to your mat, releasing comparison, and finding steadiness through yoga in Downers Grove.

By Kylie Grogan, E-RYT 500, B.S., RYT II, CPT

There is a quiet kind of courage that often goes unnoticed.
Not the courage of big, dramatic change, but the courage to begin again.

I see it all the time in the studio. Someone walks into class after time away. Someone tries something new. Someone moves more gently than they used to, and allows that to be enough.

Beginning again can feel vulnerable.
We carry expectations of where we think we should be. How strong we once felt. How flexible we used to be. It can be humbling to meet ourselves exactly as we are today.

But yoga has a way of bringing us back to what’s real.
Each breath is new. Each practice is new.
The body we meet on the mat is the only one that exists in that moment.

Kylie Grogan, yoga teacher at Yoga Among Friends

There is no catching up.
There is no falling behind.
There is only this moment.

When we allow ourselves to begin again without judgment, something softens. The pressure fades. The practice becomes less about performance, and more about connection. Less about proving, and more about listening.

If you’ve been thinking about coming back, trying something new, or simply showing up after a hard week, let this be your reminder: you don’t have to be ready. You don’t have to feel perfect.

You only have to begin.

Join Kylie for Mindful Flow, a gentle, all-levels class focused on breath, grounding, and steady movement.
Mondays at 9:30 AM at Yoga Among Friends
Register for Mindful Flow →

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A gentle reflection:
Where in your life might you be ready to start fresh, without pressure or expectation?
We’d love to hear, if you feel called to share in the comments below. 

Meet Steve “Stony” Hallenbeck: Listening for the Quiet Wisdom Beneath the Sound

Some teachers enter your life not with a loud introduction, but with a tone you feel before you understand. A subtle vibration. A sense of familiarity. A quiet invitation to listen more deeply.

Steve “Stony” Hallenbeck is one of those teachers.

Before yoga found him—or perhaps before he realized yoga had always been there—Stony’s life moved through sound. Music first, then science. As a musician, he learned how sound stirs the soul, builds community, and holds emotion without needing explanation. As an audiologist, he learned how sound heals, how listening changes lives, and how the body responds when it finally feels heard. Yoga, as it turns out, was never separate from these worlds—it simply became the place where they all met.

Stony’s path to yoga wasn’t dramatic or sudden. It arrived the way many meaningful things do: through curiosity, community, and a practical need to feel better in his body. Like so many of us, he came to the mat seeking relief from low back pain, viewing yoga as a long-term conversation with his body rather than a quick fix. Over time, something deeper began to unfold. He noticed how breath, sound, and movement prepared the body not just to stretch—but to listen.

He still remembers his very first yoga class, taken more than twenty-five years ago at the College of DuPage. The teacher introduced Savasana with a slightly macabre sense of humor: “Get comfortable—this is a position your body will be in for a long time.” It made him laugh. It made him pause. And somehow, something clicked. Not all at once, but enough to keep returning. Enough to keep listening. Enough to never be bored.

Teaching, for Stony, has always been less about instruction and more about shared experience. Whether in music, healthcare, or now yoga, he lives by the belief that the best way to truly know something is to teach it—and to remain a student while doing so. His classes are participatory, invitational, and grounded in humility. There is no pursuit of perfection here. No pressure to “get it right.” Instead, there is space to breathe, to notice, and to explore yoga on your own terms.

Sound and vibration naturally weave their way through Stony’s classes, not as performance or background entertainment, but as a gentle focal point—a way to settle the nervous system and invite presence. A harmonium tone may appear, unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. A moment of silence may linger just long enough to be felt. Breath becomes rhythm. Vibration becomes a mirror for life’s cycles. The intention is always the same: to help students arrive more fully in themselves.

Accessibility matters deeply to Stony—not only in how poses are offered, but in how the room feels. He is attentive to the experience of being heard, seen, and supported. Classes are thoughtfully paced, postures build gradually, and students are always encouraged to pause rather than push. This is yoga as an invitation, not a demand.

On Saturday mornings, Stony and Marla Mothershead alternate teaching Foundations Flow, a class rooted in exactly what its name suggests: coming back to basics with fresh eyes and an open heart. Whether you’re brand new to yoga, returning after time away, or simply curious about reconnecting with the foundations of your practice, this class offers a steady place to begin again. Stony brings moderated pacing, mindful check-ins, and occasional sound as a centering guide—along with reflections and resources to support practice beyond the mat.

Curious to experience this approach for yourself?
Learn more about Foundations Flow →
A steady, welcoming class for new, returning, and curious students.

If you’ve been away from yoga for a while and feel hesitant to return, Stony would gently remind you that we are all students, always. That learning happens together. And that sometimes the quiet call inward—the one you almost ignore—is the one worth listening to.

When students leave his class, Stony hopes they feel something yoga describes as sthira sukha—a sense of grounded stability paired with ease. Calm, yet energized. Rooted, yet open. Ready to step back into the world with a clearer lens and a softer heart.

And if you’re wondering whether yoga is “for you,” his answer is simple: there is only one way to find out. Come as you are. Let the sound guide you inward. Let the community hold you. Let the practice meet you right where you are.

We’re so grateful to welcome Steve “Stony” Hallenbeck to Yoga Among Friends—and we can’t wait for you to experience the resonance he brings to the mat.

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Ready to listen a little more deeply—to your breath, your body, and what’s quietly calling you inward?
Join Steve “Stony” Hallenbeck for Foundations Flow on Sundays at Yoga Among Friends.
Register for Foundations Flow →
No pressure. No perfection. Just a supportive place to begin—or begin again. All levels welcome. Come as you are.

Courage, Practice, and the Heart of Not Knowing

Written by Laura Jane Mellencamp, founder and owner of Yoga Among Friends.

This reflection was written during a period of extended study and collective practice in India, exploring courage, devotion, and how shared spiritual practice shapes the way we meet the world.

Courage is the measure of our heartfelt participation with life, with another, with a community, a work, a future. It does not arise from a mind linked to the need for outcome as a way to preserve the safety of survival. It rests in the heart of not knowing how and brings us to our knees to ask for help. Asking comes from the pain of being human and longing to move forward. Courage arises out of the broken heart and allows action to have meaning and purpose. Sometimes courage arises from a place of stillness—to just be present.

Last spring, I was invited to participate in a profound and humbling opportunity—one that asked far more of me than enthusiasm or intention. It asked for discipline, devotion, and a willingness to sit inside uncertainty.

The preparation itself was a true effort. I was asked to learn a Vedic mantra—the Sri Suktam—by heart, a practice that I found deeply challenging. My personal sadhana became the steady recitation of the mantra, again and again, each repetition asking for patience, humility, and trust.

Courage does not arise from knowing the outcome, but from the willingness to stand in the heart of not knowing.

As my confidence slowly gathered, I prepared to travel to India to participate in the Maha Sri Yaga—a shared spiritual practice of chanting and meditation held with the intention of uplifting humanity in a positive, loving direction. The journey brought me to Khajuraho, India, where my teacher, Pandit Rajmani Tigunait, has built a sanctuary for practitioners to gather and engage in these ancient sacred practices.

The Sri Suktam itself is composed of sixteen individual mantras, each invoking the power of Sri Vidya—the inner light—and the grace of the Divine Mother, the source of abundance and unity within collective consciousness. While the language and lineage are ancient, the experience of devotion and collective intention transcends words.

From the new moon in January through the full moon in February, I committed to rising at 5:00 a.m. each morning for prayer and meditation. Before the day began, I recited the Sri Suktam thirty times on my own, making every effort to complete the practice in the stillness of early morning.

Breakfast follows at 8:00 a.m., and then I take my daily walk. For those who know me, walking is not about distance or pace—it is about presence. I walk to let my senses roam freely, absorbing the scents, sights, and sounds of this sacred place, allowing awe and wonder to arise naturally.

Later in the day, we gather for Panditji’s teachings, studying the depth of the tantric lineage and the profound power of mantra. Together, sixty practitioners chant the verses aloud twenty times in unison. The experience of group chanting cannot truly be described—it must be felt. Something shifts when breath, voice, and intention move as one.

My deepest preparation for this journey was not only memorizing the mantras, but learning how to surrender into the practice itself. I struggled to find the space and time until I realized that this work had to become my priority. In our endlessly busy world, I am still questioning—and listening to—the quiet pull of the soul toward devotion.

Many of my daily walks at home were consumed with chanting, and I’m sure my neighbors wondered about the woman “talking to herself” as she passed by. I arrived here as a humble student, not as a teacher—willing to make mistakes, to feel awkward, and to sit among brilliant practitioners from all over the world.

I came as a humble student, not as a teacher—willing to make mistakes, to feel awkward, and to begin again.

Sacred fire ceremony (Havan) during collective mantra practice.

Each evening, we gather for a Havan, a sacred fire ceremony. As Panditji chants the entire Sri Suktam, we make offerings into the flames with each mantra—repeated 108 times. Ritual slows us down. The fire invites reflection, purification, and transformation, reminding us that change often requires surrender.

I know I am deeply blessed to be here, especially as the world continues to struggle to find balance. News of suffering and conflict reaches us even in this sacred place. And yet, alongside the grief, I am witnessing something else—a quiet shift. People standing in solidarity. Hearts longing for peace. A collective call for a moral compass rooted in compassion.

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
— Margaret Mead

The purpose of sadhana is not to change the world overnight, but to transform how we meet it. How do we encounter difference without closing our hearts? How do we listen deeply and hold space for the suffering of others? Every human being is carrying unseen battles, and who am I to judge another’s path?

The purpose of sadhana is not to change the world, but to transform how we meet it.

These reflections can sound lofty when anger is so present in the world. And yet, perhaps the work is to transform the fire of anger into light—to sense the possibility of another way forward. Courage is arising within collective hearts. Peace must begin in our own minds. The higher path does not begin “out there,” but within our own willingness to shift pain into purpose.

Pain itself is not a failure. It is often the great motivator—the force that moves us toward change, toward healing, toward joy.

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When I return in February, once my body has settled from travel, I am committed to offering a morning meditation as a community service. This will be a gentle 45-minute practice, including pranayama and the introduction of a simple mantra, as we gather to support one another in meditation.

As we move through the harshness of winter toward the promise of spring, my intention is to gather our collective hearts. To remember that within dukkham—difficulty—there is also sukkham, sweetness. Together, we are moving in a better direction.

I am deeply grateful for your support and for this community we continue to nurture. May we create a healthy, vibrant space rooted in presence, courage, and compassion.

Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.

A gentle reflection:
What helps you return to presence when the path forward feels uncertain?

We’d love for you to share in the comments below, if you feel called.

Key themes: courage, sadhana, collective practice, meditation, community, transformation.