I’ve been practicing meditation for a long time. Only recently have I truly embraced patience—finally accepting that meditation is a process of preparation, a journey rather than a destination. The effort is not to arrive somewhere else, but to enjoy the act of focusing and to witness whatever is being revealed. I am no longer the driver; the car is being driven. I am trusting that I am right where I need to be.
Years ago, I was putting myself through graduate school while going through a divorce, moving every couple of weeks from one house-sitting job to another in Los Angeles. At the time, I had very wealthy celebrity clients whom I taught privately in their homes. I was blessed to be invited to live in those homes—taking care of birds, cats, dogs, and whatever else needed tending—while they were away filming some exciting project.
And yet, I was struggling. I could barely afford gas. I was living in a vast city filled with obstacles as a poor yoga teacher and graduate student.
One night, as I was moving from one address to another in the Hollywood Hills, it was pouring rain. I’ve been reminded of this memory recently as LA experiences rain and mudslides during the holiday season. I had all my possessions in a Trader Joe’s paper bag and was juggling an umbrella while trying to get into my car, parked on a steep hill. The bag soaked through, and suddenly all my dirty clothes were carried away by a river of rainwater flowing down the mountainside.
By the time I gathered everything and threw the soggy mess into my car, I was drenched. I sat there, wiped my wet face with whatever dry material I could find, and began to sob—my own messy, wet tears pouring out.
In that moment, I realized there was a name for my existence: homeless. I became acutely aware that I had no permanent address.
Later that night, I settled into yet another borrowed home. I was alone, feeling deeply sorry for myself, trying to piece together my reality. I began to chant Om. I could feel the vibration of my voice as a call for help. Suddenly, the sound began to shift, and a deep moan emerged.
I realized I was chanting the word home.
That sound became the expression of my deepest longing. In that profound moment, I connected to my heart. Grief softened into longing, and something inside me shifted. I understood—my true home was within me. I felt warmth and fullness in my heart. I felt protected, seen, and deeply loved.
"My true home was inside of me."
It was a true blessing, a moment that has stayed with me for over thirty years.
Within the next two years, I found the courage to leave Los Angeles and move to what I had heard in meditation as “the Heartland.” I arrived in the Chicago area and slowly found my roots in the rhythm of small-town life. From there, I helped create a yoga home where others could experience belonging and connection to their inner True Self.
Yoga Among Friends has become a home for many—a space grounded in safety, where we come together to explore what it truly means to feel held. Without safety, there is no growth. Without safety, there is no learning. Without safety, there is no healing.
This past year, it has been especially challenging to witness how many people around the world have been uprooted—living with uncertainty, fear, and the absence of a place to rest. When there is nowhere to feel safe, it becomes nearly impossible to access stillness, to settle into the quiet of the silent night.
My husband has volunteered with World Relief for many years. He offered a small condo to a couple who escaped Afghanistan on one of the last planes to the U.S. They are here legally, and yet each day carries uncertainty. Though I can practice compassion, I cannot fully understand the depth of grief and fear they live with daily.
And yet, every day they offer prayers of gratitude for shelter, even while living with uncertainty. I have never met a more grateful couple. Their devotion has deepened my understanding of what mantra truly offers the human spirit. Om is not a chant of separation—it is a vibration of connection.
They are devoted Muslims, chanting prayers that carry the same resonance of love. Christmas, Solstice, Hanukkah, and Kwanza—these celebrations become one shared light of devotion. Whatever sound we choose, whatever tradition we follow, we are all reaching toward the same source of belonging.
I have learned that my sense of home is always connected to this greater vibration. It lives beyond walls and addresses. It exists in the heart, in connection, in presence.
I am not driving the vehicle of life. I am simply committed to listening. Years ago, I made a quiet promise to keep seeking that deeper place of home—again and again.
A Gentle Invitation
If you’re longing for a place to feel grounded, supported, and at home in your body, know that you are not alone. We invite you to join us in class.
Our ongoing classes offer a steady refuge—spaces to breathe, move, rest, and reconnect with what matters most.
Home is in the heart.
Shine for others.
I look forward to sharing the unfolding journey in the New Year and continuing to hold Yoga Among Friends as a safe refuge where all are welcome, and all belong.
With love,
Laura Jane
