As a general rule, when you enter a room, it’s good to know who you are there with – if you don’t, you may find yourself:

a) hostage

b) with serious boundary issues

c) in one of those group interview situations resembling Lord of the Flies

So, in case you are expecting something that this blog - Roomisn’t, here’s some disclosure:

I am not a yogi. 

I am a young, privileged, Western yoga practitioner. If a yogi spends an evening picking burnt raisins out of homemade granola and getting infuriated by cling film, then what on earth am I practising for? A yogi is focused, steadfast and without delusion. Right now, I am picking my split-ends and thinking about how Middle-lane motorway hogging could be better enforced. The true yogis of this world are not blogging, or, reading blogs (sorry to break it to you).

I am a yoga teacher and a yoga student. 

We practise as individuals and, more often than not, our process of learning is hidden instead of shared. Room is intended to widen the space where we learn and practice. It is also a place to commit to learning and practising; including all of the times we change our minds and make mistakes along the way. 

This is not a lifestyle blog. 

If you are looking for free-from-everything recipes; pictures of people being casually flexible [in their living room/by a cat/at a cocktail bar/on the tube]; or, for words of comfort and answers to the universe, you're after Gwyneth Paltrow, not me. Hashtag yogaeverydamnday on Instagram. Keep getting your kicks from kelp. Or, stay a while, read, get practising and know this: all that stuff (all this stuff too), none of it matters.

This is a slow blog.

Like the slow food movement, this is a slow blog. Posts will not be scheduled, or, even (most likely), regular. Articles will arise from questions asked, or thoughts provoked by my students and my own practice. They will be here for you to read before you are interested, after you are interested, and, if you’re never interested, well, as a wise woman once said, “If a tree falls in the forest and there is no-one there to hear…it still makes a bloody racket”.