The Courage to Be a Beginner

Embracing the Beginner’s Mind

Yoga, Hula & the Joy of Learning

There are seasons in life when we are asked to know, to lead, to be competent.And then there are moments when life quietly invites us to begin again.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be a beginner, not as a lack of skill, but as a state of openness. A willingness to try, to stumble, to learn. In yoga, we often speak of beginner’s mind: approaching each practice with curiosity rather than judgment, presence rather than performance.

In my yoga classes, I try to create a space where you feel safe to explore, to ask questions, and to move at your own pace. And still, I know how intimidating it can feel to start something new, especially when that familiar little voice whispers: “I’m not good at this.”

But there is often another voice too. A quieter one. The one that gently nudges and says:“Go on, give it a try. It’s a beautiful way to take care of yourself, body, mind, and soul.”

Last weekend, I chose to listen to that second voice. I stepped out of my comfort zone and into a Hula and Ori dance workshop.

Hula, from Hawaii, is slow, grounded, and full of grace. Ori, from Tahiti, is fast, rhythmic, and fiery. The workshop ended with a drum circle that began as joyful chaos and somehow transformed into a shared heartbeat, rhythm, laughter, and connection woven together.

Now, let me be honest: I am not a dancer. I never took lessons as a child. I love to dance when the music takes over, usually in my kitchen, but coordination, timing, elegance? Let’s just say I have… creative interpretations of rhythm.

And in that class, I felt it all.

We began with simple steps: right, left, forward, back. Then came the hips: swaying side to side, tracing figure-of-eights, sometimes moving like a bowtie (yes, a bowtie). Then the arms joined in, the gaze followed, and my brain was officially on fire trying to keep up.

I didn’t master Hula. I didn’t master Ori. Not even close. But I showed up. I laughed at myself. And, most importantly: I had fun.

Something beautiful happened in that process: curiosity took over. I found myself wanting to learn more, about the dances, the cultures, the stories told through movement. What began as awkwardness softened into wonder.

It reminded me of something I often tell my yoga students: we are all beginners, again and again. Every class, every pose, every breath invites us to practice patience, humility, and joy, not by getting it “right,” but by staying present.

So here is a gentle reminder, for you and for me: You don’t need to be good at something to begin.You just need to begin — and perhaps allow yourself to laugh along the way.

When was the last time you let yourself be a beginner?