Airports often feel like strange little pockets of time—hurry up and wait. After a two-day corporate retreat, I fully intended to spend my layover at San Francisco International Airport (SFO) catching up on admin and unanswered emails. However, life, in its chaotic wisdom, issued me a new itinerary: a dead laptop, a pair of sweatpants, and a yoga room tucked quietly between terminals. I hadn’t planned for it—but then again, maybe I needed it more than I realized.
The Best-Laid Plans…
I had arrived a few hours early for my flight, planning to find a cozy corner and knock out what I’d missed during all those focused working sessions. After all, as a parent and a professional, time is tight—and I try to prioritize what actually moves the needle. Just as I was getting settled in, it happened: my laptop, out of nowhere, totally crapped out on me. (That’s the technical term.) No work, no screen, no chance. Suddenly, all my productivity plans went out the window.
A Serendipitous Discovery
Luckily, I’d already followed the signs to a Yoga Room at SFO tucked between gates in the United terminal. It was quiet, hidden, and somehow exactly what I needed in that moment.
To my surprise, I had also packed the sweatpants I’d randomly bought the night before from Fang in Union Square. (Killer Chinese food. Mr. Fang, the legend himself, will literally bring you whatever he wants you to eat. No menu required. Just trust him. You’re in good hands.)
A Moment of Stillness
The yoga room was small and peaceful. Dim lighting. A mirror. A few mats. Space for about four people. And a single tall window—a narrow sliver that stretched from ceiling to floor, its textured surface reminding me of a geode. Light filtered through in this soft, otherworldly way that made the space feel almost sacred. Slowly but surely, I settled into Hero’s Pose. The hum of the airport, the retreat, the tech failures, the to-do list—all of it faded. Just breath. Stillness. Gratitude for the invitation to slow down.
Together, Apart
It’s a funny thing, practicing in a room with strangers, all of us in completely different flows. Still, isn’t that yoga? Listening inward. Connecting breath and body in the present moment. Moving in a way that feels true.
There’s no set structure—only the one we create for ourselves. A quiet acknowledgment that though our movements are different, we’re here together.
Remember to breathe.
Namaste.
Teresa Yslas Beardsley
Correspondent at Large
