listening for the next chapter
what it means to listen when life asks you to begin again
Back in 2019, I shared a glimpse of my journey on social media about why I was leaving the classroom after nearly a decade of teaching yoga, Reiki, and meditation. Much like then, what remains true today is that I’ve always felt a responsibility to my community to show up authentically and vulnerably. So I shared that I had been called inward, toward what I now call the art of listening. That call unfolded slowly: being of service, participating in communities of mutual aid, giving back in ways that mattered, beyond the mat.
The truth is, my path began long before. In high school I took my first yoga class, not knowing then that fifteen years later I’d be confronting the emotional trauma of childhood—watching a parent struggle with addiction, being mutli-racial, then becoming a mother right out of high school, and being truly fortunate to have married such a wonderful man. How two young people even had the tools to endeavor to be parents at such a young age and navigate one of the most challenging and rewarding roles a person can have is beyond me. Those experiences catapulted me onto a path of personal and spiritual growth. I guess one could say, having worn so many roles—daughter, sister, granddaughter, mother, wife, friend, mentor, career woman—that I didn’t know who I was outside of them.
And when I finally had everything I thought I wanted—a stable marriage, a family, a career... I found myself careening toward a cliff. That identity crisis, which I had long since struggled with from adolescence, the question Who am I?, cracked something open in me. It became the catalyst for a spiritual awakening, an immersion into mindfulness: yoga, meditation, Reiki... alongside the healing silence and gift of nature.
From there, life asked me to let go again. I left behind an identity as a makeup artist in NYC, where I had seen firsthand how the industry perpetuated narrow, Eurocentric ideals of beauty. Was I really about to leave this creative, artistic identity behind? It was a question I kept asking myself. So I followed the nudge to keep showing up for the practices that had revealed to me the deeper, more meaningful answers I had been seeking from life. And I soon found myself teaching yoga and Reiki from New York to LA to Denver, even at Burning Man. Along the way I met incredible humans, many who are still dear friends.
Then, the thing that I wasn’t prepared for happened. My partner and I found ourselves on different paths. There I was, being asked to let go again—this time of an identity that I had once been so proud to wear. And so, post-divorce, the following fall, we sent our daughter off to college. It was then that I knew it was time to rediscover myself again, to answer the call of service from a deeper place. That led me back to Denver, the town I once couldn’t wait to leave. This time, returning with new eyes, carrying the richness of my travels and my years in New York. Denver, the place that first instilled in me a love of nature, deep listening, curiosity, adventure, and wonder—alongside tremendous pain and heartbreak. Colorado was asking me to come home.
For the first three years of coming home to Denver, I committed myself to being open to the path, to weaving community, becoming a connector... a bridge. And then the great mystery asked me to let go once more. The practice that had revealed so much of who I was now showed me its shadow: the ways Western wellness culture mirrored the very capitalist machine I had resisted years before in the beauty industry.
This shift was not happening in isolation. It was on the precipice of George Floyd’s death, the rise of Black Lives Matter, the Resistance, and the collective unraveling of COVID. The world was asking us to look directly at the fractures in our systems, to confront the ways we had been complicit, silent, or asleep. I felt the same call in myself. The causes I was committed to—human rights and social justice—didn’t seem to be aligned with the direction many wellness communities were taking. Communities I had been steeped in.
Again, I listened. Closely. Deeply.
I stepped away. I began again as a student, tethered not to identity but to the nudge to follow a creative life. To build spaces of connection and community that reflect the many facets of who I am and the values I hold. Spaces rooted in humanity, equity, and justice. The call? To keep writing—meeting myself at the page with all my edges, vulnerabilities, uncertainty, and tenderness.
Books, music, stories, film—I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it for as long as I’m here on this planet—were my first teachers. They showed me worlds beyond this one, whispering that there are always threads to follow. This yellow brick road of endless gifts and opportunities to learn and grow was akin to the Choose Your Own Adventure novels I was so enamored with as a child. They taught me how to imagine. How to pay attention. How to be brave. How to stay open and curious. How to cultivate the art of listening. How to live artfully. Looking back, every time I listened, those threads, like companions on the path...guided me here.
Now, at 48, I sit on the precipice of another chapter, perhaps the place where the plot gets really good. The path feels illuminated, held by something more expansive, deeper, grounded, true. Call it hope, curiosity, wonder, optimism—call it what you will. I can only describe it as a kind of deep faith. Everything has brought me to this moment, and I can’t wait to share what comes next.
Question to carry: What is tugging at your awareness, beckoning you to pay attention? And what might unfold if you followed that thread?
© Alana Foy 2025
