A Life in Motion: Stillness, Sweat & the Sacred Shape of a Handstand

There’s nothing typical about the way I live—

not in pace, not in place, not in purpose.

I’ve learned not to explain it too much.

When your days revolve around strength training, stillness, rituals, and realignment under unfamiliar skies, words often feel too narrow.

It’s not a lifestyle—it’s a frequency. And you either feel it or you don’t.

Technically, I’m not a digital nomad—I have a home.

But I spend most of my year moving between Bali, Thailand, and Mexico, where movement feels like ceremony and the sunsets crack your heart open.

I go where the energy is alive, where the light lands softly, where I can move like I mean it.

And I do move. Obsessively.

My life is timetabled—on purpose. Every hour has a rhythm: handstands, mobility, strength, cold plunges(well I try), journaling, meditation, stillness.

People think freedom is doing whatever, whenever. I think it’s the opposite. Freedom is precision. It’s showing up, daily, for the things that ground you.

But beneath the discipline is a wild pulse I never try to tame.

There’s a part of me that howls when the moon rises. I’ve been obsessed with her since I was small.

She reminds me that presence can be fierce. Feminine. Electric.

Some nights I train under her glow and feel more alive than any city could ever make me.

Sometimes, I swear she speaks. Maybe I was a wolf in a past life.

Or maybe… something even older.

There’s a thread in me that runs back to the ancient Egyptians.

To sacred geometry. Movement as ritual. The body as divine technology.

They understood what most have forgotten: our bodies are temples, storytellers, portals.

We shape the air with our limbs and unlock something eternal.

When I train, I remember that. When I move, I honour it.

Because this—movement art—is my way of speaking.

I don’t just train for gains. I train to express.

My body is a language, and every inversion, extension, and explosive leap is a sentence.

A poem. A bit of rebellion wrapped in breath and grit.

Handstands are my chosen punctuation.

They aren’t tricks. They’re truth.

You can’t fake it upside down—your wrists will shake, your breath will betray you.

But when it lands—stacked, balanced, breathing—it’s sacred.

A flash of presence so complete, it feels like stepping through the veil.

Sometimes, it’s more than that.

It’s transcendence.

I’ve tapped into higher states of consciousness through nothing but stillness, breath, and my own inverted body.

The pineal gland. The sixth chakra. That crown-level clarity you can’t force—you feel it when the noise dies and your body becomes a tuning fork.

This is why I move.

Why I timetable my life like it’s art.

Why I ritualise the sunrise and treat nature as my temple.

I don’t just love nature—I need it. Bare feet in the dirt remind me who I am.

I track the moon. I watch the sun rise like it’s a portal.

The elements are not aesthetics to me. They are allies. Guides.

In the midst of all this: yes, I have a complicated dating life.

Maybe it’s because I’m still looking for him—not a mirror image, but an energetic match.

He doesn’t need to handstand, but he has to be obsessed with training. He has to be present, grounded, and entirely unfazed by intensity.

He needs to be able to hold space for structure and fire, softness and strength.

Bonus points if he’s super hot.

But until then, I train. I travel. I teach.

And I tell stories with my body that words could never hold.

Because life is an adventure.

A wild, sweaty, sunrise-soaked, soul-led adventure—and it should be celebrated.

Not in moderation. In full. Through discipline, through devotion, through dancing in the unknown.

Underneath it all, I’m fuelled by something ancient and untamed:

unconditional love.

The kind that pours out without filter, that drives me to create, to move, to connect.

Maybe it gets me into trouble. Maybe it saves me. Either way, it’s my truth.

One day, I’ll bring it all together—movement, stillness, storytelling, nature, moonlight.

A yoga retreat space that pulses with energy and peace.

Where people come to flip upside down and remember who they are.

Where sunrise is a ritual and breath is a prayer.

Where the body speaks, and everyone listens.

But until then—this blog, this post, this moment—is my offering.

A portal into the madness and magic of a life lived in motion.

Thank you for feeling this with me.

For dancing under moons, sweating through handstands, and chasing the sacred in every rep and ripple.

With love, R

R