Y

This week, my partner and I disappeared into the mountains of Idaho for a few days at Maple Grove Hot Springs. Nestled along a river and surrounded by wide-open skies, it is one of my favorite places to visit for many reasons. But perhaps my favorite thing about Maple Grove is what it doesn't have.

No WiFi.

No cell service.

No endless stream of notifications demanding my attention.

If I wanted a signal, I had to drive ten or fifteen minutes down the road and hope for a bar or two of service.

As a business owner, yoga teacher, and single mom, disconnecting completely is not something I do often. My youngest was in trusted care, and for the first time in a long while, I had permission to simply step away.

Mornings began with mushroom coffee and birdsong, and then were spent soaking in hot mineral water beside the river. Afternoons were spent lounging around outside, canoeing down the river, and napping. Evenings ended with sharing good food and watching the sky change colors as the sun disappeared behind the mountains while soaking in nourishing hot water.

I did pull my phone out a few times to take pictures. Once, I made the short drive to check in and make sure everything was okay at home. Beyond that, though, my phone stayed tucked away.

And that's when I began noticing something.

I hadn't realized just how often I reach for my phone until it wasn't available.

By the second day, I noticed how many times my hand reached for a device I didn't actually need. During conversations, I wanted to look up random facts. Sitting beside the hot springs, I wondered about the name of a bird and instinctively reached for my pocket. More than once, I found myself feeling a little restless simply because there was nothing to do.

And then I remembered:

Maybe there wasn't supposed to be anything to do.

Maybe I was simply meant to be there.

Present.

Listening.

Paying attention.

Eventually, that experience had me reflecting on one of yoga's most beautiful teachings: Saucha.

What Is Saucha?

Saucha is the first of the Niyamas, the personal observances described in yoga philosophy. While the Yamas guide how we relate to the world around us, the Niyamas help us cultivate a deeper relationship with ourselves.

Saucha is often translated as purity or cleanliness.

At first glance, that can sound like a conversation about hygiene, healthy eating, or detoxification. Certainly, those things can be part of the practice. Yoga traditions have long encouraged caring for the body through movement, breath, nourishment, and conscious living.

But Saucha points to something much deeper.

It asks us to examine what clouds our ability to see clearly.

What creates clutter in our minds?

What distracts us from the reality of the present moment?

What keeps us from meeting life directly?

Deborah Adele writes:

"Saucha has a relational quality that asks us not only to seek purity in ourselves, but to seek purity with each moment by allowing it to be as it is."

I love that definition because it shifts the focus away from perfection and toward presence.

Saucha is not about becoming flawless.

It is about removing whatever stands between us and our direct experience of life.

What Are We Carrying?

The longer I sat with Saucha, the more I realized that clutter comes in many forms.

Sometimes it is the pile of things we keep but never use.

Sometimes it is the constant stream of information flowing into our minds.

Sometimes it is old resentment, unresolved grief, or stories we continue telling ourselves long after they have stopped serving us.

Sometimes it is the pressure to stay busy, productive, and constantly connected.

Sometimes the clutter isn't in our homes at all—it lives in our thoughts.

The truth is, most of us are not reaching for our phones because we desperately need information.

Often, we are trying to avoid discomfort.

Boredom.

Restlessness.

Loneliness.

Uncertainty.

The phone simply gives us an easy place to go instead.

Saucha invites us to gently notice what we are carrying and ask whether it is serving us.

Sometimes the thing clouding our clarity isn't a toxin in our body.

Sometimes it's a calendar with no margin.

A habit of multitasking.

A mind that never gets a moment of stillness.

Alone With My Own Thoughts

One of the things that surprised me most about those days away was how much time I spent simply being with myself.

There were long stretches without conversation.

Long stretches without entertainment.

Long stretches without anything demanding my attention.

A few years ago, that kind of stillness might have felt uncomfortable. Maybe even unbearable.

There was a season of my life when being alone with my thoughts felt exhausting. Grief, trauma, anxiety, and uncertainty all seemed louder when the distractions disappeared.

This trip reminded me how much has changed.

Not because life is perfect.

But because I have spent years learning how to befriend myself.

Deborah Adele writes:

"Being pure with ourselves means we are not afraid of our thoughts or feelings, and we do not have to hide anything from ourselves."

As I soaked in the hot springs, wandered along the river, read poetry, and sat quietly with my journal, I realized how much kinder I have become toward myself.

How much more willing I am to listen.

How much less I need to escape my own experience.

Perhaps that is one of the gifts of practice.

The more compassion we cultivate, the less we need distraction.

The more accepting we become, the less we need to run.

Life Waiting Beneath the Noise

In those two short days, life took my breath away repeatedly.

I watched a moose graze at the river's edge before slipping into the water for a swim.

I listened to birdsong that seemed to continue from sunrise until sunset, like a never-ending sound bath.

I watched a bald eagle swoop down, catch a fish, and carry it to the riverbank.

I soaked in hot mineral water beneath a sky so vast it made me feel wonderfully small.

I read poems by Mary Oliver.

I watched clouds drift across the mountains.

I sat in silence and discovered it wasn't empty at all.

None of those moments were trying to entertain me.

They weren't curated.

They weren't filtered.

They weren't optimized.

They were simply life unfolding exactly as it was.

And because there was less noise competing for my attention, I was able to notice them.

Nature has a way of teaching Saucha without ever speaking a word.

The river does not rush to become something else.

The eagle does not compare itself to another bird.

The sunset does not need an audience.

Everything simply shows up fully as itself.

An Invitation to Practice Saucha

Most of us don't need to disappear into the mountains to practice Saucha.

We don't need a retreat center, a hot spring, or a few days away.

Sometimes it begins with something much simpler.

Deborah Adele writes:

"Purity asks that we make full and honest contact with the moment so there is nothing lost and no regrets."

To me, that feels like the heart of Saucha.

Not perfection.

Not performance.

Not becoming someone different.

Simply clearing away enough clutter to fully experience the life that is already here.

So here's my invitation:

Put your bare feet in the grass.

Turn your phone off and watch a sunset.

Eat good food around a fire.

Listen to the birds.

Take a walk without earbuds.

Sit quietly with your thoughts.

Let life be exactly what it is for a little while.

Saucha is not about becoming pure.

It is about clearing away whatever keeps us from intimacy with life.

Life is waiting beneath the noise.

The question is whether we are willing to pause long enough to notice.