No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.
— Virginia Woolf
“En Colombia todo es posible.” The airport banner said it plainly, surrounded by stunning images of the country. Later I learnt that some locals ended the slogan by “y nada es seguro!”. Philosophically speaking, it checks out: if everything is possible, uncertainty comes included.
As I approached the streets of Medellín that sense of possibility quickly stopped being a slogan and became daily life: music spilled from shops and passing cars, vendors called out like street poets, and the smell of sizzling street food mingled with conversations overlapping like percussion. The overall feeling was not just movement, but possibility. And, as it turned out, the slogan was not exaggerating.
Here, I worked as an online English tutor, while getting to know the Paisas, often described locally as amigables, who reminded me of Neapolitans in the way they navigate uncertainty in daily life, with laughter, dance, family life, and a way of living fully no matter what.
Locally Made
There too I stumbled into a yoga studio amidst locals and expats in Medellín, and, once again, I became a regular. And as often happens through practice, one connection led to another. Around the corner from where I lived was a small coffee shop attached to a local theatre, and it quietly became one of my daily anchors. Between online lessons, yoga practice, and coffee breaks, I got to know regulars, neighbours, and some of the theatre team, a small, welcoming micro community built through routine and conversation. The theatre director eventually invited me to help on a volunteer basis with costume preparation for the Mitos y Leyendas parade, supporting the design team with recycled materials and papier mâché pieces. My contribution was modest, the learning was not, and before I knew, I was also invited to take part in the parade. This was by far one of the best times I had ever had. The beauty and richness of that simplicity where everything felt possible, just like the slogan said!
Roots and Routers
When the pandemic struck, I found myself yearning for real connection beyond the virtual English classes, now echoing the sadly growing digital alienation that touched us all. So, I moved to the countryside in a magical wooded finca to live with locals. Around this time, hoping to escape the digital blur, I somehow ended up on yet another screen, joining an online Yoga Synergy course with Bianca Machliss and Simon Borg-Olivier, alongside courses on humanities and creative pedagogy. Apparently, even my escape routes came with a router!
Luckily, I was rescued by the dog I thought I was rescuing! I’ll never forget our walks, and my barefoot morning wanderings took me along a path local communities historically used to carry salt down the Valle de Aburrá, pausing for my yoga practice where they once camped, and letting the cool stream, where people once bathed, refresh my feet. Some mornings, in tune with the stories locals shared and the history of the land, I found myself thinking about the centuries of footsteps who had walked those same paths carrying salt down el Valle de Aburrá,reminding me that wisdom starts by paying attention to the ground you walk on, just like the old Andean saying: “We are not walking on nature, we are nature walking itself” (If I remember it correctly!).
Circles of Connection
That time in the countryside, reconnecting with nature, the people, my dog, and life around me, I found myself reconnecting with myself, and something was returning. The buses were returning too! So, I hopped on and signed up for a Yoga & Mindfulness for Kids teacher training with four local guides in Medellín. Two in particular shaped me: a child psychologist, flower essence therapist, and gentle bringer of play and calm; and a political scientist-turned-clown (amazing!), whose mindfulness practice, rooted in the Plum Village tradition of Vietnamese Thích Nhất Hạnh (what are the odds!), and theatrical soul, taught me how to connect with my crowd in the most unexpected ways. Something had begun to take root in that space, in that land, and in me. A seed had been planted, and it was about to start sprouting.
Closing reflections
Looking back, what stays with me most is how quickly community can form through simple repetition: the same café, the same studio, the same greetings, the same shared projects. Teaching online, practising yoga, volunteering locally, and learning alongside others showed me that belonging is often built from small, consistent presence. Possibility, it turns out, is less about big leaps and more about showing up where you are and saying yes with curiosity.