“It's About Life”
By Nicola Colville
If you spend any time at Luna Yoga, you'll probably notice Andrea and Cristian long before you speak to them.
Andrea arrives with a warmth and energy that seems to reach the room before she does. Cristian carries a quieter, grounded presence. Together, they move with the easy rhythm of two people who have built a partnership, each allowing the other enough space to become more fully themselves.
Andrea has a way of reaching towards people.
Cristian has a way of making room for them.
It is a beautiful thing to witness.
You see it in the way Andrea laughs while Cristian waits patiently for her to finish a story. You hear it when she jumps in to complete one of his thoughts, and he smiles because she understood exactly where he was going. Neither competes for the conversation. They simply share it, much as they seem to share everything else
That rhythm has carried them a long way.
Their story first crossed borders when Andrea left Colombia to be with Cristian, whose roots were in Chile, and together they began building a life shaped by distance, trust, and the courage it takes to start again. By the time they arrived in Montreal, they were not only learning to navigate a different city, new careers, a different language, and unfamiliar routines. They were learning how to slowly build a life far from the countries that first shaped them.
Neither of them imagined that one of those places would be a yoga studio.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, they discovered two things they now rarely do apart.
Running.
And yoga.
“I LOVE running!” Andrea exclaims, laughing before she's even finished the sentence.
It is impossible not to laugh with her. Then again, Andrea seems to meet much of life that way. She doesn't merely enjoy the things that matter to her; she embraces them wholeheartedly.
Yoga arrived because of that love.
Like so many runners, they started yoga for practical reasons. Yoga promised greater flexibility, fewer injuries, and better recovery. It seemed like a sensible addition to an active lifestyle.
They never realized it might reshape the way they lived.
Andrea began practicing yoga online long before she ever walked into a studio. She learned about the poses in the privacy of her living room, uncertain whether she knew enough to practice alongside others. She worried about making mistakes. She didn't know the Sanskrit names and wasn't convinced she belonged there. Not yet.
Then a class through work introduced her to Luna.
As Andrea began to speak about that first class, it became obvious she wasn't remembering a yoga sequence. She was remembering how someone had made her feel
Madeleine happened to be teaching.
“She gave me trust in myself, in my practice.”
Trust isn't something we usually think another person can give us. Yet sometimes another person's kindness provides enough safety for us to discover the confidence that had been waiting patiently within us all along.
That first class was only two years ago.
Today, you'll usually find her at the front of the studio.
Curious what had shifted, I expected her to tell me she'd become stronger or more familiar with the poses.
Instead, she spoke about work.
She works in IT, where presenting in pubic is part of the job. There was a time when even the thought of saying the wrong thing filled her with anxiety. “Now, if I lose my words or make a mistake”, she says with a smile, “I don't care anymore.”
Yoga didn't remove the discomfort. It quietly loosened its grip.
Cristian's journey began for exactly the same reason.
Running.
Recovery.
Flexibility.
Avoiding injuries.
But when I asked whether that was still why he practiced, his answer redirected the entire conversation.
“I think now there are more reasons than when we started.” He paused, searching for the right words. “Practicing at the studio is a totally different experience.”
He wasn't talking about the asana practice; he spoke about everything that surrounds it: meditation—an opportunity to quiet the constant noise of everyday life; philosophy—as a framework for living; and the reflections teachers offer during class, which remind him that the practice doesn't end when class does. It simply continues in another form.
“It's about life.”
He offered that perspective almost in passing. “It's about life.” As our conversation continued, those four words seemed to gather more meaning. Running had brought them to yoga, but it was no longer the reason they returned. For Cristian, it had become another way of understanding how to live.
He returned to that perspective more than once.
In the world we live in, he said, “It's easy to spend today thinking about tomorrow. The next deadline. The next project. The next goal.” Yoga, he explained, gently interrupts that momentum. “It reminds me to return to the present.”
To enjoy running.
To enjoy yoga.
To enjoy life.
“It resets my body and my mind.”
Andrea nodded as he spoke. Then she added something that has lingered with me ever since.
“We have to be conscious of the impermanence.”
“So often we think every day will be the same. That life will be the same.”
There was nothing dramatic about the way she said it. It sounded less like a lesson and more like something she had gradually come to understand.
Listening to them, I realized they were no longer talking about yoga.
They were talking about the way they wanted to meet life itself.
That understanding carries over into Andrea's work, where she encourages colleagues to try yoga. Not because she wants them to become more flexible. She hopes they'll discover what she has discovered: a quieter mind, a more open heart, and a place where community matters.
When her colleagues tell themselves they aren't good enough, she gently reminds them,
“Be kind to yourself.”
“Be patient with yourself.”
Those words don't stay inside the studio. She carries them into meetings, conversations, and everyday moments, creating the type of workplace she wants to be part of.
Listening to her, I realized she isn't really recommending yoga. She's inviting people into community.
That understanding carries over into Andrea's work, where she encourages colleagues to try yoga. Not because she wants them to become more flexible. She hopes they'll discover what she has discovered: a quieter mind, a more open heart, and a different way of meeting life's demands.
When her colleagues doubt themselves, she gently reminds them,
“Be kind to yourself.”
“Be patient with yourself.”
Those words don't stay inside the studio. She carries them into meetings, conversations, and everyday moments, quietly shaping the kind of workplace she wants to be part of.
Listening to her, I realized she isn't really recommending yoga. She's inviting people into community.
Cristian's invitation is different, but it comes from the same place.
“If you've never practiced yoga,” he says, “just try. Don't decide beforehand that it isn't for you.”
He smiles as he admits there are still poses he cannot do.
That doesn't seem to trouble him.
He's still learning.
Still discovering.
Still improving, as he puts it, "little by little."
The more we spoke, the less those words sounded like an expression and the more like a philosophy. There was no urgency in the way he described his practice. No need to master everything at once. Just a willingness to keep learning.
When I asked which pose continues to challenge him the most, and what it was teaching him beyond the physical practice, he answered without hesitation
Headstand.
Not because he's afraid of failing. Because he's afraid of falling onto someone else's mat.
Somehow, even his greatest challenge revealed the same patience and consideration that had run through our entire conversation. Little by little, yes—but never at someone else's expense.
Listening to them, I realized they rarely spoke about yoga without eventually speaking about people. Meditation led to community. Philosophy led to kindness. Even the practice seemed to matter most because of the lives it touched.
Neither of them ever claimed community had changed them. Instead, I found myself wondering if they had quietly been creating community all along.
Perhaps that's why Luna felt so familiar from the beginning. Not because it reminded them of Colombia or Chile, but because it reflected the values they had carried with them across continents: kindness, presence, and a genuine interest in other people.
When they spend several months each winter traveling between Colombia and Chile with their two cats, Andrea doesn't leave Luna behind. She continues practicing online. “I stay connected with Luna every day.” Even from thousands of kilometers away, she has found a way to remain connected to the community she calls her second home.
Distance, it seems, doesn't weaken belonging. Sometimes it reveals it.
Toward the end of our conversation, I asked what they hoped for Luna in the years ahead. Their answer came without hesitation. “Keep doing what you're doing.”
They weren't hoping Luna would become something different. They hoped it would remain true to what it had always been: a place where meditation, philosophy, remarkable teachers, and its vibrant community continue to shape the experience as much as the practice itself.
Andrea and Cristian arrived at Luna hoping to become better runners.
Two years later, they are undoubtedly more flexible. They probably recover more quickly. But those things now feel almost incidental.
Somewhere along the way, yoga became less about what happened on the mat and more about the life waiting beyond it. It taught Andrea that mistakes don't diminish belonging. It reminded Cristian that life is more than work. It invited them both to be present—to live with the awareness that nothing stays the same forever.
Most of all, it gave them a place to practice the qualities they had quietly carried with them all along.
And somewhere along the way, they discovered a simple truth.
“It's about life.”
