Little Me Would Be So Proud: From Activist to Organizer

If little me could see who I am today, I think he’d be proud—wide-eyed and amazed at how things have turned out. He’d see someone who practices yoga, who teaches, who learns, but more importantly, someone who actively works to make things better in his community. Not just talking about change, not just shouting for it at rallies, but someone who orchestrates the very places where change begins.

Growing up, I always had a sense of justice, of wanting things to be better, but the way forward was never really clear. Back then, activism meant holding a sign, standing in a crowd, and hoping that someone listened. And those actions mattered—they planted seeds. But as time passed, I learned that true activism demanded more than passion; it demanded persistence, strategy, and action—ongoing action, even when the system felt unmovable.

Being an Activist Means Staying Active

When I think about it now, I realize that little me didn’t fully understand what “active” meant in “activist.” Today, I know that to truly make a difference, you have to remain active, you have to keep showing up, you have to keep trying—even when it feels like you’re just pushing against a wall.

I’ve become someone who doesn’t just show up to rallies anymore. I’ve grown into someone who understands the mechanics behind them—how to organize, how to get permits, how to make sure people’s voices are heard safely and effectively. It’s about moving from being just one face in the crowd to being the person behind the scenes, making sure that crowd even has a place to gather.

This shift is important to me. It’s the difference between being part of the chorus and conducting the music, harmonizing different voices so that they are heard clearly. When I was younger, I might have thought rallies were just spontaneous outbursts of passion, but now I know they require coordination, hard work, and dedication. What looks effortless is anything but.

A Force for Good, Starting at Home

It doesn’t stop there. I’m committed to making a difference locally, in the neighborhood where I live and work. It’s about confronting difficult realities—like unwanted drug overdoses and violent crime—and choosing to do something about them. It’s about understanding that being a force for good means taking responsibility, not just for my actions but for the well-being of my community. It’s about organizing, advocating, and showing up consistently to say, “We can do better, together.”

Little me would be amazed to see this. He might not have imagined that activism could look like talking to local leaders about harm reduction or finding ways to prevent violence through care instead of punishment. He might not have realized that being a force for good requires compassionate listening and thoughtful planning, as much as it requires raising your voice. And now, I understand that real change happens at the crossroads of passion and persistence, of compassion and concrete action.

Pride in the Right to Assemble

I live in a city where the right to assemble is protected and honored, and I don’t take that right for granted. Little me would be proud to see how deeply this right has become a part of who I am—a person who not only values the power of gathering together but works to make it possible for others. There’s something inspiring about watching democracy in action, even when it’s messy, even when dissonant voices clash. It reminds me that the power to create change, even amid disagreement, is worth celebrating and protecting.

To the younger me, who felt that spark of injustice but didn’t know what to do with it, my journey now is proof of what persistence can achieve. It shows that activism isn’t just a phase or a moment of outrage—it’s a lifelong commitment to staying active, to doing the work, to choosing to be part of the solution. It’s not just about being present when it’s easy or when the crowds are large. It’s about being present every day, in all the small actions that add up to meaningful change.

Being Who I Want to Be, On Purpose

I also know now that every step of this journey has been intentional. Yoga taught me that freedom, that liberation, isn’t handed to me—I practice for it. I keep showing up for it. I take the teachings seriously, let go of the need for immediate rewards, and do the right thing, even when it’s not easy or immediately rewarding. Because being the person I want to be is an act of intention—it’s about choosing every day to be that person, especially when the choice is hard.

And that’s what I’ve done. I’ve chosen to stay true to myself, to show up authentically, to refuse to code-switch, even when it might have been easier to blend in. I’ve chosen to be visible, to be vocal, to be a force for good, even if it meant facing discomfort or danger. I’ve chosen to be more than just an activist—I’ve chosen to be an organizer, a community leader, someone who uses my voice and my privilege to ensure others can use theirs.

The Yoga Club: Supporting Those Who Stand Up

One of the ways I try to serve my community is through the Yoga Club. The Yoga Club isn’t just a place for poses and postures—it’s meant to support the well-being of those standing up for their communities. We’ve set a high price point for our programs, and that’s intentional. It allows us to do quality work, to keep our doors open, and to provide the kind of deep, sustaining practices that make a difference. But behind that price is a real desire to reach those who are affecting change at the grassroots level.

Our programs are here for the organizers—the ones out there on the frontlines, getting permits, creating space for civil assembly, making sure democracy remains vibrant and alive. I want the Yoga Club to be a resource for those people, a place where they can recharge, find support, and gather strength for the challenges ahead. It’s about nurturing the individuals who make change possible, ensuring that they, too, are cared for, supported, and uplifted.

A Call to Action: Civic Pride and the Cost of Change

For anyone who feels frustrated when a rally interrupts traffic or feels inconvenienced when streets are filled with people demanding change, I invite you to look deeper. Yes, it might make your commute longer. Yes, it might disrupt the comfort of your routine. But know this: real change is dirty, sweaty, and uncomfortable. It’s not convenient, and it shouldn’t be.

I know that it’s easy to stay insulated in our protected little cars and suburban enclaves, distanced from the reality of those who are fighting for their very right to live, to be heard, to feel safe. But democracy doesn’t thrive in comfort; it thrives in action, in voices raised, in people coming together to demand something better.

It’s time to have pride in our right to organize, to understand the beauty of people willing to stand up, even when it’s difficult. Real activism is not sanitized. It’s messy. It’s imperfect. But it’s exactly what keeps our democracy alive. And if you’ve ever felt moved by the promise of a better future, I encourage you to be part of that change. Stand up, support the rights of those who demand better, and remember that the discomfort of change today can bring about the comfort of justice tomorrow.

Little me would be proud—proud of the courage, the consistency, the compassion. Proud of how I’ve grown from someone who wanted to see change to someone who actively makes it happen. And, most importantly, proud that I’ve learned to be the change, on purpose, every single day.