The 4×4 beaches of Corolla—accessible only by four-wheel drive—are one of the few places on the East Coast where you can practice yoga with the very real possibility of wild horses wandering by, which is both magical and slightly unnerving, like spotting a bear in the wild and forgetting all the advice. Black bear, fight back? Brown bear, lie down? Wild horse… run into the ocean—can they swim?
The view was stunning though, nothing but sky and sea for miles, and just steps from our tiny last-minute rental. It was our first trip after months of staring at the same four walls and backyard during the height of the pandemic. At that point, we were just happy to leave our house, even if it meant spending a week in a dump. It was a dump with a view.
I rolled out my mat in the early morning, before the sand heated up and the beach joggers came out. Our aging border collie/heeler mix, Laika, lounged beside me watching seagulls with the quiet wisdom of a senior dog. Just us, the salty breeze, and the trickle of low tide.
The flow played off the rhythm of the waves, starting with classic Cat/Cow (Marjaryasana/Bitilasana), pairing breath with gentle spinal movement—good for waking up the spine, the nervous system, and, in my case, the part of my brain that was still a little worried about fighting off horses. The ocean mirrored every breath: inhale, exhale, rise, fall.
Mornings are ideal for seated twists and kneeling lunges, especially when your body’s creaky and your energy is low. The sand added a bonus challenge: micro-adjustments, unexpected foot sinks, and a reminder that balance is as fleeting as the tide.
Sun Salutations (Surya Namaskar), fluid and meditative, were a natural progression. Originally a devotional greeting to the sun, this sequence felt especially appropriate as the light climbed over the dunes. Each cycle felt like a quiet reset, an invitation to worry a little less.
Balancing poses like Tree (Vrikshasana) and Half Moon (Ardha Chandrasana) are humbling on the soft surface. As your feet sink into the sand, you can almost feel all 26 foot bones working overtime to keep you steady. Focus arrives with a steady drishti and an audible breath. Surrounded by the vastness of sea and sky, alone on the beach with my dog, a few birds, and the ever-looming possibility of wild horses, I felt like a tiny part of something much larger — the entire ocean in a drop of water.
“You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop.” — Rumi
The beach in Corolla doesn’t try to impress. It just is. Raw, natural, and unassuming. And beach yoga has a way of stripping everything back just the same. A reminder that you can explore old things in new ways and when in doubt, yield to your surroundings (and the horses).
A family-friendly photo of some horses that walked by later that day. Might frame it for my office.