It’s been a few years since I’ve had a regular exercise routine, and I’ve always done something. In my twenties and thirties, I biked, danced, swam, rollerbladed and skied. Periodically, I also played tennis and went on hikes with friends. By the time my forties rolled around, I was working 12-hour days running my own agency, so I ended up in a place that has never fed my soul: a gym.
As someone deeply connected to nature, I missed exercising amid the wonder of Gaia. But despite my long hours, I managed to stay healthy and fit until Covid hit. Slowly, the routine of social media posts and my laptop’s many distractions took over. There’s really no excuse for it, but life sometimes moves in seasons, and what was once normal becomes absent.
In my forties, after driving across the United States for a little over a month, I put on nearly twenty pounds. We had sponsors along the way, which translated into far too many hosted meals prepared by incredible chefs in remarkable restaurants—from New York to California. After reaching San Francisco, taking the weight off wasn’t easy, but I made it through and even wrote about my experience. In other words, I reclaimed my vitality.
Those of you who have been out of practice know just how hard it is to get back into the swing of regular exercise. Recently, I decided it was time to step back into motion, starting with power walking and Zumba classes. A return to yoga is also on the horizon.
Something happened during a recent Zumba class that surprised me. It was an expanded awareness of who was in the proverbial room and a deep feeling of connection to all of them, including the instructor. And no, there were no MDMA or mushrooms involved.
As I looked around, I noticed the incredible range of faces moving to the music. I later learned that people in the class were from Mexico, Brazil, the Philippines, China, Japan, Honduras, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Israel, Ukraine, and many other places I haven’t yet discovered. The room was a mosaic of cultures, languages, and life stories, a diverse blend that makes the United States so interesting. The age range was just as varied; however, what stood out most wasn’t our age or where we came from.
It was the joy. It was a large group of people who all said yes to exercise. Their commitment to a routine to improve their health. But even beyond that, a commitment to the group as a whole. You could feel it, which only made exercising that much more enjoyable.
At one point, tears welled up in my eyes.
They weren’t tears of sadness or frustration, but tears of gratitude from that expanded awareness.
Standing there, surrounded by people from so many backgrounds, I suddenly felt the quiet magic of this experiment called the United States of America. It’s easy to lose sight of it in the noise of politics, media cycles, and endless debates about what’s wrong with the world. Or that there’s some mysterious enemy from within, as so many dictators use as their narrative.
In that room, something simpler—and far more human—was unfolding.
We were sharing space.
We were sharing music.
We were sharing movement.
And for a brief moment, all of the labels that usually separate us seemed to dissolve into something much more basic: the experience of being human together. The beauty of our diverse humanity.
The diversity in that room was palpable—from the rhythms people naturally carried in their bodies to the styles of clothing and the warmth of their smiles. Yet beneath those differences was a shared pulse. A sense that we were participating in something communal, something that transcended where we were born or how we arrived here.
It’s easy to forget what we have in this country.
Despite our imperfections—and there are many—there remains a remarkable openness to difference. The ability for people from every corner of the world to find themselves in the same room, moving to the same music, laughing at the same missteps.
That moment reminded me that diversity isn’t just a concept or a political talking point—it’s a lived experience. It’s the woman next to you who speaks with an accent you can’t quite place, but who smiles and cheers you on anyway. It’s the shared rhythm that somehow emerges when people bring their own cultural melodies into the same space.
And perhaps even more unexpectedly, it reminded me of something else: the gift of getting older. Yeah, I know, aging doesn’t always feel like a gift, does it?
None of us escapes this journey. Aging is the one universal path we all walk. Yet our culture often treats it as something to resist or fear rather than something to acknowledge with humility and gratitude.
In that room, I saw people embracing their bodies exactly as they are today—not as they were twenty years ago. We moved imperfectly. We missed steps. We laughed at ourselves. Although there were about ten people in their twenties, most were between forty and sixty, and a few were even older: all of us committed to a path that was likely easier for some than others. For me, as out of practice as I was, it was a challenge, but it was a helluva lot easier than class one.
In my awareness, I felt an internal recognition of something important: that we are still here.
Still breathing.
Still moving.
Still capable of joy, despite the divisiveness in the news, on and offline.
As I stood there catching my breath between songs, I felt a deep appreciation for the people around me—people I may never see outside Zumba. Yet for that hour, we were part of a small, living ecosystem of encouragement and shared energy.
Community doesn’t always require lifelong friendships or elaborate gatherings. Sometimes it emerges in the simplest places: a neighborhood park, a yoga studio, a dance floor. Your own backyard in a conversation over the fence.
Or a Zumba class on an ordinary weekday.
It reminded me that while the world often feels fragmented, our capacity for connection remains astonishingly intact. All it requires is showing up. Paying attention. Taking notice. Having an expanded awareness. Saying yes, I’m here, but without judgment of the other.
Sometimes, simply moving together is enough to remember that we belong to something larger than ourselves.
In the end, the tears that filled my eyes were not about exercise at all, nor about my struggle with it compared to five years ago.
They were about gratitude—for diversity, for community, and for the privilege of growing older in a world where moments like this are still possible.
And perhaps most of all, they were a quiet acknowledgment that we are all dancing through this life together, whether we realize it or not.
In a time when so much of our national conversation focuses on division—who belongs, who doesn’t, who is right, who is wrong—it was quietly profoundly beautiful to stand in a room where none of that mattered. No one asked where anyone was from. No one cared what language someone spoke at home or what their political views might be. We simply showed up, moved our bodies, and shared a moment of joy together. It reminded me that beneath all the noise, the human instinct toward connection is still very much alive.
Perhaps that is part of the gift of getting older. With time, the lens widens. The things that once seemed urgent or defining begin to soften, while the things that truly matter come into sharper focus: kindness, presence, laughter, and the simple act of being in community with others. Aging humbles us in ways we cannot avoid, but it also offers a deeper appreciation for the fleeting beauty of ordinary moments—the kind that remind us we are not alone. And btw, we are never alone.
If there’s something I carried with me after I walked out of the class on that unusually warm March day, it was this: gratitude for the diversity that surrounds us, gratitude for the bodies that still carry us forward even when they creak a little more than they used to, and gratitude for the communities—sometimes unexpected ones—that remind us who we are and that we will bond together through thick and thin, just as we saw in Minneapolis.
In a world that can feel increasingly fractured, perhaps one of the most powerful things we can do is keep showing up for each other, dancing imperfectly but wholeheartedly through this shared human experience. And we can embrace diversity as the very thing that will keep us strong, connected and committed to growth beyond our comfort zones.
It’s also a reminder that we can make a difference one soul at a time, when we pause, listen, take time to connect, lend a smile or a helping hand and be present with another human being, for they are you, and you are them. There truly is no separation, friends.
The universe is in us as much as we are in it, and within this collective field, there’s a collective consciousness that is shifting. Focus on the good, not the insane and corrupted news that is begging you to see it as our only truth.
Trust in yourself, and there you will find peace.
Renee Blodgett is the Founder and Managing Editor of We Blog the World, a global travel, culture and lifestyle publication exploring the world through the lens of meaningful experiences, human connection and cultural depth. Having lived in 10 countries and traveled to 95, Renee has spent much of her life immersed in the people, traditions, landscapes and ideas that shape how we experience the world.
Since launching We Blog the World in 2007, she has written and produced extensive editorial coverage spanning boutique and luxury travel, culinary experiences, arts and culture, wellness, adventure, technology, spiritual traditions and transformative travel. Her work is rooted in the belief that travel is about more than where we go—it is also about what a place, culture or encounter awakens within us.
Renee brings more than three decades of experience across journalism, photography, media, brand strategy, technology, wellness and global storytelling. She has worked with companies and organizations around the world on brand positioning, communications, product launches, media strategy, speaker positioning and storytelling. Through Blue Soul Media, she works with authors, entrepreneurs, thought leaders and purpose-driven brands to clarify their message and expand their impact, which includes speaker coaching/training for high-profile stages such as TED and bringing authors’ work to market while retaining authors rights.
She is also the co-founder of Blue Soul Earth, an educational platform exploring consciousness, ancient wisdom, spirituality, healing and the intersection between science and the nature of reality. Renee is the producer and host of the award-winning Blue Soul CHATS, a conversational series bringing together leading voices in science, technology, consciousness, wellness and spirituality.
Her growing body of work also includes Blue Soul Living, which extends her interest in consciousness and well-being into the spaces we inhabit, exploring how intentional design, energy and environment can support greater harmony and connection.
Renee is the award-winning co-author of the bestselling Magdalene’s Journey and founder of the Magdalene Collection, inspired by women’s voices, stories and wisdom across cultures and generations.
A longtime photographer and storyteller, Renee has documented people, places and cultures around the world and produced photographic collections focused on destinations including the Galápagos Islands, London, South Africa, Rome and Ecuador. She also co-founded Traveling Geeks, an international initiative that brought entrepreneurs, journalists, creators and technology leaders together with their counterparts in other countries to exchange ideas and explore innovation across cultures.
Renee’s work has been recognized by Forbes, the United Nations and others for her influence in media and social storytelling. Across her work in travel, media, consciousness and culture, a common thread remains: curiosity about the world, the stories that connect us and the ways meaningful experiences can change how we see ourselves and one another.
