What I Learned from Visiting the Yogaville Cult

I lost my best friend to a cult. We met in undergrad, studying similar disciplines in the same department and became close. Brianna was effortlessly cool – she seemed to really know who she was and was comfortable in her own skin. She had this effortless thrifted style, was always reading about interesting topics, had a large group of fascinating friends. She was funny and smart and creative in ways I could only dream of being. A kind of joyous calm seemed to radiate off her, and as an incredibly depressed person at the time, I craved this energy. For part of the time we lived in Baltimore City, she rented a room from this woman who lived in the wealthy, bohemian neighborhood of Mount Washington. In that kitchen she taught me vegan recipes, and we’d walk down the rainy autumnal street to a nearby yoga studio for the free community classes. Back then, yoga felt euphoric. Finishing in corpse pose in the dim lighting of a yoga studio, my entire body had ...