The Things We Cannot Control
This morning, Zoom dropped in the middle of my class. In fact, the internet just went "poof".
It happens.
A year+ ago I might have stressed, wigged out a bit, employed desperate measures to try and revive it. This morning, though I did give it the old college try, I had to give up after a few minutes. I looked at my one, beautiful and inspiring "in person" student and we shrugged. Ah well. she wondered at my mellowness. I wondered if it wasn't just resignation. But I actually savored the rest of class, the two of us in the quiet Thetford space, the drip drip of the rain, the cessation of the buzzy whir of my laptop, the dreariness of the day contributing its own kind of mood-scape to our lovely practice. And then after class came the multiple pings of texts and emails once wifi was restored. Cathy, who often attends that class via Zoom, had simply, matter of factly, jumped in, finished the class ("beautifully" and "spontaneously" were some of the descriptions from students). Because that is who she is. (And—I might add—it is not the first time.) Just like that, my slightly resigned and soggy mood lifted on the wings of her love and her generosity.
These kindnesses remind me that we are a community, in all the ways. Yes, the internet sometimes goes out. Even when the virtual class cannot then be salvaged, as has occasionally happened, I have received only kindness and understanding in return.
Back in 2003, when I began Upper Valley Yoga with my friend and business partner Kat Smith (then Frorer) I felt daily buoyed just knowing that in this sometimes exhilarating, sometimes terrifying venture, she had my back. Always. And I had hers. When Kat moved on it was difficult to make the shift to a sole proprietor. I lacked her confidence.
There were a lot of phone calls, a lot of long distance hand wringing and hand holding while I tried not to fall through the interior trap door into my own well of insecurity. Those calls and needs diminished over time as I continued to build the studio and I was increasingly strengthened by the presence of teachers like Cathy and many others, who have regularly jumped in for sick teachers, sick kids, broken cars, life's surprises. I have felt so grateful too for Angie...over the years we have nurtured a mutual respect and support for our two studios and diverse offerings. Our support of each others' studios reinforces a deep hope in me that yoga studios can thrive individually and still support each other.
You can find out more about Angie's studio and diverse classes and teacher training here.
These glimpses of kindness, of grace and of simply stepping in to help one another have been some of the bright spots amidst the darker stretches of the past couple of years. Not just the studio, but out in the world, the ways we hold each other in light and have each others' backs when we lose someone to illness, the shared joy when there is news of a birth in the family, of a joyous reunion, of a new puppy. This is how we offer our light back into the darkness.
Keep on offering your light, friends—to each other and the world.
We need it now more than ever.
