I’m teaching yoga again. Thank God. Because by the six-month mark of my ‘resettlement’ period into a new town, my justifications for taking a break were wearing thin as a pair of Target-caliber tights tossed on tumble dry high too many times. Even my supportive husband (take all the time you need, sweetheart…), who’s been loving the custom fruit smoothies hand-delivered to his bedside each morning raised an eyebrow when I assembled my first batch of homemade granola. Witnessing his can-we-just-phone-it-in-for-dinner girl with an oven mitt in one hand and a greasy cup of coconut oil in the other set off an alarm.
Literally and figuratively.
My first two months in Boston passed quickly. Any ruminations on life purpose during what everyone around here is now calling an epic winter manifested in how best to master a snow shovel and keep the blood circulating in my ears and toes. Retreating to the warmth – both physical and emotional – of my new yoga community (Baptiste Power Yoga Boston) was enough turn the corners of my mouth up every morning. Back in February, I figured a practice (ok, two or three) per day, coupled with a few blog posts per week and maybe a volunteer gig at a local dog rescue would feed my soul and fulfill God’s plan for me.
You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens” – Rumi
Until the rolled oats and pans came out. My first batch of granola set off a smoke alarm and seared the fingers off my oven mitt. Tears flooded onto the charred layer of coconut flakes on top (tip: toss the flakes in last!) as reality set in.
I missed teaching. And all that comes with it: creating; sharing; learning; laughing; connecting; overcoming. I realized, staring into that charred batch of hell before me, that I’d given up. I’d tossed aside all faith in my ability to inspire others through the extensive training, exploration, and honest-to-God love I have for the practice of yoga.
A miracle is a shift in perception from fear to love” – Marianne Williamson
A miracle is in the works now. Timing, God, the Universe, two special souls who own the studio I now teach at apparently heard my heart at just the right moment and have given me an opportunity to step up to joys and challenges of teaching once again. I’m embracing it with grace and vulnerability the best I can, and am chipping away at the fears that arise with it. I’m not the best yoga teacher. Nor will I ever be, or want to be. But I am enough. As long as I walk into every class with a commitment to sharing my spirit and connecting with my students on an honest, human level, I’m on the right path.
Even if that path is sprinkled with bits of charred oats along the way.