There Will be Space

a memoir

I walked into a yoga class today with my younger daughter. It was packed with lots of bodies and very little room to move around. We found a place where we could be together, which I was thankful for. Then, more people came into the class looking for a place to lay out their mat. And I thought: No. Not by me. But of course a man approached and motioned towards the small bit of open space to my left. Sure, I said as my daughter and I scooted as much as we could to give the man room to put down his mat.

I didn’t want the man beside me, not that close anyway. But there he was. Super close. I did all the things you do when you don’t want someone next to you. I worried he was weird, because I thought he maybe looked a little weird. I prayed he wouldn’t talk to me. I hoped his sweat wouldn’t drip on my mat. And then, suddenly, a thought popped into my head. The thought was: I bet he is a very nice man. And I’m more than happy to share this space with him.

And that was that. I was fine. He was fine. He was thoughtful during the class, stepping back a bit so our arms wouldn’t collide during the sun salutations. At the end of class, the man thanked me for making room for him. I nodded and smiled and strangely almost cried. I wanted to grab his hand and say, Of course! The world should always make room for you and I hope it always does!
I thought to myself then, how kindness is everything. Everything.

I’m going to tell you something. 2025 has kicked my ass so far. I’m not going to give you details on how or why, because it absolutely doesn’t matter. But think back to a time in your life when the world all of a sudden decided to shake you up. Think about how tired you felt. Think about a time in your life when you were being called on to do some inner work and it was a really inconvenient time because you thought you finally had your life all together and could just chill for a friggin minute. Maybe you were sorta pissed about it. Or confused. Or sad.

Life challenge is like being rudely woken when you didn’t even realize you were asleep. It’s how you grow (and it’s often how great art is formed.) But it’s also raw and exhausting - until it passes and you emerge wiser and stronger.

Back to my yoga class.

At the end of the class I didn’t even know how I would walk to the car. I was that tired. It had been a HARD class. With weights. Heat. A lot of sweat. And I hadn’t slept well the night before. It was time to go, and we had dumbbells to put back and I knew I would have to go out and put away my weights and then come back in and get all my stuff. I couldn’t carry it all in one trip. So, I walked my weights out of the room to the rack and turned back to come into the classroom and get my stuff.

People were filing out of the class like a clown car. More people. And more people. Sweaty and slow. One after the other. I stood to the side of the door, and I waited. This would be a while, I was going against the grain. As I stood there waiting I thought about how irritatingly familiar it was for me to go against the grain. Heck, I thought to myself, I’d done it my whole life! I started to feel anger and impatience bubble up inside me until I didn’t think I could stand waiting for another second.

A woman appeared in the doorway then. She smiled warmly, looked into my eyes and said sweetly: Do you want to come in?
Yes, please. I said.
She made room for me, and I walked in the door.
I wanted to turn back and hug the woman (and probably cry) and tell her she was the kindest most beautiful person I’d ever met… but when I looked back all I saw was a blur of people with their yoga mats walking out the door.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say here. Something about how when things are momentarily hard, and you are raw, there is love. And there is hope. When you finally decide you will just go the path, and you won’t hate it, and you won’t begrudge it. Because there will be space, and doors will open.
And you will get to the other side of it.
You will.