I rushed a little to get through security and land at the gate, just in time to hear, “Denver Flight 6468 has been delayed 45 minutes.” ImmediatelyI text a friend, not really bothered, just looking to pass the time.
She writes back, “Good News.” I ask why, and she points me to the sacred nature of this space in between, this pause.
How will I fill this time? What am I open to exploring? What am I ready to reflect upon? Or, more importantly, will I choose anxiety and its pattern of looking away from experience as she unfolds, or will I instead choose to feel the world and my own feeling state, come-what-may?
It hit me in that moment that I was open. I felt open to see and witness and really watch my surroundings. I was open to the small stories around me, unfolding in the nature of all of their interesting turns and unexpected twists.
There was an elderly couple, sharing a cup of coffee, lost in love with each other. There was a child and her Barbie, climbing the back of a seat, saving Ken from some un-imaginable peril.
There was a man dressed in incredible colors who watched the world with the widest of eyes.
There was me, a yoga teacher from Boulder, returning home from a weekend teaching in Omaha, open to the stories around her. Perhaps she seemed even open to her own story?
Maybe what helped this open-heart-natured observation was my weekend with some exquisite women in Omaha, my hosts for a weekend workshop. I think we talked about everything. We talked about: what shaped us, what broke our hearts, what terrified us, what we never said to anyone, what we have said to anyone who would listen, what called us forward, and what held us each under. We spoke each in turn and in turn held space and strength. It was a collective of grace and power and honor. It was a training ground to live with love and patience at all these spaces in between, no matter how small, no matter how cavernous.
I felt inspired in the weekend by both content and conversation and was radically shifted after each session or loving meal, evening chat, and random here and there space in between encounter. I am going home with something broken. I am going home with my beliefs shifted and my heart cracked wide and wild. I find myself not wearing the old shell of my past that I cannot mend nor bring with me on the return flight. I am returning to my soil with my soul aligned to change and an enormous part of my narrative broken, bent, even shattered, and now… left in an energetic recycling bin in Omaha.
What will change? I have no idea. However, my eyes feel wider and my perspective’s gait lighter.
As I board, I hear, “Welcome to your life. Oddly everything and nothing is like you left it,” says my heart to my mind.
I find that I am willing, ready, come-what-may,