On impact
The last several weeks, I’ve been exploring Ruiz’s The Four Agreements; the last one to explore is "Always do your best,” which we can take to mean giving the best effort with the energy that we have at the time. I want to offer a story that looks at this from a slightly different perspective: how doing the most with what is presented to you can have a big impact on the people you encounter.
In my early 20s, I began practicing yoga in earnest. I had first serially watched and rewatched one 45-minute video and then took some classes at my local rec center. When I moved home to Saint Louis for one year with the goal to pay off my student loan, the one luxury I gave myself was an unlimited subscription to a yoga studio I had trialed and quickly grown to love.
I adored my time there. My body still remembers the lessons well and, though I haven’t practiced regularly in years, will easily and automatically return to them with the slightest effort. However, my clearest full memory is from one evening class on a cold and rainy late winter evening.
This was in the early 2000s, before scheduling software had become what it is today. While they tracked payment on the computer, signing up for a given class consisted of showing up and signing in on a piece of paper. Consequently, neither teachers nor students knew how big the class was going to be until the class began.
I arrived directly from work; the teacher of the night was a recent graduate from the yoga teacher training program. She was also still an active student, and I had participated alongside her with other more advanced teachers. I was happy it was her this evening because I admired her; in her, I saw a juxtaposition of still poise overlaying a deeply active presence. I - the first to arrive - rolled out my mat and settled in for some meditation with my eyes closed. I remember first hearing the rain beginning to come down harder, a wash of calming white noise. Shortly thereafter, the sound of the door closing behind me punctuated the relative quiet. I opened my eyes and found her sitting directly in front of me on her mat.
I looked around - no one else had shown up; it was only me.
I spoke up, “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, given the rain and cold. Since it’s just me, you don’t have to stay.” I began to shift to roll up my mat.
She looked straight into my eyes and said simply and firmly, “You showed up; we practice.”
We proceeded to practice; afterwards, I thanked her profusely - she had essentially given me private session, which at the time was worth at least 15 times what she was going to be compensated that evening. More importantly, that act of staying made me feel worthy.
A decade later, a friend of mine was in the process of launching his second children’s book and had scheduled a series of readings and events. One of them he was nervous about because there was little traction on the social media posts. He was second guessing the day, the time, the location.
“What if no one shows up?”
I remembered my unexpected private yoga session; I shared the story. “Even if only one person shows up - think about the impact of that. Here I am, telling you about my experience over ten years later. I will never forget that she stayed.”
He went; afterwards, he told me that, in the two-hour block, only one mother and her son had come. But that child couldn’t stop talking about how cool it was to have met a “real author.”
Was my teacher and my friend staying for one person a cost effective use of their time? Absolutely not. But I’d argue the impact is immeasurable and paid dividends. She went on to become a director of a yoga school; his book just had its second printing.
As we close out February, can you pause when presented with situations that may seem on the surface to be a lost cause and press forward?
Be well, beautiful people.
