It hurts to be Human
This week was rough.
I’ve been listening to a lot of Pink, who I consider to be the Queen of Badass Mamas. I’ve been needing to invoke my inner badass. My inner Kali, the goddess within me that helps to make decisions based on facts rather than feelings, no matter how hard that may be.
The decision to close the doors of our sacred community space was not taken lightly. In fact, it was the heaviest and most heartbreaking decision I’ve ever had to make. I’ve felt the weight of that decision this week as people have shared so much sadness over the news. I’ve second-guessed myself, I’ve doubted myself, I’ve experienced waves of guilt; I’ve heard a lot from that familiar voice in my head telling me that I could have done more and done better. I’ve also experienced relief and hope and happiness knowing that this studio space and the teachers and staff added so much goodness to our world.
I’ve never before felt the efficacy of my personal practice in my daily life so powerfully. Because while I have experienced the full spectrum of emotions this week, I have also, mostly (but not all the time!), stayed connected to the core of my being: my center, my truth, my breath. I try to be fully present in my body even while I cry, while I experience doubt and guilt and all the other human emotions that are not so fun. I try to come back to my breath again and again, and I feel the pain as well as observe it.
This is a huge loss and loss hurts. Loss is the most painful experience we can have as humans. We lost our physical space, as did many other yoga communities in NYC and across the country. Two hundred thousand people lost their lives because of Covid, and many more lost beloved family members. Thousands and thousands of people lost their homes and all of their personal belongings to fires. Thirty million people in this country lost their jobs in the past six months.
It hurts to be human.
Yogis, what do we do with that pain?
Do we stir it up and make it bigger by getting angry about it? Sometimes.
Do we hold on tight to it by telling ourselves narratives about it? (This is so unfair! This is my life’s work! This is everything I have!, etc.) Been there, done that.
Do we lament in the emotional experience of it and lose our connection to our breath? It happens.
But we also try to remember to experience the fullest expression of our human nature right now: you, me, us.
We step forward together. Let’s say a prayer. May we release the sacred space of 350 Fort Washington Avenue with deep gratitude for all that it gave us. May we release our grief into the winds of change. May we step forward together in abundance, trust, and deep knowing that we are a community of spiritual beings having this human experience together.
