“I think they have meditation and the doctor visiting tonight, so you maybe yeah, you want to cancel?”
Reading the text message, I gazed out the window and looked at the less than desirable weather to drive in, I thought about my choices. Stay in the house, maybe watch a movie with the kids, or do what I had said I could do when I contacted the volunteer coordinator for the homeless shelter and grab my buckets of mats and offer anybody that wanted to practice some yoga after dinner the ability to do so. Bundling up, I moved as quickly as the bucket would allow in an awkward manner to the car, trying to avoid the mix of snow and rain and headed off, punching in the address to find my way to yet another church in the county which serves as a temporary weekly residence for those looking for something more permanent.
Recently, I was meeting with a woman who was working on potentially opening up a yoga studio, and when I asked her how many people she needed to have in order to run a class, and she said 6. Less than 6 she said, we would have to cancel. If I held true to that going to the shelter, I would have been able to teach just 1 class in the past 6 months.
Par for the course, when I entered and introduced myself to the host site person in charge, they had no idea that I was coming. Nevertheless, they were happy to have me and scoured the church to find a location to practice. The only space available was a brightly lit hallway, just down the way from the practicing choir, and a custodial engineer who reminded me that he would need to get through that area in a bit so we might have to adjust our practice. Luckily, he would linger, and talk to people coming out of choir practice for a bathroom break and never get to us before our practice was over.
After securing a spot to practice, it was time to see if any of the residents this week wanted to practice. The one woman who practiced last week and said she slept soundly after the practice said not this week, and proceeded to plop herself down in front of the TV. A young boy, about the age of my daughter, who had practiced last week, said sure, and grabbed his laptop and followed me down the hall. Coming from the other end, another woman, this one younger than the one who had plopped herself down in front of the tv, walked up to me and said, “Are we practicing this week?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “There is meditation as well, ” I said, “if you wanted to do that.”
“No way, ” she said. “I practiced a little bit of yoga this week, after last week’s class and that is better than meditation for me.”
So, off we went. Upstairs to the brightly lit hallway, with the soundtrack of the gospel choir in the background and the movement of the custodial engineer back and forth across the hallway as he cleaned to practice. It wasn’t to long, before the young boy asked if he could just quit right now, grabbing his laptop to check to see how much of a charge was left and scampered off. I would see him later, sitting on the steps with blue frosting from a cookie he was eating spread all around his face.
It was down to the young woman. One to practice breath and movement. Hopefully, giving her some time and space to relax and unwind from the day. One was enough.
One was enough to make the time taken to drive out and offer the practice of yoga. One was enough when you hear how they had practiced during the week a bit since last week’s class and they enjoyed it.
There is an old saying that says, “One is better than none.” One is more than enough.