We just finished teaching our last community class. We are at the end of our journey. A journey that took us through 200 hours of yoga teacher training, and then another six weeks of practical preparation – teaching a real class once a week. Writing it in one sentence makes it seem easy, easy in a way that what is past always seems inevitable. The hard work and heart ache seem so far away. All the stumbling, stuttering and nervous jitters don’t seem quite as real anymore. Now that it’s over. Now that our journey is at an end.
We were yoga teachers six weeks ago, qualified and registered, but not ready. Today we are ready. All of us showed confidence and poise while teaching, our hearts opened to the room and held space for our students. But now it is over.
A wistful sadness overtakes my heart. My emotions crumple and quiver, ready at any moment to break down. For fourteen weeks we had our own community – fellow travelers on the teacher training path. Sharing struggles and victories together. And now it is over.
Platitudes demand that I see this as the beginning of a new journey, that I cherish the experiences I’ve had, hold tight to the friends I’ve made and embrace the future. Yet I long to savor what has passed for just a moment more. To return to the road and relive my discoveries, to laugh and cry – safe in the knowledge that we will finish together.
Before departing we embrace, and I wonder to myself whether it’s the last time. The last time that we will be together, the last time that we will strengthen each other and the last time that we will gaze forward to the path as a yoga teacher with trepidation.
I don’t know what the next step holds, I can only count those I’ve taken to get here. Some were hard, others were light. All were taken together with friends.