My youngest sister, Kristi, recently told me how much she admires the way I stick with things. How I never give up.
I remember the words sliding past me. I wasn’t really allowing them to sink in because I don’t see myself that way.
The story I tell myself is that I am lazy and rarely follow through on anything.
She went onto explain how she admires the way I’ve hung in these last two years while my yoga classes slowly began to build. I never thought of that, but it’s true. I sub as often as I can. I pick up classes when offered. I persist even if no students show up one week or only one the next.
She said it’s the same with my writing. I keep writing, I keep putting my words out there and it’s been over two decades.
In my mind, since I don’t have a book published, I diminish what I have accomplished. I let compliments or admiration slip right on past because I don’t allow myself to admire what I’ve done.
So, maybe I am not lazy.
Maybe I actually do follow through.
As I allow this to sink in, that mean, petty little voice pipes up with its list of “buts.”
But you still haven’t submitted your novel-in-stories.
But you don’t have an agent.
That is not the point.
Those are nice end-goals to have but they aren’t the way I am choosing to measure my worth.
The one thing my persistence with teaching yoga and writing have in common is me showing up.
I just keep showing up because I love it.
I love to teach.
I love yoga.
I love words.
I love writing.
I love connecting to others through words.
I start thinking of other ways that I show up.
I show up to:
• My yoga practice whether at a studio or in my yoga room at home
• My blog
• Reflecting and keeping track of every book I read
• Cooking healthy delicious food
By showing up, I mean something more than just showing up. It’s deeper than that. I am not just going through the motions.
Then it hits me.
These are all endeavors I am devoted to.
I show up to things that light me up. Even when it’s hard.
Even when it cracks open some dormant darkness I still show up.
Devotion. Sticking with it through the ups and downs and zigzags and spirals.
Practicing yoga in whatever form I could through my back injury.
Writing through rejection and dry spells and not knowing what comes next.
Beginning again when it gets hard.
And I think that is what my sister admired. My love, my enthusiasm—my devotion.
Now, it is something I admire in myself as well.