Healthy words --> healthy thoughts --> healthy actions.
I left the community center yesterday feeling uplifted, enlightened, and thoroughly respected.
I didn’t speak to a single child.
This wasn’t the plan, of course. The plan was for me to plunge valiantly back into the throng of children who last week thwarted my efforts at teaching them how to get calm and stay focused. To encourage a different outcome this time around, I showed up renewed and prepared, armed with positive energy, helpful teaching tips, and a custom visual aid.
The poster, which I’d made myself and cleverly rolled up into my yoga mat for easy transport, spelled out an acronym for RESPECT: Responsible, Empowered, Secure, Positive, Equal, Choice, True.
These words carry meaning for me, and hopefully, my students. I knew there was no guarantee we’d get around to discussing each of the words, or even that we’d talk about respect at all. But we have talked about it before, and I figured I could at least put the poster on the wall and take it from there.
On the walk from the train to the center I silently coached myself for class, running through a flexible list of games and activities and assuring myself I had the necessary skills and tools to do my job well. As I neared the entrance, I took a deep breath and reminded myself of two of my favorite truths: I am always supported, and this too shall pass.
It was quiet when I entered the building. Too quiet. I signed in and was told my site contact–the program director, who I’ll call D.–was upstairs. I had hoped to speak with her before class so was glad to know where to find her, and while I was nailing down locations I asked if the desk attendant knew in which room we’d be having yoga.
“Yoga for who?” he wanted to know.
“Um, the kids?” I answered.
“The kids are gone,” he said.
The kids are gone? I asked him what he meant and he smiled cryptically and suggested I just head upstairs. After a flash of stricken frustration I breathed deeply and smiled back. No kids? Okay, no problem, what now?
I found D. mid-discussion with another community leader, who graciously pardoned my interruption as D. expressed her surprise at seeing me. I managed to hide my shock but not my disappointment when D. explained that camp had ended the day before.
Just like that, my job was over.
In short, red tape complications had prompted an early dismissal of the kids, and since my site contact didn’t realize my Street Yoga contact was on vacation, I didn’t get the message that I wasn’t needed to teach.
No, that’s not the message I got at all: The message I was given in person, via the heart-to-heart D. and I had in lieu of class, was that I have done good work in my time with the kids, and she hopes I will share more yoga at the center.
I am really sad I didn’t get to say good-bye to my students. I didn’t know that last week’s discouraging chaos was also going to be my farewell effort–though if I had known, I probably would have felt even worse about the less-than-happy ending.
But I am also glad to understand that nothing has really ended. The kids are alive and well, maybe even better off for having been exposed to what I offered them. D. certainly thinks so, and since she’s savvy enough to–among other inspirational feats–fund and manage a multigenerational community center, I choose to believe her.
I choose to believe the work has just begun. Forget about failure: I’ve successfully laid the groundwork for more healing in my community, and for that I am wholeheartedly grateful.
As for my poster? I left it with D. She wants to laminate it.
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