Today was my last Monday morning class. I talked with my regulars (all two of them) about plans for the new year. With any luck, I'll have a few new classes, offered at two different locations. They won't be as sweet as my deal at the current yoga studio, but that's just how the business works. Afterwards, I went to a luncheon held by the person in charge of the property that the yoga studio rented out of. It felt a little funny, being in my workout gear and surrounded by people in their best Christmas getup, but it was still a lot of fun to meet all the other teachers at the studio, even though I wouldn't be working alongside them after this week.
The owner of the yoga studio had gifts for us, partly as a Christmas present, partly as a "thank you for being my employee" present. It was a simple, smooth stone, with the words "Begin Again" engraved in it. We all started tearing up when we opened our gift, the owner included.
Everyone talks about starting over, turning a new leaf, creating a new chapter (and all other clichéd metaphors) with the new year. I feel like I've been beginning again (and again) for the last six months. And it's easy at time to feel completely lost with each new chapter. I swore I had my footing when I landed the tai chi position, only to realize that I needed to begin again.
And I am. My plans for the new year might be as scattered as my brain right now, but I'm still going forward. Things are going to fall apart, fall through, and fall by the wayside. And I'm excited for what is coming. Yeah, my yoga studio is closing down, but I might have my footing found somewhere else. Yeah, no agent is biting at my manuscripts, but I've already had two essays go viral (btw - that "To the Women Who Choose Not to Have Kids" essay? Over 250,000 shares and nearly a million views. Featured on Buzzfeed and everything. How do you like them apples.)
So there we go. Time to take the advice of a smooth stone and begin again.