A few years ago, a teacher encouraged the class I was in to be curious. You know how sometimes you hear something that sounds profound, but you don’t really know what it means.
There is one door I’ve trodden a path to recently.
I invited a friend to come to a yoga class with me as my entourage.
(One needs entourage sometimes, even at a yoga class, and my friend had other, more …uhm… appropriate, motives, so let’s just not get distracted by the whole yoga class entourage idea. My point is…)
We made plans, I was looking forward to the outing. Then I checked with him the evening before, and he said he couldn’t make it, because he had a birthday party to go to.
(For all you grown up individuals out there reading this, I am way too old to be upset by this, but…)
Outwardly, I got jokingly upset, as if I was just giving him a hard time to tease him. But I also felt hurt for real. Logically, I could see how it wasn’t a big deal. Birthdays happen once a year. I go to classes by myself all the time. Sometimes I run into tango friends or yoga friends there, sometimes I don’t. That day, I could use a friend for strength, but not badly enough to justify how badly I felt.
I sat quietly for a few minutes, opened the door for the feelings, and invited them to come closer. With curiosity. I said hello to them.
I breathed to sense them. They were not specific at first. They didn’t go away. But they didn’t bite either. They sat with me for a while and then they told me what they truly were: I felt validated in my unimportance. My friend didn’t intend that, that’s just where I hurt. It didn’t go away, but now we knew each other. When I woke up in the morning, it was gone. All was well.
With this meaning of curiosity, having “negative” feelings is almost enjoyable: new interesting friends! To take it further, crying inevitably teaches me something, if I stay curious, so here is to crying: