Every dream comes at a price. Sometimes the price is on the smaller side: a few sleepless nights, a few extra dollars, maybe even a tax on basic self-care needs. Sometimes the price is an internal shift: learning to be vulnerable, learning to let go, learning to have faith. But there are other types of dreams — the ones that keep us up at night, the ones that gnaw at our hearts, the ones that haven’t left us alone, for days, months or even years — and those are the most expensive dreams of all. Those dreams mark the threshold between who you are now, and who you are meant to become.
A year and a half ago, my dream was born from a puddle of tears (as most important dreams are). After ten years of pouring my heart into my life coaching career, I came to the heartbreaking recognition that although my tools were helpful and even life-changing for some, they were falling far short of what many of my students needed. I had come to the last inch of a dead-end road with my career. I couldn’t, in good faith, continue to teach tools that only helped some of the people some of the time. I felt like a fraud peddling topical feel-good fixes and I decided that I either needed to find a better modality — one that helped everyone — or I needed to close up shop.
From the middle of my puddle of tears came a spark, a tiny little idea. An idea to combine the ancient wisdom of yoga with some of the best life coaching tools that I had to offer. That spark lit a fire in me, a torch that burned for months and lit the path for wisdom and creativity. I read thousands of pages of books, I journaled ideas, I practiced with anyone who would let me, I leaned into faith and prayed for guidance.
My little spark started to help people and I began witnessing miracles. And then more miracles. And then more people. I made a pact to say “Yes” to the dream, I made a promise to walk through any door that was opened for me and for this work. I made a promise to commit myself to the success of this work. I surrendered to the dream and worked like a dog, day in and day out. I burned the boats, leaving myself no other option but success.
The past two weeks have been nothing short of miraculous. I have seen hearts mend, pasts heal, childhoods rewrite themselves. I’ve seen people who believed they were terminally broken find faith and hope for their future. I’ve witnessed people who once wanted to die find an unwavering will to live. I have watched these people find their own spark, their own dream and I’ve watched as they’ve started to change their own lives, their own communities and as they’ve begun to take this work out into the world.
Every dream comes at a price. Yesterday was my first day off in eleven months. I'm not kidding. This dream has cost me more hours than I thought I could afford. More money than I thought I had. More faith than I thought possible. It has taken a toll on my physical health, on the well-being of my family and cost me my relationship. This dream was expensive. Yet, I couldn’t not do it.
After the past two weeks of twelve-hour training days, after all the students had hugged and said goodbye, I sat in the silent space of Yoga Church, soaking up the love, the grief, the heartache and in the miracle of what has been created over this past year. I have never been so proud. I have never been so full. I have never felt so much love. Before I locked up, I patted the wall and said out loud, “You did good Yoga Church. You did good.”
Finally, it is time for me to rest. There is a quote from Isak Denisen that says, “The cure for anything is salt: sweat, tears or the sea.” I’ve chosen the sea. As I write, I am looking out over the Pacific from the Big Sur coastline. I am taking this week off to refuel, to revive and to restore.
This dream was expensive. And it was totally worth it.
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