You Can’t See It
I’m a yogi.
It repairs my body and steadies my mind after long, demanding weeks.
Two days ago my teacher said: you can’t see it, you have to believe it.
She was referring to the postures when we can’t see what we look like.
We have to just believe we have the right form and alignment (with her guidance, of course).
The phrase really stuck with me.
It reminded me of my friends who dropped their baby off at daycare.
They can’t see the great care he’s getting; they just have to believe it.
It reminded me of my coworker who moved their teenager into college last fall.
They can’t see the groups she’s in or the conversations she’s having.
They just have to believe she’s safe and supported.
It reminds me of my paintings when they're still wet.
And my stories when they’re half written.
I can’t see how they might connect with someone else or if they will sell in one day or in six months.
I just have to believe they will.
It's just that I'm not always good at believing in things I can't see.
So I’ll make as many paintings as I can.
To remind me when I forget.
