It’s the first day of the school year for me. And I’m going to be late. I hate to be late.

The school is only 5.5 miles from my house. So I leave 45 minutes ahead of my start time, allowing- I think- plenty of wiggle room for traffic and detours. But there are so many red lights. So many kids crossing streets. So many city busses. So many double-parked cars.

While I slowly snake my way through the grid of streets, in this city with the worst drivers in the world, I have plenty of time to stress about being late. And plenty of time to get all up in my head.

This is my thirteenth (!!) school year as a teacher for a non-profit that brings yoga and meditation to schools in Newark, NJ. Thirteen years.

This will be my last year, I say to myself, after cursing the Sunday driver in front of me.

Over the past dozen years I have taught yoga in at least two dozen different schools. I have taught in classrooms designed for twenty students, in which thirty children were sandwiched between rows of desks, barely able to stretch. I have taught in hallways, with people passing by. In gyms which were simultaneously being used as cafeterias. On stages behind curtains while music classes happened in the auditorium. I even taught one class in a tiny ‘room’ that should have been a custodial closet, complete with slop sink.

This will definitely be my last year, I say to myself. I know I said that last year. And the year before. And the year before. But I mean it this time.

I shouldn’t be doing this any more any way. I’m too old. Too stiff. Too tired. Too heavy. My practice isn’t dynamic enough for kids. I’m not the one for this job. They’ll see that as soon as I walk in the room.

It’s a new school for me today. I’ve never been there. I don’t know the kids. I don’t know the building. The teachers. The administration. The culture. The vibe.

I don’t know this traffic pattern…

FIFTY minutes later, after ignoring my GPS because I could find a faster way, and making three u-turns on dead-end streets, I find myself being scolded, for heading the wrong way down the one-way street in front of the school, by a security guard on the sidewalk.

This is definitely my last year. I think to myself again. Or maybe I say it out loud.

I park my car. Run across the street to the building. Get my visitors badge at the front desk, and am directed to the gym. I’m already sweating.

I meet the (super young) Phys Ed teacher behind one of the dividers in the community room/gymnasium/cafeteria/auditorium. He (seriously, he looks like a teenager) tells me he’s sorry that the kids are late. I tell him that I’m grateful for the few minutes to get my shit together, but not in those words.

I drink some water. And survey the space. We have yoga mats! They are arranged in a semi-circle. I roll out my mat and then walk to the door to greet the first group of kids. We breathe deeply. We stretch. We laugh. We balance. We try some new things.

After a few classes in the gym, I walk into an art room and get a lot of attitude from a teacher who didn’t know I was coming. She is not happy to be interrupted. And she makes that very clear. She begrudgingly helps me move the tables to the side. She half-heartedly begins to participate.

The kids seem to really enjoy the class. At the end one student says ‘I feel so calm and relaxed’. To which I reply ‘That’s great! That’s what yoga is all about.’ As I gather my things to leave the room, the teacher thanks me for coming, and says ‘That was so magical. I wish you could come here every day.’ Sigh

On my way back downstairs I run into the security guard, and I introduce myself. ‘Hi. I’m Miss Kim, the yoga teacher. I’m the one who drove in the wrong way today.’ ‘I know who you are,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry for that,’ I say. ‘It’s my first time here and I was a little lost, and running late.’ ‘Mmm hmm,’ he says. Nothing more.

The next few classes are held in the gym while it is also being used as a cafeteria. The echoes of lunchtime laughter coming over the divider makes it difficult for the kids to concentrate. I continue to teach, not knowing whether the yoga is getting through or not.

At the end of the last class of the day, a first grader walks over to me and says ‘Thank you. I feel so good and so happy.’ ‘I’m glad to hear it’ I reply. ‘Can I give you a hug? she asks. So I give her a one-armed-side-hug. Upon seeing this, five or six other kids come over to get in on the group hug action. I can feel the yoga love.

I walk to the front door with a smile on face. Sweating. Satisfied. Remembering why this is really the best job I could possibly have. Remembering why I am the right person for the job.

I say goodbye to the security guard on my way out. ‘Have a nice day.’
‘You make sure you come in here the right way next time,’ he says.
‘Oh, I definitely will,’ I reply.

I definitely will.