A beautiful share from one of my first yoga students, Lisa Chottiner.
“Do yoga,” said the infertility doctor. “You need to calm down to become pregnant.”
I was willing to do anything to have a baby. So I prepared my Type A overdrive for chanting, meditating, and levitating with a tiny man in a robe.
Instead, I found myself rocking poses to Cat Stevens, The Stones, and Jay-Z. My tattooed teacher seemed more suited to hang with Bret Michaels than the Dalai Lama.
This everyday guru, Eric Paskel, was the rock star of yoga. It wasn’t because of his killer good looks or his awesome playlist. It was because of his words. Eric was the first person to say he was full of sh**.
But he understood the human spirit and he had the power to express it in between calling out the poses.
Eric scraped souls.
He scraped mine.
After years of yoga classes, five failed IVFs, and a surrogate attempt that belongs on Dateline, Eric said, “wanting to have a child of your own is a selfish act when so many children need your love.”
I hated him.
He didn’t care what I thought. He spoke the truth.
Eventually, I knew it too.
So when the phone rang and the person on the other end said, “A baby girl was born.” I took a deep breath and was ready to welcome her home with less than 14 hours notice.
Three months later, the doctors said my baby girl was blind. I took another deep breath and knew this was a very special call to service.
My daughter is six years old. Each day brings new challenges, but also new joys.
It’s all because of the wisdom of my everyday guru.