For Kristi

People come into our lives in ordinary ways.

They walk through a door looking for a yoga class. They unroll a mat. They find a place in the room and sit down among strangers. Nobody rings a bell announcing that this particular person will matter. There is no sign hanging around their neck saying, Pay attention. This one will become family.

Kristi came to us that way.

She began by taking classes and eventually joined the 200-hour Yoga Teacher Training that my son Mingo and I teach together. From the beginning, there was something about her. I suppose you could call her a rising star, although that description doesn’t quite suit someone who has never seemed terribly interested in being seen as one.

Kristi is quiet and reflective. She is often the person willing to step backward so someone else can step forward. She notices who needs encouragement. She makes room. She listens.

But there is a funny thing about light.

Hiding it doesn’t make it disappear.

Some people shine by standing in the middle of the room. Others illuminate the room simply by being in it.

That is Kristi.

She showed up from the beginning ready to work, with integrity, honesty and compassion. And over time I realized this wasn’t something she saved for yoga or teacher training. It was simply the way she moved through the world.

Later, I asked her to come with me to Spain, where I was leading a meditation teacher training. I wanted her to take the training but also to assist me.

That invitation meant more to me than she probably knew.

I had recently experienced a small heartbreak with another student I had mentored for years. These things happen in life. We love people, we invest in them, we believe we know where the road is going, and then suddenly it turns. I had begun thinking perhaps it would be easier to lead trainings alone, or only alongside my son. Keep the circle smaller. Protect the tender places.

Kristi simply asked me to trust her.

And I did.

I have never regretted it.

She became exactly the kind of support a person hopes for but cannot manufacture—steady without needing recognition, capable without needing control, present without needing to be asked. During that week in Spain, I watched her care for our students, for the training, and for me.

Sometimes life sends the answer to a hurt not by repairing what happened, but by quietly showing us that we can trust again.

Kristi was part of that lesson for me.

And Spain, apparently, had another lesson waiting for her.

The previous year, on another retreat there, she had met a young man. And before long, love did what love has been doing since human beings first began making plans—it rearranged everything.

Now that young man is her fiancé, and Kristi is preparing to move far away with him, beginning a life in another country.

We are all so happy for her.

And we will miss her terribly.

Both things can be true.

Perhaps that is one of the harder lessons of loving people. We want them to grow, and then sometimes their growing carries them away from us.

Change has never asked our permission.

We can dig our heels into the earth and insist that everything remain exactly as it is, but life has never made that bargain with us. A river does not apologize when it reaches a fork. It simply follows the land, dividing and bending toward places it has never seen.

We could stand on the bank and call it loss.

Or we could understand that somewhere farther downstream, that same water will reach another patch of earth.

Something will grow there because it came.

That is how I think of Kristi now.

She is not leaving our lives. She is carrying something from this little community with her, just as she leaves something of herself behind in all of us.

She has supported our teacher trainings. She has become a beautiful teacher and mentor to our students. She has been a friend, a steady presence, a source of encouragement and support.

And somewhere along the way, without any of us quite noticing when it happened, she became family.

Part of our tribe.

Part of the story of this growing community.

Part of my story.

I wish I had told her more often what that meant to me.

This may be one of my own lessons in her leaving: not to assume there will always be another Tuesday, another training, another retreat, another cup of tea, another chance to say the thing we carry quietly in our hearts.

There may always be time, but there is only ever this time.

This moment.

This person standing in front of us.

So, Kristi, I want to say it now.

I am proud of you.

I am grateful for you.

I trusted you with something precious, and you treated that trust with tenderness.

You have given more to this community than you probably realize. You have taught our students, supported our work, stood beside us, laughed with us, traveled with us, learned with us and grown with us.

And you have reminded me of something I needed reminding of:

A teacher does not always know who is teaching whom.

Perhaps none of us do.

We simply walk beside one another for however many miles we are given, leaving little pieces of wisdom, courage and love in each other’s pockets.

Then one day the road divides.

And we bless each other and keep walking.

Kristi, as you begin this new life with the man you love, I hope you never feel that you are leaving us behind.

Distance is geography.

Love is something else entirely.

The river may divide, but somewhere beneath the earth all waters belong to one another. The paths that have truly crossed do not become strangers simply because they travel in different directions.

I have a feeling ours will cross again and again.

How could they not?

Go now and bring your quiet light to this new place.

Let new students find you.

Let new friends love you.

Build a home.

Plant things.

Laugh loudly.

Teach beautifully.

Love deeply.

And every once in a while, look back toward us and remember that there is a community here that is better because you walked through our door one day and unrolled your mat among us.

You will be greatly missed.

You will always belong here.

And wherever this next river carries you, may you remember:

You do not have to step aside so someone else can shine.

There is room in this world for all the light we can give it.

To the next chapter of your life, Kristi.

We celebrate you today.

We will celebrate you from afar.

And we will carry you close, always.

We Love You Kristi!

Hari Om Tat Sat