Say yes whenever possible
In 2003, my friend Charlie died of stomach cancer. He was one of my best friends from college. Charlie and I met in the summer of 1992, a few weeks before we both started our freshman year at Colorado College. We had a lot in common. He had recently graduated from the Taft School in Connecticut. I had just finished high school in London. We had both just participated in 30-day NOLS courses (National Outdoor Leadership School) in Wyoming. I hiked in the Absaroka Mountain range while he was climbing in the Wind River Range. Charlie’s parents moved to Lake Forest, my hometown. My parents had recently relocated back after four years of being abroad.
Charlie and I met in a basement at a friend’s party a week before college. We hung out all evening. He was so easy to talk to. Charlie’s dry sense of humor cracked me up. I always wanted to be around him. He was cute, cool, and kind. From day one, I knew we’d be friends. When we left the party that night, Charlie said, “See you at CC.” I smiled. Relieved, I knew I would have at least one friend at college.
My first night in Colorado, I was unpacking in with my mom and grandmother. My dorm phone rang. When I picked up, Charlie asked, “Do you want to come over to my dorm and meet some people?” I looked at my mother and grandmother and said “yes”.
Yes. I do want to meet some people. I said good night to my mom and Gram and walked to Charlie’s dorm across the quad. Sitting on a bed all together, there was a group of nineteen year-olds who are my now-best-friends: Christy, Meriweather, Conger, Kayto, Heisler, Lucius and Klopp. Charlie welcomed me into the room like he was the mayor. That night kicked off a most extraordinary chapter of my life.
Fast-forward five years, I’m living in San Francisco with my besties from Colorado College. I’m working at a girl’s high school with a dear friend, Chantal who graduated a year ahead of me from Yale. She was smart, fun, and sparkly. Chantal was effortlessly assimilated into our college friend group. Eventually we all moved into together - nine women lived in two floors of an old Victorian house. It was the best of times!
Chantal and Charlie fell in love - true, deep love. They moved to Los Angeles together and became engaged. Together, they returned to San Francisco for an engagement party at our friend Sam’s house in September, 2001. Charlie had lost some weight and my husband remembers asking him about it. Charlie said he just wasn’t hungry anymore. We didn’t think much of it. Feeling invincible, nothing bothered us. Certainly, the possibility of one of us contracting a terminal illness was not on our radar.
Chantal called me in January. The solid ground beneath me shattered. Charlie had cancer - a bad kind: stomach cancer. Charlie and Chantal made plans to marry right away. Chantal asked me, can you be in Los Angeles on 02.02.02? Although it was my sister Mara’s thirtieth birthday and I was hosting her party in Chicago, I pivoted and flew to Los Angeles.
We gathered, laughed, and cried. We prayed that Charlie’s cancer would go away.
Charlie fought the cancer over the next year. Chantal did not leave his side. They moved back to Oakland and bought a beautiful house in Rockridge. That’s the house where I said goodbye to him. He passed away on May 17, 2003.
Our friends were rocked. We hadn’t yet turned thirty and we had already lost a friend. Chantal, was a widow. A few weeks after Charlie died, our friend Christy married Ryan in Chicago. We all flew out, dressed up and celebrated life despite the holes in our heart. Two days after the wedding, Chantal came to Lake Forest with me to spend some time with Charlie’s parents. We woke up at dawn and walked to the beach in Lake Forest. A layer of mist hung over the lake. Spring flowers lined the grassy park. The air was cold. That morning, on that beach, Chantal and I made a vow to say YES to life. Together, we repeated, over and over:
YES. YES. YES.
From that day forward, I have always tried to say yes.
About a month ago, my friend Sarah DeAngelo texted me with an opportunity to teach a yoga class with her friend, Manas Itene, a drummer from Nigeria. Manas has played in Michael Franti’s band Spearhead for over twenty years. Franti and Spearhead were going to be in town in the middle of September and Manas wanted to play live music at a yoga class. I saw the text early in the morning. My initial reaction was “no, thank you.” I figured I’d find another yoga teacher who was more qualified. I know many teachers who’d love the opportunity.
After reading the text, I went upstairs to my studio to sit for my morning meditation. I settled my mind and opened myself to the opportunity. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself teaching alongside this talented musician. By the end of my meditation, I knew that I needed try. I recognized that my resistance was arising from my “imposter syndrome.” I decided to set it aside. I went downstairs and responded to Sarah’s text:
“YES. Yes, I’ll teach.”
Isn’t that what life is all about??? Being open to new possibilities? I grow through discomfort.
For the next two weeks, I worked with Sarah and Manas’s lovely manager, Kylie. Together we put together a beautiful event. I decided to donate my portion of the proceeds to the organization “Too Young to Wed,” which is working hard to protect young women and girls in Afghanistan and all over the world.
Kylie created a poster. We promoted our event on the radio, in the local newspaper, over e-mail and through social media. On a sunny day in mid-September over forty yogis came to the park and mindfully practiced yoga together for a great cause. The combination of Manas’s drums and the spirit I felt flow through me as I taught the class will forever make this event memorable.
We raised nearly $1500 for the girls in Afghanistan. That night, I went to the Michael Franti concert and watched Manas play drums on the big stage. I saw him after the show and gave him a big hug. Just like Charlie, Manas is cute, cool and kind.
If you are faced with an opportunity that you feel like you want to pass on, I dare you to say “yes” and see what happens.