What If It Rains?

Every year, without fail, somebody asks the question.

"What if it rains?"

They're talking about outdoor yoga, of course.

It's a sensible question.

Nobody wants to spend an hour in downward dog while slowly turning into a soggy sponge.

The answer, by the way, is that if the weather is dreadful, we'll move indoors. I'm not running a yoga class for ducks.

Although, now I think about it, there is a small part of me that suspects a field full of yogis using their mats as giant waterslides might be quite entertaining.

But that's not currently in the lesson plan.

I've noticed something interesting.

The question isn't really about the weather.

Not always.

Sometimes it's about uncertainty.

We like to know how things are going to turn out before we commit ourselves.

Will the weather be good?

Will I enjoy it?

Will I know anyone?

Will I be any good at it?

Will it be worth it?

We do it with far more than yoga.

We wait for the perfect time to start exercising.

The perfect time to change jobs.

The perfect time to book the holiday.

The perfect time to have the difficult conversation.

The perfect time to start writing the book.

The perfect time to do the thing we've been talking about doing for years.

The trouble is, perfect conditions rarely arrive.

Life is surprisingly unwilling to provide guarantees.

There might be rain.

There might be wind.

There might be midges.

There might be a dog that decides your yoga mat is the ideal place for a nap.

There might also be a glorious summer evening where the sky turns pink as you're lying in savasana and a blackbird provides the soundtrack.

The point is that you don't know beforehand.

And neither do I.

That's part of the deal.

When I think about some of the best experiences I've had, very few came with guarantees attached.

Moving to Korea to teach English in my twenties certainly didn't.

Starting a yoga business didn't.

Sea dipping doesn't.

Having children definitely doesn't.

Most worthwhile things involve a small leap into uncertainty.

Not a reckless leap.

Just a willingness to begin before you know exactly how it will turn out.

Perhaps that's one of the reasons I love outdoor yoga.

Not because it's better than indoor yoga.

I love indoor yoga too.

But outdoor yoga reminds me that life is happening now, not when all the variables have been neatly arranged.

The grass might be slightly uneven.

The breeze might blow your hair into your face.

The sun might shine.

The clouds might gather.

Something unexpected might happen.

Something beautiful might happen.

Usually it's a bit of both.

Which, now I think about it, is a fairly good description of life.

This summer I'll be teaching yoga outdoors in Chedburgh on Tuesdays and in Gainsborough Park on Wednesdays.

People often tell me they're not sure whether to book because they don't know what the weather will do.

The truth is, neither do I.

But if we waited for certainty before doing anything worthwhile, we'd spend most of our lives standing on the sidelines checking the forecast.

So if you're wondering whether to join us this summer, I can't promise perfect conditions.

I can't promise sunshine.

I can't promise you'll never need insect repellent.

But I can promise we'll bring the yoga anyway.

And perhaps that's the lesson.

Not that we should ignore the weather.

Just that we shouldn't spend our lives waiting for clear skies before we begin.

If you'd like to join us this summer, you can find out more about the JOY Summer Pass here:

JOY SUMMER PASS