Damn, I’m Good!

Ted came to us and said something like, “I figured I’d either drink myself to death or try this yoga thing.” And try this yoga thing he did.  He came five days a week in the beginning.  We all thought he had a crush on his teacher, Janice.  But even after she left, Ted kept showing up.  He loved yoga so much he went to Asheville to attend a 200-hour yoga teacher training with Janice’s beloved Iyengar Yoga teacher.  He would come tell me all the details about the participants and how many chairs and blankets and blocks it took to get him propped up.  He loved the attention.  It was about that time that he started telling me how to teach and what I was doing “wrong.”  Luckily, Ted was a pretty lovable guy so it mostly made me smile.  He kept showing up and then decided to attend a second 200-hour yoga teacher training.  This time with me, here at Greenville Yoga.  This is when Ted became thoroughly enmeshed in our community.  

It was my first-time leading training without my ex-husband.  It was my first year leading the yoga studio as a solo endeavor.  I was scared and Ted became my confidant.  Every Tuesday and Thursday Ted would be the first to arrive after his thirty-minute drive.  He would greet me and we’d share how we were doing, “How’s the depression today?”  “New meds.  I’m good! How’s your anxiety holding up?” Then he’d set up his purple and orange mats, blocks and blankets in the room.  Next, he would sit on our church pew and greet every student who walked in.  Returning students (especially the young, cute ones) would get hugs that sometimes lifted you off the ground.  Others a big welcoming hello.  And if you asked how he was, his reply was always, “Damn, I’m good!” And then he’d laugh his big old laugh.  We’d go through class and surely after class was done and we’d sit with our tea, Ted would point out someone doing something “wrong.” And I’d have to remind him to close his eyes and focus on his own mat and to trust me that I actually knew what I was doing in caring for more than just the body.  After that, we’d get to the heart of our conversations. We’d have conversations about family, animals, kids, Ted’s life in the commune, politics.  Some days it was light and fun.  Others we’d debate about yoga poses, the Bhagavad Gita, reincarnation.  He’d fuss at me and get so mad and then we would laugh together and begin again.  This was our relationship.  Over the years so much changed for me, but Ted was my constant companion.  We were able to be vulnerable and share how we were doing, when we needed checking on and we were there.  I don’t let a lot of people get too close, so how this self-proclaimed old fart won me over, I’ll never know.

Ted went on to teach yoga in Clemson area.  He had a devoted following of students who loved him dearly.  They called their yoga Ted Yoga or Toga for short.  In our conversations I learned about all of his dear students and how they doted on him.  He loved teaching as it lit a fire in his heart and soul.  And he loved telling people what to do!

In 2020, the world shut down.  Our yoga studio went to all online classes.  Ted had to cancel the classes he taught.  Every day, Monday through Friday we would see Ted and Willow in their little box on Zoom.  We would still hear, “Damn, I’m good,” even though many of our worlds had fallen apart.  He did his best to be the light.  We’d stay online and talk until the next class booted us off.  We were all home alone and this was how our yoga community became family.

Here we sit in 2022.  Ted came back in person to teach and to be a student for the last year.  His presence immediately became known to all as we returned in person.  He was there to greet everyone, to offer kind suggestions to their yoga poses, and offer us snacks after class.  His welcoming smile and generous nature dragged even the most introverted souls to share with us.  Ted and I planned yoga classes, refined our teaching and every day we’d leave with a hug and an “I love you.” (Our latest kick was listening to Glennon Doyle’s podcast “We Can Do Hard Things.” I am pretty sure he had a crush on Glennon’s wife Abbey Wambach.  We’d spend hours getting excited about the podcast and sharing what we learned. This is important to note because if you listen to the podcast, you may be surprised that a 72-year-old straight, white man would be so excited about it.  This is the beauty of Ted. He contains multitudes that each one of us can never know.) Now there is a hole where Ted and I would sit.  Every Tuesday and Thursday I expect to see that white truck pulling in at 8:45am (thirty minutes before everyone else) for our personal check in.  At 8:46am, I realize a small piece of my heart is missing that won’t be coming back.  Luckily when I teach and give precise alignment cues, I feel Ted’s presence and it brings me peace to know that this piece of him will always be here.  His voice and his laugh won’t ever leave.

One of the fights Ted and I would have often is what happens to us when we die.  I believe in reincarnation, and he’d tell me it was all bullshit.  I can’t help but smile and wonder where Ted is now.  I have a feeling even if I was right, he still wouldn’t tell me.  He’d just smile and laugh.