Today I improvised a yoga lesson for the children, and what they gave me in return was divine. After it was done, I sat down, humbled by the exchange. And I was proud. And I wanted to call my teacher.
In my gratitude for that simple moment, I found myself wondering, what exactly is excellence? What makes an excellent “me”? I know it’s more than magic bestowed upon us at birth, more than effort, and more than a heavy hat of self-importance.
So I sat until the answers started talking.
I am the outcome of life’s chance crossings; right turns gone left, and stumbles that landed me somewhere I’d not intended to go. Everyone I’ve ever met is mashed up in here, and even some people I’ve glanced at only once, from afar.
I am water overflowing, a lovely cup, filled with everything I have been fortunate to receive. I have been fed a perfect diet of adversity and goodness, light and dark, and I have eaten it all. Standing here today, I am a thousand random bits shining through.
These thoughts washed over me, in minutes and moments and pictures; a mind-heart montage of faces, smiles, and places, so many and so fast. Then, I knew that all of my many teachers had flooded that room, embraced those children, and filled my own well right back up. Excellence is legacy.
Everything I have to give flowed down to me, from someone else. Now I get to be part of that goodness spilling onward, and out into the world, and one remarkable question is sticking with me: Just how far back does this all go?