Why I Teach Even When No One Shows Up
Spiritual Lessons from The Void
Storytime
“I am sorry, as I know you have put work into this.”
My workshop was canceled. Instead of teaching a small group of Australians about generational trauma, I spent the evening with my 9yo nephew learning that the zombies on Fortnite die with just one shot. As he played, I imagined that each zombie killed was a generational trauma that my nephew doesn’t have to carry forward in his life.
No matter how many times it happens, it still stings when a workshop gets canceled.
In all honesty though, this time wasn’t that bad.
I’ll never forget the worst time I had an event cancel. I was driving from MN to FL to get to the event, and when I got the cancelation call, it felt like a real-life zombie apocalypse.
It was January 2013. I drove through an ice storm in Iowa where I received an “I filed for divorce” email from my husband. I cried my way through Illinois. I moped through Kentucky, and pep-talked myself through Tennessee.
Just outside Macon GA, the phone rang, interrupting my car-dancing to Cyndi Lauper’s True Colors.
“I hate to do this to you. We have to cancel. . . but hey, you can come here and have a nice vacation out of the Minnesota winter!”
“Okay,” I swallowed, “Right now, I’m in a bunch of traffic and need to focus on driving, I’ll see you in about five hours.”
Then, I pulled over and had a 10-minute temper tantrum in ditch off I-95.
If I printed out every event cancelation email I’d received over my 20 years of teaching, I’d have wallpapered my house a couple times over by now.
As writers on Substack people talk about “writing into the void”, I am living a 20+ year career of “teaching into the void”.
And yet I don’t quit.
I can’t.
Because that one class, with that one teeny tiny teachable moment, even if it is a class where only two students show up, is worth it.
Cuz then, I get emails or comments like this one:
Your work has been a source of immense inspiration for me. The way you encourage people to embrace their unique voices has had a profound impact on how I approach my own creative process. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and authenticity so generously.
After the xbox controllers were put back in their bin, I opened my laptop and reviewed my Ancestral Assets workshop, and contemplated adding a slide about zombies.
“I’m a damn good teacher,” I thought to myself as I reviewed the slides, making plans to teach the class to an empty zoom-room early next week, recording it to post on Substack. . . someday.
Lesson
At the time, my road-side temper tantrum felt like a total meltdown. And perhaps it was. In hindsight, I realize that 10-minutes was actually a very healthy expression of emotion that was the result of a long-standing spiritual practice that has guided my entire entrepreneurial business career.
Like
writes in “Let's Normalize Difficult Emotions: a call to stop rejecting and start welcoming all emotions”Unpleasant feelings are part of the human experience and are inevitable.
When we reject them, we reject ourselves.
To deny feelings is to deny life, and we suffer.
However, when we allow and feel them,
they enrich our lives as they pass through us.
Because I let myself feel the feels on the side of the road, I was able to leave the worst of the pain in the ditch with a few rocks that I threw, and remember that the studio owner in Florida is a good friend. When I arrived at her house, I told her about my divorce, and how scared I was of living out of my car.
“Well, right now, you get to live out of my house, and enjoy my pool, and walk on the beach, and see the sunrise over the ocean,” she said with a smile.
I did have a nice vacation in Florida.
I needed a week of not working.
During that week, I got back to my practice. Morning yoga practice, gratitude journaling, long walks on the beach, time in nature. I reconnected with my Self, and realized I had left her somewhere in that Iowa hotel.
A week later, I left Florida and worked my way up the east coast, stopping at yoga studios in North Carolina, Baltimore, Washington DC, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and Massachusetts, before jet-setting off to Maui. Some of those events were packed full, some canceled just before I arrived, and some had a moderate showing of very interested individuals who still read my newsletters to this day.
I cannot control how many people sign up for my events, or read my articles, or subscribe to my newsletters. What I can control is how I feel about myself and my work.
No, I may not be getting dozens of sign-ups for every event, and I may not have a waiting list.
What matters is that I believe in me, and if I can I touch one student on a deep level, all the better.
The Creator Retreat
The Creator Retreat is all about showing up—even when it feels like no one’s watching. It’s a space for creators who know the quiet stretches, the empty Zoom rooms, and the deep pull to keep going anyway. For those sensitive souls blending creativity with a little spiritual grit, this is where connection, inspiration, and support meet. Because sometimes, just one small moment of impact makes it all worth it.
The Creator Retreat begins March 2025.
Applications open January 2025.
I am crying right now because I feel so seen by your words and who you are. You are literally such an inspiration to me at a time where I really need it. It feels like permission to be me, just as I am, and that I am doing right by me. And maybe it is actually all going to be ok.
I love your honesty and the way you infuse humor into your writing. The image of you throwing rocks in a ditch as a form of emotional release is priceless! It's a reminder that sometimes, we just need to let it all out, even if it means getting a little muddy in the process. And hey, who knew zombie slaying could be a metaphor for healing generational trauma? You've given me a whole new perspective on Fortnite!
I'm so delighted that we both wrote about zombies on the same day 😂