The winter wind caught my car door, but I held tight to keep it from smacking the car parked next to me. The sky was still black and the big cold front that was blowing through compounded my misery. The sign at the bank I pass each morning said 27 degrees, and that wasn’t even counting the windchill factor.

I looked across the seemingly endless stretch between my car and the glowing light spilling out from the YMCA lobby door. I groaned as the age-old cartoon characters, the angel and the devil, seemed to appear on my shoulders. The little cartoon devil whispered, “Why bother? Go home and get back in that warm bed.” Then the angel on the other shoulder smiled benevolently and waited for me to remember that I was here for more than exercise: I was here to see some folks.

The angel won this round. I sighed and grabbed my bag with my equipment. The icy wind was disagreeable but the light spilling out of the lobby door was like light from a lighthouse promising warmth and comfort.

In that light, I saw why I was there. My friends, my cohorts, were each funneling from scattered parked cars toward the single lobby door.

A Little Community

A small but faithful group of individuals gather each weekday morning at 7:30 am for water exercise class. Summer or winter we gather, although the longer, warmer days of summer make the effort much more pleasant.

For some reason we show up. My official excuse is exercise, but it is more than that. I have come to know and trust this motley group of retirees, housewives, realtors, writers, and generally remarkable individuals.

I first came because I needed to exercise and simply have a moment for myself. My husband was terminally ill. With this early class I could slip away and be home just as he woke for breakfast.

The first few times I came to the pool were hard. I didn’t know anyone. I felt fat in my suit. I felt guilty about leaving my husband. Somehow, though, I pushed through my resistance. The effort was well worth it.

The exercise class welcomed me and over the years they walked with me through a lot. After James’ decline and death, the widows in the class assured me that over time my broken heart would heal. The writers in the class encouraged me to start writing what became my first book. Retired teachers and military cheered me on, and from the 94-year-old who comes even more consistently than me, I learned that I have a say in my quality of life. It just takes some effort.

I love these folks. They are important to me and to my well-being.

Light by Light

As I watched everyone come to the lobby door, each brought their own light. The glow from the door seemed just a bit brighter as each stepped across the threshold to contribute to this place of warmth and welcome.

The guy who checked us in set a tone of welcoming hospitality. It was as if with each swipe of the person’s entry pass, the light grew just a bit stronger.

Like the spokes of a wheel shifting energy from the wheel to the hub, our energy grows stronger as we gather and share our light with each other.

The forced lockdown of 2020 confirmed the longstanding belief that we are social animals. We need each other. Humans weren’t made to be alone. We met the challenge of isolation by learning such things as Zoom etiquette or standing on a balcony to talk across a safe space to another. Or we stood outside care center windows where we could touch loved ones through glass.

A part of the isolation wasn’t so bad. Home felt safe from the viruses. We could stay in our pajamas all day if we wanted, and many worked from home.

Once again, things changed and now there were new challenges. Dropping our guard to move again through the outside world was a process that was and is sometimes awkward.

We forgot that the outside world doesn’t move as smoothly or as quickly as the little lockdown world we created in our homes. Some of us forgot our manners or the basic life lessons we learned as children. That doesn’t mean we need to avoid the world. We need community. We need to remember not just the ways we are different but the ways we are alike and rejoice in both.

The Light I Bring

As humans move from individual isolation to gathering places of connection, possibilities emerge. Much like the way the spokes of a wheel draw energy from the rim to the hub, moving the wheel forward, the closer we come together, the more clearly we see we are not so different from each other. When we engage and connect, we lose our sense of isolation and are re-energized by this connection.

What is it that I bring to this? I don’t know. A wheel can miss a spoke or two, but if too many are lost it, it can’t move forward. Maybe my gift is to simply show up and add to the light. The biggest lesson I learned from our instructor is the power of consistently showing up, to be a steady, positive spot of light. It doesn’t have to be hard.

If nothing else, show up. For me, I know some days I add to the light of the group and sometimes I need the light of others to top my tank, like getting gas at the gas station. Either way it is in gathering as those of the light that the world is made better by this simple act.