Being seen, is to be loved.

There’s something so deeply human about being remembered in the small details.

Not the grand gestures.

Not the performative declarations.

But the quiet noticing.

Years ago, a student brought me back a koala clip from Australia because during class I would often say, “squeeze like a koala bear clip from Australia.” One of those silly little teaching phrases that somehow becomes part of the fabric of a room over time.

I clipped it onto the side of my harmonium and it stayed there for years. Through trainings, classes, chanting, tears, laughter, events, unpacking and repacking. A tiny companion to so many moments of my life.

Over time, the clip wore out.

It stopped gripping properly.

It would randomly fall from the harmonium or the little koala would get lost in the cabinet having fallen off. And I remember casually mentioning one day, almost in passing, that it had finally broken after all these years.

And then a few days ago, a student returned from Australia and handed me a brand new koala clip.

I had only mentioned the broken one once.

That’s it.

And honestly, it made my heart swell and it touched me immensely. Even thinking about it, brings tears to my eyes.

Because the gift itself is sweet, yes.

But what moved me was something much deeper:

she remembered.

In a world where so many people are waiting to speak, waiting to be chosen, waiting to be acknowledged… being truly seen can feel almost shocking.

To be seen is to feel like you exist in someone else’s inner world.

To know your words didn’t just disappear into noise.

To realize someone paid attention to the tiny things that make you… you.

I think this is one of the deepest forms of love we can offer each other.

Not fixing.

Not saving.

Not impressing.

Just noticing.

The way someone takes their coffee.

The story they tell more than once.

The object they absentmindedly cherish.

The phrase they repeat when they teach.

The thing they laughed about that everyone else overlooked.

Love often lives there.

And maybe this is why community matters so much to me. Why yoga matters to me. Why shared practice matters to me. Because over time, if we let ourselves soften enough, we begin to witness each other.

Not the polished version.

The real one.

The one made of tiny details.

Tiny griefs.

Tiny joys.

Tiny koala clips hanging off a harmonium.

Being seen is to be loved.

And a few days ago, I felt incredibly loved.

🥹🫠