I opened my eyes again and assessed my new business. The walls painted a soft sage, wide-planked wooden floors glowed the amber of buckwheat honey and, while I could spot areas that needed a touch-up, no one else would notice.
I’d invested not only my whole life and passion into this place but also my savings. Most of them, at least. I had enough to last me for six months, eight if I was extra frugal.
Since I’d almost crumpled under the pressure of the rat race and found meditation by pure accident, I wanted to help others discover inner peace. This world could be hectic, and many people burned out before they even realized they were on fire.
Modern life was amazing. The benefits often balanced out the negatives. But when the scales tipped and the crush of keeping up overtook one’s ability to cope, problems arose.
This place really was my dream. I’d had a Pinterest board for years, outlining and detailing what I wanted out of a studio of my own.
Warmth. Soothing atmosphere.
The yoga mat sanitizer offered a slice of technology right near the door of my oasis.
I hoped it could be one for others as well. My research told me there wasn’t a yoga studio or anything like it for at least three hours in any direction.
Rubbing a fist into the center of my chest, I looked up at the clock and saw that I had three more hours until my free soft-opening class. The website had a link for the event the night before opening day and, to my surprise, it had filled up within thirty minutes.
Goddess, my nerves were fried. The sooner I opened, the better.
Oliver Creek was a bustling town. A tourist area. New businesses cropping up all the time. Families growing.
With growth and progress came the task of balancing, and that was where my business model came into play. People, especially my parents, called my low fees crazy. They would not cover expenses, much less generate a profit. Friends said that I would go under in a few months.
But sometimes passion didn’t make a person financially rich; it made their life rich.
I wanted this place to make a difference. Sure, it would help to have the bills paid, but I had no big dreams of franchising or being a millionaire. Not even close.
That would be a step right back into the rat race—one I would not take.
After turning off the lights and going home, I sank down on the love seat I’d found at the local thrift shop. With each touch, my cottage felt more like home. I’d bought the property online, sight-unseen, which felt weird.
Another thing my parents had an opinion about.
I took a quick shower and got dressed in my soft linen pants and a worn sweatshirt. I’d owned both since my friend Andrew tricked me by suggesting we go out to dinner and taking me to a yoga studio instead.
He didn’t let me leave even when I kicked up a fuss.
I began a healing journey.
My stroll from home to the studio was less than twenty minutes. Most things in Oliver Creek, I’d discovered, were walking distance. When I rounded the corner from the road my house was on and saw the studio up ahead, I froze.
There was a line.
People in all kinds of clothes, from all walks of life, all ages, standing in front, waiting.
Waiting for my soft opening.
Yes, quite a few had signed up online, but there was always the chance that they wouldn’t show up.
They showed up.
My knees shook as I approached them.
“Briar, we’re all here to be zen!” someone yelled out. The crowd laughed. All in fun.
I soaked up this moment. “Let’s get everyone checked in. Welcome to Ebb and Flow.”
Chapter Three
