The Art of Showing Up

Some days, I leap out of bed with the grace of a gazelle. Other days, I roll out like an overripe mango that’s been sitting at the bottom of the fruit basket for too long.

Both days, I SHOW UP.

Because here’s the thing: showing up is rarely glamorous. It’s not always accompanied by a swell of background music or the golden light of dawn streaming through my window like in those Pinterest-perfect photos. Most of the time, showing up means turning up to the mat, the mic, or the meeting with all of who you are — the sleepy eyes, the unbrushed hair, the coffee breath, and the best intentions you can muster.

At The Source, I’ve seen the magic that happens when people show up — not in their most polished, perfect selves, but in their most present selves. The person who hasn’t done yoga in years but decides to give it a go because their back has been complaining. The shy creator who needs our help to create content for the very first time, heart pounding, ready to record their podcast intro. The friend who drops in ‘just for chai’ and leaves two hours later, head churning with a plethora of ideas and possibilities.

Showing up is the hinge on which transformation turns.

It’s what takes a seed from “somewhere in the soil” to “look, there’s a sprout!”

It’s what takes a messy draft to a finished script.

It’s what takes your body from “ugh, too stiff” to “wait, I can touch my toes now!”

And sometimes, showing up means just arriving — without needing to smash records or tick off every box. It’s stepping into the room (or onto the mat, or into the conversation) without knowing exactly what will happen next, but trusting that your presence matters.

I’ll be honest: there are plenty of days I’ve been tempted to not show up. My yoga mat has given me plenty of side-eye from the corner. The studio mic has looked at me accusingly as if to say, “So… no recording today?” Even Diego, my sweet doggo-child, has flopped dramatically on the floor in solidarity with my procrastination.

But here’s what I’ve learned: The act of showing up — however imperfectly — often creates the very energy you thought you needed before you began. The practice makes the momentum. The presence makes the possibility.

So the next time you feel you ‘have nothing to give’ or ‘not enough time’ or ‘It won’t make a difference’, remember:

The day you skip is never the day that changes you.

The day you show up — even for five minutes — often is.

Bring your overripe mango self. Your messy bun self.

Your ‘I’m here but I’m not entirely sure why’ self.

The room, the mat, the mic, and the people — we’re all just waiting for you.